The others began to scatter. Throwing sympathetic glances in Lucas’s direction, some hurried toward the stairs, while others made their way to the kitchen. No one wanted to be around my father—especially when he was drinking.
“I-I don’t know, sir,” Lucas stammered.
He released Lucas with a shove, sending him scrambling to where Willow waited for him. Clasping hands, they backed away slowly.
“Logan!” he shouted, between more swigs of vodka. “Where the fuck you at, boy? You better get your ass over here ‘fore I—”
With a heavy breath, I stepped inside the room. Our eyes met—his narrowed into slits, mine carefully blank.
“Creepy little shit,” he snarled. “You’re gonna get yourself shot, you hear me? You keep sneakin’ up on people, you’re gonna wind up on the wrong end of a gun.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied coolly. There was no talking to him, no engaging with him, and definitely no arguing with him. Whatever he said, no matter how ridiculous, no matter how ignorant, I simply agreed.
“Where’s your mother?” he continued. “She sleepin’ again—off takin’ goddamn naps while I’m out huntin’ down food for us all?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“I don’t know—I don’t know,” he mimicked, the scent of alcohol on his breath washing over me and making me nauseous. “Neither of you know nothin’, huh? Two shit-for-brains for kids—how’d I get so fuckin’ lucky?”
“I’ll go look for her,” I offered, moving toward the stairs.
“You’ll stay fuckin’ put!” he thundered, knocking me back with a fist to my chest. “I’ll go get her—she’s my goddamn wife.” Shoving his bottle at me, he started shedding his winter gear.
“Clean this shit up,” he demanded, waving at the pile of wet clothing. Snatching his bottle back, he turned to the stairs.
One, two, three…
As his heavy steps ascended the old staircase, I began counting silently—knowing the fighting would start before I’d reach ten. It always started before ten.
Four, five, six…
And once the fighting began, it would be my responsibility to end it. No one else was going to willingly pry my father off my mother, and, in turn, get the shit kicked out of them for daring to interfere.
Seven, eight, nine…
“Logan?” Lucas whispered.
The sound of a door slamming echoed throughout the house. Heavy footsteps pounded the halls above us. Another door slammed, followed by muffled shouts.
“Do you think we should go up—” Willow began, her words cut off by the blast of a gun. Frightened, frantic screaming followed. Another gunshot, and more screaming, and then the screaming abruptly stopped.
Lucas and Willow’s gazes swung in my direction, wide-eyed and full of fear; I was already in motion, charging up the stairs. Mrs. Gleason, helped along by her grandson, nearly crashed into me as they hurried past me, their expressions stricken.
I paused at the top of the staircase; a hint of sulfur hung in the air, along with the acrid scent of burning. There was a muffled thump in the distance, growing louder as I raced toward the noise. Turning into the last room on the left, I stopped dead.
I saw the gun first—my father’s large caliber handgun, lying unattended in the center of the room. Mere inches from the gun was Willow’s dad, sprawled across the floor, his wide, unblinking eyes staring straight through me. There was a hole in the center of his forehead and another in his cheek, thin trails of blood dripping from each.
Across the room, my father was straddling my mother, his considerable weight dwarfing her small frame. His large hands were wrapped around her neck, shaking her violently, bashing her head into the floor, a pool of red growing beneath her.
“Cheating… whore…” he ground out. “Goddamn… whore…”
I charged him. Barreling into his side, I sent us crashing across the room. We rolled wildly, him grabbing at my face, me hooking my fist into his rib cage, each of us struggling to gain the upper hand.
His jagged fingernails scored my cheek, and as I flinched away, he gripped my throat. My air supply abruptly cut off, he flipped us, smashing my head into the floor, all the while squeezing my throat tighter. Everything went blurry and then black. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t see, and then—
A series of explosions punched through my quickly clouding thoughts. Pop-pop-pop—one after the other, their shrill echoes rang painfully between my ears. The grip on my neck loosened, the weight on my middle fell away; my hands went for my neck as I began to sputter and cough, gasping for air.
Blinking through blurry eyes, I found Willow standing over me. Frozen in place, her arms were outstretched, my father’s gun trembling in her grip, a trail of smoke rising from the barrel. Behind her, Lucas stood in the doorway, gripping the doorframe as if he might fall.
And behind me was my father.
He lay on his side, his eyes wide and bulging, blood dribbling past his lips and down his chin. Gripping his chest with one hand, he took one last wheezing breath before falling still.
“And here we are again,” Lucas seethed, nostrils flaring. “Like mother, like son, right?”
At the mention of our mother, my entire body revolted with rage. None of us knew what my father had walked in on. We could surmise all we wanted—maybe they’d been having an affair, or maybe they’d been friends, merely seeking comfort in each other. We would never know the truth—they’d taken that knowledge to the grave.
“And who are you in this supposed scenario, Luke?” I shouted, my voice cracking alongside the casket of memories being unearthed. “Are you Dad?”
“Do you want me to be? That’s what you need, huh—me to be the bad guy so you can justify what you’ve been doing?” Lucas’s angry gaze flicked to Willow. “What you’ve both been doing.”
Willow’s breath shuddered from her lungs. “I’m sorry,” she gasped through her tears. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Oh, you’re going to cry now?” Lucas sneered. “You were my girlfriend, my best friend, and then the second I’m gone, you’re fucking my brother—and now you’re gonna cry.”
“You were right about her, Logan,” he snarled in my direction. “She is a stupid bitch and I do deserve better.”
Once I’d recovered from the shock of hearing Lucas—good, kind, softhearted Lucas—speaking to Willow the same way our piece-of-shit father had spoken to our mother, I jumped between them. “Don’t you dare,” I growled at Lucas. “Don’t you fucking dare. You come at me all you want, but if you come at her—”
“You’ll what?” Lucas shouted, slamming his hands into my chest, shoving me back. I blinked in surprise, shocked by his strength. “You’ll leave me for dead and start fucking my girlfriend? Oh, wait a minute… ”
Gripping his shirt collar, I yanked him to me. “That’s not what fucking happened!”
“Fuck you!” Lucas spat, his fist slamming into my gut. I folded over, the air whistling from my lungs in a hard rush. I recovered fast, shooting upright, tackling him, trying to wrestle him to the ground. As we fought for control, we crashed around the room, knocking into furniture and nearly knocking over Willow. Lucas had grown stronger during our time apart, leaving us more evenly matched than we’d ever been.
While I struggled to subdue him, Lucas sent another heavy fist to my middle. Groaning, I staggered backward, Lucas rushing me before I could right myself, ramming his elbow into my ribs and sending me slamming into the wall. I watched in what felt like slow motion as his hand barreled toward my face. My head hit the wood, pain erupting in my cheek and jaw. Dazed, with warm blood pooling in my mouth, Lucas gripped my shirt, yanking me to him.
“Stop it!” Willow screamed. “Lucas, no!”
I saw glimpses of Willow as she rushed around Lucas, grabbing at his arms in a vain attempt to pull him off me. With a frustrated shout, Lucas released me and spun away, shoving Willow in the chest and sending her flying across the room. Arms pinwheeling, she tripp
ed backward over the seat of a chair, falling into the table beyond; the hard thump of her head hitting wood echoing throughout the room.
For a moment, I could only stare in horror, a thousand similar memories paving the way to my rage. And then I was roaring at the top of my lungs, charging Lucas, tackling him to the floor. Scrambling over top of him, I grabbed his collar and sent my fist into his face.
“Don’t touch her!” I thundered. “Don’t you ever fucking touch her!”
“Logan.” Willow was on her knees, her hand pressed to her forehead, blood running down the side of her face. “I’m okay. Please… both of you… stop.”
Lucas was motionless beneath me. Staring up at me, his eyes wide, his skin pale, he began to tremble. “I didn’t—I wouldn’t,” he mumbled, stumbling over his words. His eyes filled with tears just as the cabin door flew open, Joshua and Joe bursting inside.
“Jesus Christ.” Joe kneeled beside Willow. “You alright?”
“I’m fine,” she rasped. “Just make them stop… please.”
Joshua’s eyes met mine, dropping to where I still held Lucas in my grip. Releasing him, I staggered back, crashing against the wall. Lucas pushed himself up, his hand rubbing his jaw.
“Joe, get her out of here.” Joshua jerked his thumb toward the door. “I’ll deal with these two.”
I wanted to argue with him. I wanted to go to Willow and take her in my arms and see for myself that she was alright. But I couldn’t seem to move, let alone speak; frozen in place, I could only stare at the remnants of the colossal mess I’d made.
Willow
“What the heck happened?” Doc exclaimed. Having thrown open her front door, she stood in the entrance in her pajamas, squinting into the darkness.
“She’s bleedin’ pretty good,” Joe said, relinquishing his supportive hold on my arm as Doc ushered me inside, seating me beneath a flickering overhead light. Taking my face in hand, she peered closely at my forehead.
“You’re going to need a stitch,” she muttered. “Joe, go grab a towel and press it to the wound—I’ll grab my sewing kit.”
“I’m fine,” I told them, even as my head throbbed.
“I’m fine,” I whispered, even as Doc’s needle pinched my skin.
“I’m fine,” I whimpered, tears slipping free as I crawled into bed beside Britta.
“Hush now, sugar. Just close them eyes. Your mess’ll still be here come mornin’.”
Sleep came in short fitful bursts, ebbing and flowing alongside the swell of sickness that refused to leave me. Each time I closed my eyes, all I could see was Lucas standing at the edge of the dock, pain and betrayal flashing across his face. And every time I opened them, all I could think of was Logan and the haunted look in his eyes as Joe led me, bleeding, from the cabin.
I’d done that—I’d destroyed what little was left of their family.
I left Britta’s bed just before sunrise, the morning twilight not yet visible on the horizon. The grass shimmering with dew, splashed with heavy fog, I flew through camp like a wraith, my bare feet barely skimming the ground. I didn’t know who or what awaited me at the cabin, I only knew that this was my mess, and I had to be there, too.
“Willow.” Lucas stood from the table as I blew through the door, his eyes bloodshot, his chin swollen and mottled with purple and blue. The thud of Logan’s fist crashing against his face echoed and I flinched, shoving the memory away.
“How’s your head?” he asked, touching his own.
I reached for the two sutures at my hairline, flinching as my fingertips grazed them. “It’s… fine,” I said, my words sticking in my throat. “How’s your… face?”
“Fine,” he said.
A beat of silence passed, during which Lucas dropped his gaze and began to fumble with his hands. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I never would have… I mean, it was an accident. I swear it.”
My hand flew to my mouth, as if I might hold back the sob that threatened. “I know that. I know you. I know you’d never hurt anyone, least of all me.”
But even as I said it, the words felt wrong. The old Lucas, yes—he wouldn’t have been capable of hurting someone. This new version—I wasn’t quite so sure about.
“Willow.” Lucas rounded the table, though he didn’t approach me. “What do you think about maybe coming to Everdeen with me? I mean, it’s not as nice as this place, but it could be a fresh start for us.”
A fresh start. The same two words Logan had said to me many months ago. I shook my head, my tears spilling over. Oh god, my heart was breaking. It was literally splitting in two, their names etched upon each piece. Lucas. Logan. The boy I’d loved. The man I loved.
“Last night you said that you and Logan happened because you thought I was dead; well, I’m not dead, am I? I’m right here. We can fix this, Willow. I know we can. We’ll go back to the way things were—me and you against the world, right?” His voice contorted as his eyes implored me.
A single breath left me in a painful puff. His plea was a punch to my already aching chest. “Luke, I don’t think we can.”
“No, I know we can. You were grieving and Logan took advantage of you. This is on him. We can work through it.”
“Luke, no, that’s not what happened. He didn’t take advantage of me. He wouldn’t do that.”
Lucas’s lips thinned, his jaw clenching. “Holy shit,” he ground out. “You’re fucking defending him, again.” As his voice rose along with his temper, I took a step back, nearly tripping over the shoes stacked against the wall. Blinking down at them, my breath froze in my chest.
They were all mine.
My gaze swung across the room, pausing on the empty space beneath Logan’s bed.
The emergency backpack was gone.
Darting across the room, I yanked Logan’s dresser drawers open, one by one.
Empty.
“Luke.” I pressed the back of my trembling hand to my mouth. “Where’s Logan?”
Lucas only stared at me, his stare growing more intense the angrier he grew, until he was red-faced and visibly shaking. I stared back, my breath coming in rapid pants, as if my lungs were attempting to keep time with my furiously beating heart.
“Lucas!” I practically screamed his name. “Where is he?”
“Why do you care where he is?” Lucas roared. “Why does it fucking matter?”
He already knew why—I could see it in his eyes and the twist of his mouth—but he still needed to hear me say it, no matter how painful the admission was going to be. For the both of us.
“Because I love him.” Though softly spoken, my admission was pained and poignant, akin to the scratch of a nail across a chalkboard, the cry of an injured cat, and the squeal of a poorly played violin, and sounded every bit as bitter as it tasted leaving my lips.
But it was true.
The girl I’d been had loved Lucas with her whole heart. We’d shared a million unforgettable moments. He’d been my safe space, my happy place, and my shelter in a storm when I’d needed someone to hold me close and calm those riotous feelings inside me. But that was then and this was now, and I wasn’t the same person anymore. The woman I was didn’t want to feel safe or comfortable. I didn’t want to subdue my passion. I wanted every heart-pounding, stomach-dipping, half-crazed moment and every intense, exhausting, all-consuming second.
And I wanted each one of those seconds with Logan.
Lucas’s eyes blinked closed. My soft words as effective as if I’d screamed them. His face contorted, a thousand different expressions flickering before he settled on a slow-growing sneer. “Logan’s gone,” he spat. “He left last night. Hours ago.”
He was only confirming what I already knew, even so, I felt my stomach sink straight to my knees. He’d left hours ago. Which meant, depending on how fast he was going, he could be miles away by now.
Cursing, I dropped to the floor, pulling out an old military field pack that had belonged to Davey from beneath my bed. I didn’t have much in it,
I’d only just started putting together an emergency pack, but I was hoping I wouldn’t need much—only a few days’ worth of supplies.
“What are you doing?” Lucas snarled as I was stuffing clothing inside the bag. “Are you actually going after him? Do you really think you’ll find him? He’s had hours of walking time and you’re… you.”
Ignoring the slight in favor of pulling a pair of socks on, I turned my attention to lacing my boots up.
“You couldn’t even find me.” Lucas laughed bitterly. “And I was right below your fucking feet.”
I snapped upright, pinning Lucas with an equally cold glare as the one he was leveling at me. Even glaring at him, my eyes began to fill. “Days,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “We searched for you for days and we would have never stopped if I hadn’t gotten sick.”
“But you never went back out, did you? After you’d found this place and you were better, neither of you went looking for me again. You didn’t want to find me, did you?” More horrible laughter rang through the cabin.
I couldn’t speak. There were a thousand things I wanted to say to him, to make him understand, but I already knew he wouldn’t hear me. So what was left? Lucas was entitled to his anger, even if he was wrong. Tears rolling down my cheeks, I shouldered my pack and turned to the door.
“Willow,” he bit out suddenly. “If you walk out of here—if you go after him—you’re never going to see me again.”
I froze with my hand on the doorknob.
Lucas. Logan.
My tears fell faster.
Lucas. Logan.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep, shuddering breath and when I opened them again, I opened the door.
“Goodbye, Luke.”
Willow
Standing in the center of Main Street, with the post office to my left, the shattered storefront of Carole’s Café to my right, I stared up at the town’s barricade looming ahead. I’d spent the entire morning and most of the afternoon searching through Elkin’s Point and its surrounding neighborhoods, without any sign of Logan. It was time to cross the barricade and reenter a world I was no longer accustomed to. A world I’d never traveled alone before.
The Blood that Binds (Thicker than Blood Book 3) Page 32