Shit.
Logan must have really hit his head in the wrong place.
“You know what?” I take up his hand and jump in front of him. “I would love to go out with you. Maybe get a bite? And we can see Gage after.”
Logan gives a reluctant smile.
“Don’t stay out late. Tomorrow is school.” Mom hands me one of Mia’s jackets before I speed down the porch with Logan.
I have Logan and Gage back, real and in person. I was so afraid that I would lose them both—that everything we built together would be reduced to memories, useless as pressed flowers.
I pause just shy of his truck and wrap my arms around him, brush my lips against his beating chest.
The world has righted itself. I can see and feel everything, and everything around me spells love.
***
Logan barrels us down the road at breakneck speeds.
“Slow down. I’m pretty sure Ezrina’s not in the mood for another restoration project tonight.” I don’t bother telling him about my deal with the hostess with the mostess corpses. Or, how, she’ll be wearing my body like the latest fashion in just a little while if I don’t arrange a do-over with the fab four that comprise the Justice Alliance.
“So, where do I normally take you?” He tweaks my knee and gives a little wink.
“What’s wrong?” I’m almost afraid to ask.
“My head’s all clouded over. I can’t hold a thought more than two seconds.” He glowers into the long blank silence of the road. “I’ll need you to fill in a few blanks for me.”
“Let’s go see Gage. We can both fill in the blanks for you.”
“We’ll see him right after, but for now, lets do something just you and me.”
“You wanna go to the bowling alley? We can probably see Brielle.”
“I was thinking somewhere a little more private. Black Forest?” He hums along to the radio, turning up the volume.
“No, way. I hate that place. Let’s go to the bowling alley. You know, revisit the scene of the crime.” And, really, I wouldn’t mind seeing Bree.
“Suit yourself.” He drives us down the highway until we hit the dilapidating rectangle that is the bowling alley.
“Watch this,” he skips over the easement that leads into the parking lot and bumps over a series of small boulders that act as landscaping.
“Hey!” I shout, jostling about, snatching away at the dashboard, trying to keep from knocking into the window. He speeds us around the building to the dirt lot where the Mustang knocked the life out of him and comes just shy of hitting the trunk of an evergreen. “Shit!” I pant. “You almost smacked into that thing. And, by the way, the tree would have totally won. Don’t joke around like that.” The last thing I need is a head injury. A metal halo drilled into my skull isn’t exactly a girl’s accessory of choice for Valentine’s Day.
“Who says I’m joking?” He sobers quickly, killing the ignition. “I’m going to start living life to the fullest. No more of this ambling around not enjoying myself, bullshit.” He gives a dry laugh. “Come here,” he says, swiveling his arms up my sweater. “I believe I owe you a proper thank you.”
“I believe you do,” I push his hands back down. “But not like that.”
He pulls me in by the back of my neck and indulges in an unwelcome kiss by way of his meandering tongue.
Before I can push him away, the radio ignites in one loud blast, and I snatch my hands up over my ears to stop the noise.
“Crap,” Logan switches it off. “Must have hit it with my knee.”
“I think we should go see Gage.” For sure being alone with Logan is not a good idea. I believe his thrill to live campaign is being solely run by his penis. “So, we should drive to the hospital, like now.”
“He’s still in there, huh?” He shakes his head at the thought. “You should wake him up with some of that Celestra magic, perk him right up.”
“I didn’t even think of that. You’re a genius.” I push him gently in the shoulder. “I’m sorry about having your powers revoked.” I say it so low I’m not even sure he heard.
He stares off in a daze as though he were just remembering this reality himself.
“Shit,” he mutters. “No, it’s OK.” He takes in a hard breath. “There are so many other things that make life worth living.”
He starts up the truck, dazed by the revelation, and heads back out onto the black expanse of highway that drifts unknowably in both directions.
“What happened when you died Logan? What did you see?”
He swallows hard, still lost, gazing at the road ahead.
Logan looks fatigued, worn out underneath this jubilant demeanor. Death has discolored the world for him. I hope he gets his bearings, retrieves whatever it is he might have lost. I hope death didn’t come in and rob him of who he truly is deep down inside.
“It wasn’t good, Skyla,” his voice wobbles. “Nothing good waits for you. We need to live it up right now. This is all it’s ever going to be for us.”
“Did you end up in the transport?” Marshall took me there once. A Jasper cave with angels ready to send you up or down, no in-between.
He nods. “Pushed me back down to earth. And believe you me I’m glad to be here. I really owe you one.”
I give a little laugh as we pull into the parking lot of the hospital.
“You don’t owe me anything. I’m just glad you’re back.” I lean over and hug him for a very long time, take in his scent, and feel his body rise and fall with each breath he takes.
Having Logan back is a beautiful, beautiful thing.
Chapter 9
Just One Taste
At the hospital, the ornery nurses let me know by way of their aggressive snarls, their barking reprimands, that it’s past visiting hours—that I can’t see Gage. I wait until they distract themselves by way of a newly discovered box of chocolate I bought at the gift shop and covertly landed on their desk before sneaking in.
Logan volunteered to wait in the truck to give Gage and me some much-needed privacy, which I totally appreciate. I let him know I wouldn’t have minded if he went in and said hello, hung out, but he insisted.
“Hi,” I whisper. A thin vanilla blanket conforms perfectly over his body giving the illusion he’s a marble statue from the chest down.
Gage smiles, his eyes are open just barely, exposing bloodshot bruises with blue sirens dotting the middle. He leans up looking very much like his old self.
I round out the bed and crawl beside him.
Gage takes a breath, sans the tubes. He lowers the volume on the basketball game and pats me over. He looks sleepy, but radiates his love for me, expresses it with every cell of his body.
“Throat hurts,” he rasps out the words, brushing his lips over my cheek with a minty kiss. His skin holds the sharp scent of soap, his hair still wet from the shower. God, I hope it was a shower, not some buxom bombshell of a nurse helping him with a sponge bath.
“I won’t stay long.” I scoot in tight next to him.
Please, stay long—all night in fact. He kneads into my bare arm with his fingers, traces a line up to my shoulder before letting his hand fall back onto the bed from fatigue. I can’t speak.
“Lucky for you, you don’t have to,” I press out a soft smile. “Logan is back.”
My dad told me. Said he’s real happy to be here.
“Yeah, well, I guess death does that to a person. He’s all hopped up on life now.”
Thank you.
“Don’t thank me yet.” I glance over at a pair of small metal scissors next to the comb and toothbrush on the end table. I pick them up and slit a small line up the side of my wrist, a safe distance from the blue veins that protrude from my skin like roadways on a map. A fragile seam of blood rises to the surface, cresting until it forms a wave of crimson over my pale flesh.
“Skyla,” his voice breaks my name in two equal parts. No, he protests, closing his lids as if holding back tears.
“Yes. I want you home, healed and healthy. I want to go to Rockaway Point with you, roll around on the black sand and log some serious time under that coral tree.”
You remember? His dimples go off like sirens.
“Are you kidding? I’ve grafted every one of the memories we’ve created over my heart. I remember everything about you and me.” I trace out his features with the pad of my finger. “And I want to go snorkeling with you again, watch as you make the butterfly room light up—find a hotel room that we can call our own.”
His brows twitch in amusement. He sears me with a seductive look without trying.
“So, if you want to get cracking on any of those good things you’re going to need to get better, fast.” I hold my wrist up to him like an offering.
He takes my hand and gently pushes my flesh up against his mouth, seals his lips over the wound and kisses it. Gage closes his eyes and indulges in a few good drags. It feels sensual, sexual in nature—desire coupled with pain.
“I thought you were dead,” I whisper, my voice warbling on the verge of tears. “Logan took me away to the Transfer then he disappeared. I thought I’d never get back to you.”
I’m not dead. A shadow digs into his left cheek. I must have dreamed a thousand dreams about you these past two weeks. The curve of a naughty smile brims on his lips.
“All things delicious, I suspect.”
I dreamed of a future with you. We were in school, private college, on a neighboring island. It was just you and me. He strokes the side of my face with the back of his hand, washes his eyes over me with a mixture of sadness and anticipation.
“You think it was a vision?” I soak in his sad earnest gaze. I love the way he makes me feel when he absorbs me through those powerful lenses, like he’s appreciating an exotic painting from afar wondering what it would be like to crawl inside the canvas— a starving man hovering over a hot meal and all he’s allowed to do is take in the aroma.
I know some of them were. We are magic, Skyla. We have everything to live for. His features harden, his mind draws a wall of concrete so high and thick, I could never penetrate into that deep abyss.
“You saw something else?”
Nothing new. Just affirmations of things I’ve seen before.
“Anything you’d like to share?” I take a slow drawn breath—already I know the answer.
I’m tired, Skyla.
“I can cut my finger,” I offer.
He shakes his head, picks up my finger and kisses it before replacing it into the safety of his own warm hand.
I’d split my entire body in half if I thought it would make Gage better.
He looks up at me with surprise, breaks out into a slow spreading smile.
I know you would, Skyla. That’s why I love you.
***
The next morning I’m beyond exhausted. I drive the Mustang to school—the Mustang that has a distinct Gage shaped dent in the fender from trying to snuff the life out of both Oliver boys at once. I thought maybe I could forgive the orange chunk of metal for being a part of the malfeasance that took place that night, especially since I know for darn sure it wasn’t the poor car’s fault, but truthfully I hate it just a little bit for being responsible even if it was on a rudimentary level.
Just looking out the windshield forces me to see that night take place like a transparency overlaid on top of the world. Logan and Gage with their statue white faces—the look of horror on Gage that I had seen once before by way of Marshall’s visionary kisses.
During second period it takes all of my effort to keep myself conscious.
“Ms. Messenger, are you here to acquire numeric knowledge or drift in a dream?” Marshall knocks on his desk to further rally my attention.
“Dream—I mean learn,” I say, straightening in my seat. I stay alert long enough to observe as he cascades a repetitive cloud of numbers and letters across the board in a nonsensical sequence, try to listen as he thunders through his explanation.
“Problems one through five,” he instructs the class before seating himself on the edge of his desk. Marshall watches me, his lingering gaze drifts to my right, and he closes his eyes.
Oh, Skyla, he says it full with disappointment.
I arch my brows at him before indulging in the inevitable and putting my head down onto the desk.
If he’s not elaborating I’m not biting—that’s the thing with Marshall, he always wants a bite. The more flesh to dig his teeth into, the better.
Long night?
I give a quick thumbs up. Actually that’s not why I’m tired. I didn’t stay out too late at the hospital, partially because Logan was waiting in the parking lot. I was up all night listening to Mia and Melissa lob insults at one another through our paper-thin walls. Usually I’m immune to their midnight murmurings, but once their lexicon became vitriolic—laced with bitch and asshole, then, of course, I perked up to attention. I’ve made a mental note that the walls are akin to tattletales for the next time Gage comes over. I bet the girls have been logging each time he sneaks into my bedroom and are holding onto that info for some supreme form of blackmail. Anyway, they hate each other now. And apparently my mother is pretty high on Melissa’s shit-list because, once again, she addressed her as Lizbitch during breakfast and no one said squat. If that’s what Mom and Tad are letting fly around Landon manner, I’d like to come up with my own version of abasement and humiliation tailor made for Taddy dearest.
Rumor has it an archeological dig at the Edinger estate is in your future. Marshall shifts. Care to trade in soggy soil for some time at the ranch? Say the word. I’ll have it arranged within the hour.
“Price is too high,” I say, lifting my head just a notch.
Crap. I just said that out-freaking-loud.
The bell drills its high-pitched wail into my skull, rattles my brain around until foaming at the mouth feels like a real possibility. People are too busy shoving books into their backpacks to properly dissect my newfound verbal insanity, and, I suppose for this, I should be thankful.
A dark figure hovers over me, shadows the world on the other side of my eyelids. I open groggily to find Chloe in all her dark splendor, sharp and beautiful as a rusted out tack. You need a Tetanus shot just to give her a hug.
“I hear Gage is well.” Chloe offers her signature scowl.
The lights flicker as thunder erupts outside, corrugates the classroom with its howling roar.
“What in the hell are you doing here?” For a moment I consider the fact I’m having a bad dream, some kind of hallucination that you’re rewarded with after not enough sleep. I’m shocked to see her standing on West Paragon’s soil as though she were never kicked out in the first place.
“The sword wasn’t mine. I was able to prove there was no way I lugged that thing to school, nor did I plan on stabbing you in the gut with it. I’ve been back for a solid week.” She glances up at Marshall and gives the slight curve of a smile.
No sulking, Marshall reprimands, pretending to clear the clutter off his desk. You know full well you didn’t fulfill your end of the agreement.
Sometimes I really hate Marshall. I should teach them both a lesson and do my best rendition of a batshit ape—lob furniture around and accidently fracture Chloe’s spinal cord, rip her vertebrae out one by one just for the fun of it. I could always plead insanity. I’ve practically got Dr. Booth in my back pocket. I think.
“Yeah, well, Gage is better.” I pull my stuff together and stand. “You were driving the car that night, weren’t you?”
Her smile dissipates. “You think I would do that to my dear friend Gage? What kind of monster do you think I am?”
“The kind that killed my father, killed Ethan, killed Emerson.” I pull back a finger as I log each name. “Yes, Chloe, I do think you’re that kind of monster. A murderous monster who happens to be lost in a perpetual jealous rage over the fact the boy you love doesn’t love you back. Get over it.” I cinch my backpack over my shoulder. “But then you’re in
capable of getting over it, aren’t you?”
Her features contort as I speed out the door.
Logan holds up a hand and high fives me in the hall on my way towards the stairwell. I should tell Logan that Gage wants to see him, tell him how much better Gage is after just one taste of my Celestra fortified goodness. I pivot on my heels and catch Logan pulling Chloe off into an alcove. My stomach does a hard roll, burns hot with its own version of a jealous rage.
I bet that’s Chloe’s new game. Knife me in the back by dating Logan.
If Logan ever gets back together with Chloe, I would totally die.
I suppose that’s how Chloe feels about Gage.
Chapter 10
Never
“Hey!” Brielle shrieks during nutrition. “Look at you! I saw Logan this morning. Did you see him?” She clutches onto me with a rocking hug.
“Look at you,” I take in a sharp breath trying not to look horrified by the fact her stomach is shooting out like a torpedo in her tight knit sweater. It rises and falls dramatically with each breath she takes, smacking me in the boobs on the upswing. It’s like one of those games at the amusement park where you strike the hammer and the ball spikes to hit a bell. I feel like I might be handed a giant stuffed panda at any moment.
“I know. It’s funny, right? I look deformed.” She brushes cookie crumbs off her newfound shelf.
“This coming from the girl who thought it was perfectly acceptable to wear a belly dress to the winter formal? You look fine.” She really does, considering her condition. I’m still not sure where Brielle and I stand. She never did fess up to being a Count until I called her out on it, not to mention the fact she thought it was cute when I showed up to the sacrificial stone as the promised lamb herself. And don’t get me started on the fact Chloe paid her a solid grand to be my bestie. At the least I think she owes me some serious cold hard cash for pretending to be hers, well, I am her friend but that’s beside the point.