Logan Kade (Fallen Crest #5.5)(13)

I groaned. “Don’t tell me I look like crap.”

“You look sweaty and pale. You look good in most anything, but this ain’t a good look for you.”

He followed me back to the kitchen, and slid onto a stool, propping his elbows on the counter. “What happened today?”

Nothing.

“I mean, I heard about Kade,” he added. “He remembered me after all?” He chewed on his bottom lip. “Claire said you both got the wham-bam-thank-you-and-maybe-I’ll-call-you-later-ma’am vibe from him? That’s called a Loganism, by the way. You got the drive-by version of it. He kapows people with whatever he wants to say, and they do what he wants— whether that’s to get pissed at him or drop their pants for him.” He quieted, cocking his head to the side. “I’m not getting that vibe from you. Taylor, what’s wrong?”

My mom was dead.

My dad was absent.

My boyfriend left me.

I shook my head. “Nothing.” Normal voice. Be charming. Be… Remember why he’s here in the first place. Use that. I locked eyes on him and scowled. “Kade’s going to ask you to do a gambling thing for him.”

He shifted on his seat. “Yeah.” He picked at a piece of invisible lint on his arm. “So?”

“Don’t do it.”

There it was. I’d meant it when I said I didn’t want him to do it anymore, but judging from the way his shoulders slumped and he looked away, I knew he was going to do it anyway.

“You were beat up for it in high school,” I added.

“Come on.” He jerked in his seat. His hands fell to his lap, but he still didn’t look at me.

“They threatened Claire,” I reminded him.

“That’s not fair.” His eyes lifted to mine, and they were heated. He held a finger up between us. “That’s so not fair, Taylor. It’s different now too. I’m not doing the betting this time.”

“You missed a payment, and they blackmailed me.”

He snorted, folding his arms over his chest. “Yeah, well, Claire told me what Kade did. You must be familiar with being blackmailed by now.” His eyes cut to the side again.

I’d never told him this next part. I waited. He had to be looking at me, and after a beat of silence, he did. “They were going to get their money no matter what—from you or from someone else.”

“What are you talking about?” His voice hitched now. He was uncertain.

“They said either you give them their money or they’d get it from my dad.”

His arms unfolded, and he leaned forward. “What are you talking about?”

“I never told you because you paid, but they were going to take me.” A big ball landed in my throat. Oh well. What was new? “They called me on the phone one day. They were going to make my dad pay. I mean, it was just a phone call, but—”

“Wh—” He choked. The blood drained from his face. I wasn’t the only pale one in the room now. “You never—I didn’t know that.”

“It didn’t happen.” So I hadn’t told anyone.

“Did Eric know?”

I snorted. “No way. He would’ve pissed his pants and run to the cops.”

Jason quieted, tugging at one of his shirtsleeves. He looked ridiculous. It was a short-sleeved pink shirt —shave off a few more inches and he would’ve been wearing a tank top. But he kept tugging at it. For what? It wasn’t going to cover his hand.

“Stop doing that.” I pulled his hand away. “You’re going to rip your shirt.”

A rueful laugh left him, but his hand went to his hair. He still wore a stupefied expression. “I—I mean... My God, Taylor. You never told me.”

“Why would I?” I needed something to do, something else to focus on. This was headed into territory I didn’t want to visit: what Eric would’ve done, what I had done. All of that would spiral into other topics I’d been able to avoid for months. No, thank you.

“You want something to eat?” I turned the heat under the pot back on. “I was making this for my dad.”

He glanced around. “I didn’t think your dad was here.”

“He’s not.”

“Oh...”

I had to ignore him. Ignore where this was going. That was my mantra.

“Uh, Taylor…”

“Do you want a beer?” I asked. “My dad has an entire fridge full. Trust me when I tell you he won’t miss any. I have to go out to the garage to grab something anyway. You want one?”

“No.” He watched me turn toward the garage, his mouth slightly open. “Thank you, though.”

When I got back, I handed him a beer and opened the sauce.

“Taylor.” Jason came over and took the jar from me. “Stop making food. Stop it.”

“No.” I pulled it back out of his hands and nudged him aside. A gentle nudge, but still firm. “I was going to make this anyway. If we don’t eat it, it’ll be here for my dad. He’ll be home any moment—”

Jason grabbed a note from the fridge and read aloud, “At Mike’s house. Be back late. Hope your first day was great.” He handed me the paper as he softened. “Signed, your dad.”