by Fields, MJ
“Celebrate that you’re alive, girl,” Keeka tells Lisa. “Twenty-seven others wish they could right now.”
“But we mourn their deaths,” Lisa’s mother tells Keeka.
“I bet they’d be celebrating that they were still alive if given the chance.” Her tone is blunt, honest, real, and raw.
“How can you be so sure?” Lisa’s dad scolds Keeka.
“I don’t know your name, sir, but she’s not being disrespectful, so I’m gonna ask you not to treat her disrespectfully,” I tell Lisa’s old man.
“Let’s all take a moment to realize we’re all on the same team here,” Maddox interjects.
“Let’s,” Keeka says matter-of-factly. “Let’s think about what Jones and Downs would be doing right this moment.”
“Are they” comes London’s voice, “dead?”
I look back at her as Keeka answers the question she and I both have. “Jones is. Downs is in critical condition at University.”
I grab the counter when I feel my knees start to buckle.
Seeing the bodies in the club, even having pulled them off London, I didn’t allow myself to think about them. Had I, I wouldn’t have gotten her to safety. But now, knowing that two of my teammates were also there, it hits a little bit harder.
Jones, I knew it was possible, but it was also possible that he wasn’t gone. Now it’s confirmed. Downs, he and I were tight, so it hits pretty fucking hard.
Keeka and London hug, and London begins to cry again.
“We mourn, we give them respect, then we live like they’d want us to, London. You live because you can. They would want that,” Keeka says quietly.
“Did you know them?” Brody asks.
Both London and Keeka reply, “Yes.”
Christy and Jamie walk out, both looking worse than they did before they fell asleep.
“Logan.”
Mitch’s voice draws me away from them. When I look at him, I realize he’s looking at Jamie. His face distorts as he works through several emotions, the last being anger. I don’t answer him, I let him take in that she’s okay.
He points at her. “You’re fucking lucky you’re okay.”
I look at her to gauge her reaction. She looks shocked. Even more so when he stalks toward her.
When he gets close enough, he grabs the back of her head with one hand, pulls it hard against his chest, and sighs, “Jesus Christ, Jamie.”
She lets out a long, slow breath. “I’m fine.”
“Wasn’t gonna believe it till I saw it.” He wraps his arms around her. “No more shit. None.”
Her, “Okay,” is but a whisper.
CHAPTER FOUR
* * *
‘Cuse Nation
Logan
It wasn’t fucking easy to leave Maddox and Harper’s place. It would have been harder to leave her, but she pushed me out the door with the words, “They need your strength, too.” That literally, and even under the circumstances we have faced, are facing, and will continue to face, brought life to a place that hadn’t felt alive since I landed in Syracuse. Her physical beauty, coupled with her physical strength, is absolutely a turn on.
Dad insisted we drive his SUV, since Mitch’s ride doesn’t have four-wheel drive. In the winter months in Upstate, New York, it’s pretty fucking important to have four-wheel drive.
When I open the driver’s side door, Mitch holds up the keys. “No disrespect, man, but I’m gonna drive.”
“Fuck you are.” I force a laugh. I really hate riding.
“I’m being one hundred percent real with you right now. I saw how you parked Black Betty, and I’m not chancing it, man.” He stands next to me, not caving in. Then, after a few moments of a stare down, he shakes his head. “And you look like shit. You need to sleep.”
“Fuck,” I sigh out and step back. “Fine, but I’m driving back.”
“We’ll see about that,” he says, sliding into the driver’s seat.
I get in the passenger seat, and he starts it up, throwing it into drive.
“So,” he starts, “London Fields.”
“Leave it alone.”
“Just saying, no wonder you were so over the top about her.” He chuckles.
“Known her half my life,” I tell him. “She’s been through some shit. Just wants normal. That’s why, Mitch.”
“A girl like that doesn’t get normal,” he says as if he actually gets it.
“Two days ago, I would have agreed. Now, no one seems to get normal. Or maybe this shit is the new norm.”
“Sad as fuck, man, sad as fuck.”
§
We spent two hours at the hospital. The entire team took turns going in and out of Downs’ room. His parents, Chuck and Wendy, were with him the entire time. They seemed appreciative that we were all there, but I could imagine they just wanted to be alone with him. My stomach turns as we drive toward my old place at thinking about the hell they are living in right now. The same hell Ava lived. We all lived.
I can’t even imagine what you are going through.
One sentence. Nine words that you say or hear repeatedly in times like this. Nine words used to acknowledge suffering and anguish in a person you want to console.
The reality is, yes, you can imagine. Anyone who has lost someone they love can damn sure imagine. Anyone who has sat and watched a person breathing through a tube can imagine. Anyone who has been there knows damn well what it feels like to feel hopeless, helpless, and weak. Anyone who has been there also knows that, when sitting there, feeling those crushing emotions, we certainly can’t imagine that anyone has ever survived that amount of pain.
I can’t even imagine what you are going through.
But you can if you actually allow yourself to.
“You good?” Mitch asks.
I shake my head no yet answer, “Yes.”
When we pull into the parking lot across the road, I see a packed house. Mitch gets out, while I just stare at the fucking place. I have no desire to be there. None.
The passenger door is opened. “You coming?”
I shrug. “Why don’t you go ahead? I’d like to grab the shit out of my truck.”
“All right.” He closes the door then walks around the front, opens the driver’s door, and gets in. “You know where it’s at?”
“No, but I can do this myself,” I tell him, kind of annoyed that he doesn’t get that I want to be alone.
“You may want to, but you don’t need to.”
“Mitch...” I grumble.
“Don’t, man, just fucking don’t.” He starts the vehicle, then reaches up and turns on the radio. “Google the address.”
When we pull up to the impound, Boyens is there waiting. We walk up to the gate, and she opens it, waving us in.
When I see my vehicle, I see it’s so much more fucked up than I imagined. And although it shouldn’t shock me, it does.
The glass is all busted out, and there are holes all over the front end, all made by the bullets from that fucker’s guns.
I open the driver’s side door.
“Logan, be careful,” Boyens warns.
I reach in and grab one of my hats off the console, shake the glass off, and hand it to Mitch. Then I open the console and grab my wallet. I keep pictures of Hope and Chance in it. I don’t give a fuck about the rest of it, but those I do. Fucking condoms fill up most of the glovebox and console anyway.
I grab the chain around the mirror; a St. Christopher’s medallion my mother gave me when I got my license, meant for protection during travel. It’s almost comical that my parents, who despise one another and who appear to be opposites since the divorce, have a similar vested interest in making sure I’m protected.
I grab a few more things, keeping my focus on those items and allowing my amused thoughts to keep me distracted from the fact that my truck looks like it’s been in a war.
“You don’t wanna grab Daddy Links’ bag-o-condoms?” Mitch jokes as he points back at the full bag, the
one Jamie once pointed out in that first night we all went out.
“No need. Next woman I’m with is getting it raw,” I tell him.
He smirks. “London Fields.”
“You better make sure you have more than condoms, son,” Boyens says from behind me. Hell, I forgot she was even there. “A full suit of armor may be the smarter choice. The eldest Hines doesn’t seem too fond of you.”
I nod, then shrug. “I’m not too worried about him.”
She sighs. “Doesn’t surprise me. You weren’t too worried about a man with a gun shooting up a bar either.”
“Does that make him brave or stupid?” Mitch jokingly asks her.
She laughs. “There’s a fine line between the two.”
When we get in the car, I grab my phone from the charger. I ignore the exuberant number of messages from my family and scroll through to look for the saved messages from London.
I regret the time I spent needing to try to make things right with my mom. It was time wasted.
I begin to type a message that isn’t bullshit pleasantries like we have sent back and forth since that fucking kiss...since cuddle season began.
If you had died, I would have killed you.
After I send it, I stare at the screen, waiting for a reply. Not even those dots that jump around when she’s replying show up.
How messed up is it that, until her, I never even noticed those damn things?
I watch forever, and when nothing pops up, I’m irritated to say the very fucking least.
I toss the phone on the console and groan as I sit back.
“What’s on your mind?” Mitch asks.
“Lawrinson. We need to stop there before heading to the house. And we need to make it quick. I want to get home.”
“Sure thing, Miss Daisy.” He snickers.
I let my irritation spill out. “I can fucking drive.”
He doesn’t let my shit-tastic mood affect him. Fucking guy is tits in my book. “Yeah? So you keep saying.”
When Kashmir sounds off on the console, I grab my phone.
A message from Keeka.
There’s no damn Uber in this town?
There’s not even a stop light, Keeks. What’s up?
Her message is immediate
Just not feeling well.
We can head back. I haven’t stopped at the house yet. I’ll make it quick.
The dots are jumping.
No hurry. I’m just tired.
Take a nap. We’ll see you soon.
Wouldn’t that be rude?
I laugh and type my response.
No. And hey, is London around? I sent her a message and got no reply. She okay?
Her reply is immediate, like London’s should have been.
Her phone was in the club. Her sister-in-law got a new one for her. It’s charging.
Thank you, Harper, I think as I reply.
Let her know I messaged.
It takes a moment for her to message back.
Will do. BTW, you are totally transparent.
That’s a little annoying, I think as I type, needing clarification.
Meaning?
She’s typing, and I’m waiting, wishing I had never noticed those damn jumping dots.
You are in, like, puppy love with her. It’s “cute.”
Cute? Fuck no!
It’s not fucking “cute,” Keeks. It’s fucking dangerous.
I toss my phone on the dash as Mitch pulls up in front of Lawrinson.
“You wait here. This isn’t gonna take long,” I tell him as I open the door to get out.
“Man, don’t pull some stupid shit and get arrested,” he says behind me.
“Not planning on it.” I shut the door and hurry into Lawrinson Hall, immediately seeing him as soon as I walk in.
Well, I guess it’s my lucky fucking day.
I can’t help chuckling at the dork. He’s wearing a fucking bowtie.
“Reeves,” I call out as I close in on him.
“Links,” he replies, not masking his annoyance. “How is she?”
Fucker must be stupid. “That’s none of your damn business.”
“It is my business.”
I want to bust his face, but I told Mitch I wasn’t planning on getting arrested. This fucker would press charges.
“You’re gonna get a call or a text from London at some point, telling you the truth in what happened last night. She was under a lot of stress from the hell she went through. It wasn’t you she wanted her fucking lips on. It was me. You aren’t her boyfriend. She did it to piss me off.”
He starts to interrupt, but I don’t give him the chance.
“You’re going to accept it, because it’s the fucking truth. You’re going to tell her that you understand because, unless you’re a total fucking idiot, you see what’s between her and me. And you’re not gonna give her shit or make a move when she comes back. Because, right now, she doesn’t want to come back. She’s gonna kick and scream all the fucking way here. It’s gonna be hard, but she’ll do it. She has to. It’s her fucking dream, and she deserves a chance to follow it. So, you fuck it up, I’ll bust your face.”
He crosses his arms, a non-defensive move, but I see through his shit.
“Are you finished?”
Idiot say fucking what?
“Good. Contrary to what you believe, I’m not stupid. I know exactly what went down when she got off that elevator. If, for one second, I thought her freshman move was legitimate, she’d have spent the night in my arms.”
I’m going to fucking jail.
“I have no interest in a girl who has a childlike crush on a boy who also uses freshman moves and Neanderthal intellect to maneuver his way through love. I’m also going to try not to point out the utter stupidity in you playing grab-ass with a girl for the better part of a semester then blowing her off when, clearly, you are even deeper in lust, or love, or whatever this thing is with the two of you than she is. You need to get your shit together, Links, or you’re going to lose her.”
“Lose her? Who the fuck do you think you are?” I swear to God my voice just pulled some prepubescent shit on me.
His suppressed smirk tells me I’m right.
“I know exactly what I want in a woman. Which means, whoever I choose will want the exact same thing, or I’ll move on. You’d do well to play by the same rule.”
“You are truly asking for an ass kicking, Reeves,” I snarl.
“Do what you have to do, Links. I won’t back down. Instead, I’ll give you some more words of advice.” He leans in and whispers, “Try using your words, big guy.”
I’m two seconds away from pounding his face in.
“Logan!” I hear Mitch’s voice and look over my shoulder as he nods to the door and walks toward me. “Let’s roll.”
“Leave her the fuck alone.” I push my finger into Reeve’s chest. Then, unable to stop myself, I reach up and tug his stupid fucking bowtie. “Nice fucking tie.”
Mitch laughs. “Come on.”
As I turn to walk away, he has the balls to say, “Nice track pants.”
I turn to clock him, but Mitch grabs my elbow. “No jail, Links.”
He’s right. No time for that shit. I need to get home.
I start for the door when I hear Mitch say, “You even think about going after Jamie next, I’ll tie your nuts up with that thing.”
“Oddly, I’m not concerned. I’m not sure you’d know how to tie one. I’m even more sure that you’d never get close enough to my nuts,” Reeves replies.
“You fuck with mine, I’ll make both happen,” Mitch sneers at him.
Now I’m grabbing him.
“Mitch!” Reeves yells, and we both look back. “How many licks does it take to get to the center of—”
“Don’t!” I grab Mitch as he turns to go after him.
“Are you fucking kidding me, man?” Mitch yells. “You spying on them?”
“Would never be included in something that I’m
not wanted to be included in.” Then the fucker holds his fingers up in a V. “Squad oath.”
“You mother—”
The dorm security guard walks out of the bathroom. “Is there a problem?”
“No problem at all.” Fletcher smiles as he hits the button on the elevator and steps in.
Reeves turns to face us, fixes his tie, and then looks at his watch. As the doors close, he gives us a little bitch wave.
I pull Mitch out the door and head to the driver’s side.
“I can fucking drive,” he snaps.
“Not gonna happen,” I tell him.
§
Sitting on the couch in my old place as the entire team sits around, talking about Jones and Downs, I’m restless. I need to do something. There is a small part of me that feels a bit of guilt for not knowing they were even there, but like Maddox pointed out to the detectives, it’s not possible to know where everyone is to keep them safe at all times. A bigger part of me knows that restlessness, anger, and sadness would not be the only emotion I would be feeling if I had lost her, or if she was lying in that ICU bed at University. I would be wrecked.
I look at my phone again to see if she’s replied. She hasn’t.
I look through the messages. Stupid fucking messages, almost meaningless.
Almost.
They meant something. They meant we were both thinking about each other.
When I left for New York City, it was hard as hell. It hurt. The pain reminded me of a sliver under my fingernail that I couldn’t pull out, knowing it would hurt too damn much. I knew if I didn’t mess with it, it really wasn’t that unbearable. But I learned that, when it was left there too long, an infection would begin, and that gnawing pain would be far worse than Dad going at it with a pin and tweezers. Then, well, then it would heal and you forgot about it until the next time it happened.
The way London and I ended cuddle season was perfect, but that gnawing pain was there with each text, each time I saw her, each time we hid in a closet and dry-fucked until I was going to, or did, come in my fucking pants.
I didn’t want to be her sliver, her pain, her infection, so the texts stopped.
Sounds sweet, kind, like a loving gesture. It was somewhat. But I also knew the next time she felt feelings for someone else, like a sliver under her nail, she would be reminded of me, her first kiss. And while we can all lie to ourselves about shit ending “nicely,” we know the reality is we will always remember. We will remember the good and the bad, and then we will think twice about ever putting ourselves in that fucking position again.