Logan Kade (Fallen Crest #5.5)(40)

“Taylor?”

I started. My hands jerked, and the plate went flying. “Shit.” I reached for it, but Logan got there first, his eyes on me.

“Bruce, you okay?”

I relaxed instantly. It was stupid, but my last name put distance between us. It gave me space to think, feel, breathe. I wouldn’t do anything stupid. I nodded, relaxing the rest of my body as best I could. “Yeah. I’m good.”

It was probably obvious I wasn’t. After a brief moment of silence, Nate coughed and stood up, his plate in his hand. “Think I’ll head to bed for the night.” He picked up the empty quesadilla platter and his beer, as well as the one Logan had emptied. I had a beer in front of me, but I hadn’t touched it.

He paused, looking down at it, but moved past. “’Night, guys.”

I wanted to disappear.

If Logan waved or any silent messages passed between the two, I didn’t see it. My head was firmly folded down, my chin against my chest. Once I heard the patio door slide open, then closed, Logan adjusted his legs. His feet rested next to mine, and he tapped my shoe with his.

“Hey,” he said. “What’s your damage?”

My head flew up, and I was ready to fight. But I stopped as soon as my eyes found his. He’d delivered no derision with that phrase. I’d reacted too soon. He was steady, calm, and waiting for me to answer. He’d just been trying to lighten the mood.

“Sorry.” Even my jaw was tight. Goddamn. My hands had balled into fists. I forced them open. “I have these moments where…” I go insane. “I remember things…from before.”

“Yeah?”

God. A storm of everything ravaged me. Guilt. Shame. Anger. Betrayal. And, I swallowed tightly, even relief. I survived. My mom hadn’t. And I was sitting here, trying not to kiss this guy because he could break me.

What the hell was I doing?

“Hey.” Logan leaned closer. His elbows rested on his knees. His head came close to mine, and his fingers tapped my leg. “Look.” He straightened. “I know some shit went down last year with your mom. I’ve got no idea what, just that something happened. If you think I care what it is, you’re wrong. I can see it’s hurting you. That’s the only thing I care about. So if you want to talk, I’m here. If you don’t, I don’t either.”

The more he said, the more tension left me.

His voice softened. “We’ve all got shit in our past.” He gestured to the house. “Those people in there? Mason, Sam, even Nate—they’re my family because we’ve had our own battles go down. I love my parents, but I didn’t grow up because of them. I grew up because of Mason. So whatever went down with you last year—I don’t know what I’m saying. I guess you can hold on to it if you want, if that does something for you. Fuck.” He expelled a breath. “I don’t say shit to anyone either, so who am I to encourage all the sharing?” He stood, holding his beer bottle so tightly his knuckles were almost white. “I suddenly want to get rip-roaring drunk.”

I expected him to pass by, head for the house, and my gaze went back to the ground. But his feet never moved away. I looked back up, and he held his hand out to me. “You coming?”

I couldn’t look away. “To get drunk?”

He shrugged. “For whatever, but yes, I’d prefer if booze was involved.”

I looked up into his eyes then. The storm that raged in me was there too. The joking, playing side of him was gone. This was the real Logan, and there was a whole lot of darkness there. I took his hand, felt myself standing with him, and I followed him inside. Everything said yes to me. Yes, I wanted to hold his hand. Yes, I wanted to get drunk with him. Yes, I wanted to tell him what happened. Yes, I wanted to go wherever he was taking me.

I stopped thinking. I would probably regret it, but I was done thinking, analyzing, worrying. I was done being afraid. I was going with the feels, and as Logan went inside, he grabbed a bottle of Jack. The feels would be dangerous to me that night. I embraced them.

Logan went upstairs, then up a second flight of stairs. He had the entire third level as his bedroom. He’d set up a small living room in the corner with a massive television screen mounted on the wall. A video game console sat halfway between the television and the couch. Logan nudged it back toward the wall and sank down on the couch.

I stood in front of him. He gazed up at me, our hands still laced together. My heart beat so fast.

Nothing was said, but I felt him. I felt that he wanted me. I wanted him, too. The air was thick. I felt it pressing down, but it didn’t bother me. All I could feel was the desire to touch him, to taste him.

I wanted to forget everything.

My voice was raspy as I said, “What are we doing?”

“Honestly?” He opened his legs and tugged me forward. “Anything you want.”

I was trapped between his thighs, and I loved it. I started to lower myself to rest on one of his knees, but Logan set the bottle aside and found my waist. He lifted me, only to pull me back down, straddling him. My hand still held one of his hands, and they rested between us as he leaned back against the couch. Reaching for the bottle again, he unscrewed the top with his free hand, then thumbed the cap off, tossing it to the floor. His eyes found mine again.

His hand left mine and moved to my waist. It slid under my shirt and inside my jeans to grip my hip. “What do you want to do?”