Logan Kade (Fallen Crest #5.5)(8)

Kade looked at me. His eyebrows furrowed together, like he wanted to say something, but Jason yanked on my hand and we were past him.

“Logan!” Samantha called from farther down the road.

She waved from an Escalade. Jason veered toward them, pulling me along. I wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he continued right past the vehicle. I glanced back and watched as Kade sprinted for it. He leaped, took hold of the top of the Escalade, and somehow threw himself into the front seat as Samantha clambered into the back.

Once inside, Kade reached out and pounded on the top of the vehicle. “Let’s go,” he barked.

The driver took off, and they were past us in two seconds, just as Claire pulled up.

Jason hurried into the passenger seat, and I threw myself into the back. Claire gunned the engine, and we turned off the block and onto another street as the cop cars began pulling up in front of the house.

“That was close.”

I wasn’t sure who said that, but it didn’t matter. We were all thinking it.

Then I grinned. I wanted to do it again.





SOC 101: MINDF*CKING A GROUP





TAYLOR


The house was dark when Claire dropped me off.

Empty wine bottles sat on the kitchen table, along with half-empty glasses and a platter with cheese and crackers on it. A few grapes remained in a bowl, along with some crumpled-up napkins and three beer bottles where I assumed my dad’s co-worker had been sitting. A couple of the glasses had lipstick stains near the rim.

I plopped down in a chair and surveyed the scene. Judging from the dirty dishes in the sink, the food was plentiful. And based on a few more empty wine bottles in the garbage, the booze had been flowing all night long.

Speaking of booze, some of the beer started to trek its way back up my throat. I grimaced and swallowed as I cleaned up the kitchen quickly. My dad wouldn’t have time in the morning, and I had no doubt he was already knocked out now, sleeping the booze off. When I finished and headed upstairs, I was surprised to hear the sounds of his television coming from his office.

But he was zonked out. I was right.

An old football game played, while my dad snored in his chair. His head was back, his mouth open, and another eruption sailed out. I shook my head; I’d found him this way so many nights— either this way or he was gone. When being a workaholic didn’t help with forgetting, he’d find other ways: alcohol. Strip clubs. I was pretty sure he’d had a brief affair with a married woman.

The house reeked of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke, and I’d found notes written on napkins in the trash. Most had hotel names and room numbers on them, but I didn’t have the heart to follow him to those places. I’d thought about it once. I’d had my phone ready to go. I was going to call Jason and make him go with me—Claire wouldn’t have understood. Her parents were still together, and alive. But Jason was different. He got it, but after I brought his number up, I couldn’t hit the call button.

So coming home and finding my dad here? I was okay with that. At least he was here.

I got to work. The television was turned off and I wheeled his chair down the hall to his bedroom. Thank God for wooden floors. Lining the recliner up next to his bed, I put his feet on the mattress, folded up the rug underneath the wheels so the chair wouldn’t go anywhere, and hit the controller so the chair folded down. He was next to the bed if he wanted to roll in there, or he could sleep the rest of the night the way he was. Either way he’d be hurting in the morning.

I grabbed a water bottle and a couple of painkillers and set them on the nightstand before heading to bed.

When I woke up the next morning, the chair was back in the office, and he’d taken the water with him. The painkillers were gone, too. After getting dressed and ready, I sat at the kitchen table drinking my coffee. It was peaceful. It was quiet. It was relaxing, but that didn’t last once I left and got to school. I was late. Really late.

The door to my first class was about to close as I sprinted around the corner. A guy was reaching for it, and when he saw me a frown appeared, but he waited. I sailed past with a breathless, “Thank you.”

I slipped into the first empty chair, which was in the front row. The door closed and the guy walked past me...right to the front of the class. Lovely. He could glare at me all through class. I snuck a look over my shoulder, but I didn’t see any other open chairs. I was stuck.

Note to self: Leave twenty minutes earlier tomorrow.

The guy cleared his throat. His hands rested on the podium, and his eyes lingered on me for a moment before sweeping the class. “Welcome to Abnormal Psychology. My name is Jeremy Fuller,” he said. “I’m Professor Gayle’s assistant, so I’ll be helping out with most of the teaching and testing for this class.”

He had striking features. Blue eyes, light blond hair that held a little curl, and an almost too-thin face, but he was handsome. He looked a little like Jude Law, which would normally have made me frown, but as far as I was concerned, this guy was my teacher. I’d be friend, not foe.

We got the syllabus, an explanation of everything contained in the syllabus, and when no one could think of a question to stall the arrival of our first lecture, we got that, too. The lesson filled the rest of the hour. He dismissed the class, but I was putting my laptop away when he came up to me, clearing his throat.

“You’re Taylor Bruce?”