Logan Kade (Fallen Crest #5.5)(49)

“What. The. Fuck?” I stared right at him. “You on crack? Should you be driving right now?”

“You’re jaded.” Nate threw me a hard look. “I’m the one who goes out with you all the time. I see how you talk about girls, how you act around them. You’re hard inside when it comes to relationships. Tate damaged you.”

“Shut up, Nate.”

“Liking Sam, and then realizing she was Mason’s soulmate? That bothered you, too.”

“I mean it, Nate. Shut up.”

“Then Kris. You dated her, and you almost broke her. That girl straight up loved you. I’m talking real love.”

“Nate!” My hands formed fists in my lap, but I pressed them against my leg.

He didn’t stop. “I know it bothers you that you hurt her. You’ve not dated another girl since. You screw ’em, and you discard ’em. I’m wondering how that’s hurting you, too. I think this girl, if you do date her—it’s going to happen again. You’re going to think you love her, but not actually let yourself love her because you’ve got some f*cking hard walls up to girls right now. I’m worried about the long-term effects.”

We were nearing the house. If we hadn’t been, I would’ve made him pull over. Nate didn’t know anything. I focused on keeping my hands on my lap because if they came up, I’d hit him. I felt it in me—the need to fight, to lash out. It was like a demon. That motherf*cker wanted out of me. He wanted to act up, do some damage.

“Logan—” Nate wasn’t paying attention to me. I could hear it in his voice. He was going to keep going, keep dishing his shit.

“Stop,” Mason cut him off. His voice was soft. I could feel my brother’s eyes on me. He added, “Drop it, Nate.”

“What?” Nate’s voice grew clearer. He must’ve looked over at me. “Oh.”

We drove the last few blocks in silence, but I kept hearing Nate’s words in my head. As soon as he wheeled into our driveway, I was out and rounding the vehicle. Nate just opened his door when I reached in, grabbed him. I yanked him out. No words were spoken. He knew what was coming, and I hit him. I hit him as hard as I could, and after the one hit, I let him go. I turned around, not giving a damn if he fell to the ground or if he was just dazed. If I looked, I’d want to hit him again, and maybe a third time.

Mason came after me. “He’s wrong.”

“No.” I shook my head, acknowledging what Nate said. Some of my anger melted, but it was replaced with bitterness. “He’s not.”

“He’s wrong, Logan. He is.” My brother’s voice quieted. “Tate did this shit to you. Kris and Sam, they didn’t. Don’t let him make you think that.”

“No.” Mason was wrong, too. “Don’t you get it? It’s not them. It’s not even Tate.” That was the problem. “I wish it was them.”

“Then what is it? Are you hardened?”

“Yeah.” I drew in a sharp breath. That stung, even just admitting that. “But it’s not because of any of them. That’s not why I’m like this.”

“Then why?”

I had to laugh. The sound was sad and bitter. It came from a dark place in me. My brother, who knew everything, who’d raised me since we were little, didn’t know. But it wasn’t his problem. He had someone who’d never leave him. He’d never leave her. He never had to have this problem.

I backed up toward the house, shaking my head. “No, Mase.”

“Logan.” He started to come with me.

“No.” I shot my hands up, stopping him. “I need space.”





TAYLOR


Last night’s nightmare kept me awake for a while, so when I went back to sleep, it was late. I woke up late, and when I checked my phone, there were no texts from Jason or Claire. There were a few from Logan. I was already grinning when I clicked on the first one.

Drunk. 3 am. That means one thing. I’m missing my taco. ;) Are you my taco?

That was followed with, All jokes aside, I want to take you to that place. Your DoucheCanoe lives right next to it, but it’s good food. It’s worth the risk of murky douche waters.

I laughed and clicked on another message. It had arrived earlier this morning. Escaped unscathed. A little bit of a hangover headache. That’s it. Reading over my texts to you last night. No wonder I dreamed about f*cking tacos. I thought I watched some weird porn last night.

And the last one was sent an hour ago. Heading home. If you don’t text back, I’m going to be that guy. I’m coming over. Don’t call the cops on me. I don’t have a record with them. Yet.

I got a five-second warning. I read that text, heard a car door shut, and my doorbell was ringing in the next breath. And it kept going. He was holding his finger to it. I cursed, made sure I was wearing a bra, and hurried to answer the door.

Logan stepped back, but kept his finger on the doorbell as I opened the door. “You didn’t answer my messages,” he said over the noise.

“Stop.” I grabbed his arm, pulled it away. Finally, the air was silent. My ears were not. They were still ringing. “I’m going to hear that damn thing for the next hour.”

“Give me an hour.” Logan passed me, heading inside and swatting my butt on the way. “I’ll make you come so hard, you’ll be hearing your own climax for the next week, Firecracker.”