“Got it.” I glance over at Logan, who is still sitting on the other quad, waiting for me. He gives me an encouraging nod of support, his helmet bobbing. I smile at him nervously, then look back at Bick.
He meets my eyes. “You’re in complete control. It’ll only go as fast as you want it to. If you get scared, just let off the throttle.”
I smile wider, feeling oddly relieved at his words. He said exactly what I needed to hear. I’m in control.
Bick hits the start button, and the bike rumbles to life beneath me. It’s not as loud as the one I just got off, which is somehow reassuring. “Have fun. And be sure to slow down on those corners.”
I nod. I can do this. I can totally do this. My mom may have ridden quads but it’s not what killed her, or anything. It can’t be that dangerous.
I think.
I push on the throttle with my thumb, so lightly at first that the engine just rumbles a little louder, but the quad itself doesn’t move. I push harder, and the wheels finally turn, and just like that, I’m off.
My arms and legs are tense at first, as if the bike is going to take off on its own if I don’t hang on tightly enough, but eventually, I feel myself relax, settle into the ride. Logan rolls along next to me, his helmet moving up and down as he glances back and forth between me and the stretch of grass in front of him.
After a full lap, my confidence grows, and I pick up speed, gliding through the fields faster and faster with each turn.
My grin spreads across my face. I wasted so much time being afraid of these things…and for what? They’re amazing. I feel like I’m flying.
The corner looms closer, and I let off the gas, moving my foot to tap on the brake. I expect the bike to slow down so that I can take the corner at a reduced speed—just like the blue one did when Logan was driving—but instead it starts shaking. At first, I wonder if maybe I’m just hitting a series of potholes, but then the shaking turns violent, and I realize that this just doesn’t feel right. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, so I hit the brakes hard and tighten my grip on the handle. But it doesn’t matter…I’m at the corner now and moving too fast.
I turn the handle and lean hard to the left, trying to slow in time for the turn. The front of the bike jerks hard and goes down, like it’s fallen into a big hole.
I fly over it to the right, and the bike goes with me, rolling.
Hundreds of pounds of steel and motor roll over top of me, the air in my lungs smashing right out. My shoulder screams in pain as the bike completes its course, landing next to me on its side. My left foot is twisted, stuck under the foot peg.
I gasp for air. My lungs burn, refusing to expand. I try to sit up, get my foot out from under the bike, but my right shoulder throbs with pain.
I lie there for what seems like hours, gasping, until footsteps sound near me. “Harper!”
I look up as Logan drops to his knees next to me. “Are you okay?”
I can’t breathe well enough to speak, so I just nod. The grass is cold, tickling the skin on my neck that’s not covered by the helmet.
Logan looks me up and down, realizes the bike is still resting on my foot, and stands up, trying to shove it.
Another engine roars, loud, and then Bick’s there too, jumping off his quad, running to mine to help Logan roll it off my foot.
“What the hell happened?” Bick asks, crouching down. He goes to touch me, but stops himself, as if not sure he won’t break me.
I manage a weak smile. “I don’t know,” I say, wheezing. “One minute I was riding and then the next it just went down.”
“The wheel came off,” Logan says, dropping down on my other side. “Can we help you up? Can you walk?”
I look over at the quad. It sits crookedly, leaning forward at a funny angle.
“What do you mean, the wheel came off?” I sit up, gasping at the pain that tears down my arm. “Owwwwww. I think I broke something,” I say, through clenched teeth.
Logan loops his arm around my waist, pulls me to my feet. “The wheel,” he says, pointing. It’s rolled all the way to the fence line, where it leans against the barbwire.
“I don’t get it,” I say, dizzy now, either from the pain or the loss of oxygen or both. I can’t seem to grasp the theory of a wheel flying off on its own.
“I don’t either,” says Bick, shaking his head. The expression on his face has me worried that my condition is even worse than it seems.
“Come on, let’s get you in,” Logan says, scooping me up, cradling me in his arms like a baby.
“I’m not an invalid,” I protest, as the world spins and tilts on end.
“No, you’re hurt. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
I lean my temple against Logan’s chest and close my eyes as he carries me across the wide field, bigger than three football fields. Every step he takes jars my shoulder, and the pain comes off me in waves. Behind us, Bick’s quad roars to life again, and then he’s gliding along beside us, his helmet left behind somewhere.
Footsteps sound out, and I open my eyes to see Adam and Allie jogging over to us.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” Allie asks, her face flushed.
“I should call your dad,” Adam says, flipping his phone open.
“He won’t answer,” I say.
“I know, but I’ll leave him a message and then me and Allie can go to your house and tell him what happened.”
“That’s a good idea,” says Logan, his voice deep and rumbly, with my ear resting on his shoulder like it is. “Tell him to meet us at the hospital.”
“Sure.” Adam nods, then turns away as he starts talking into the phone.
I’m right: it’s an answering machine.
Bick jumps off his quad, then jogs across the driveway as Logan carries me across the gravel. Bick opens the door to the Jeep and holds it as Logan sets me gently down inside. “Do you need me to do anything?” Bick asks, standing anxiously to the side.
I open my mouth to speak, but Logan beats me to it. “No, just go take care of your bikes. We’ll call you as soon as we know if anything’s broken,” Logan says, his voice authoritative, in control. It calms me, somehow. I relax into the seat as Logan buckles my seatbelt.
I close my eyes and rest my head against the seatback. “I’m okay,” I mumble, hoping to reassure Bick. Behind him, Allie and Adam are climbing into Adam’s car, off on their quest to find my dad.
Logan shuts my door, and moments later he’s in his own seat, slamming his door and starting the car, and then we’re pulling out of Bick’s driveway, heading to the hospital.
CHAPTER TEN
I lean forward, wincing as Logan slides my favorite pillow behind my back, then pulls a comfortable old quilt over my legs. I’m not sure I noticed, until now, just how much this couch sinks when I lay down on it.
“That better?”
“Uh-huh.” I settle back into the cushions, wiggling around so that the Velcro on my new brace doesn’t rub on my shoulder blades. Thanks to a few X-rays, I now know that I have a broken collarbone. Six weeks of this ugly brace and I should be good as new. “Um, Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“Sorry about my dad freaking out on you.”
Logan sighs, taking a seat at the other end of the couch and pulling my feet onto his lap. “You heard that?”
“You didn’t close the door when you stepped out into the hall.”
“Oh,” Logan says. “It’s okay, though. He didn’t say anything I wasn’t thinking. I should have protected you, and I put you in harm’s way. He was just worried.”
“Scared,” I correct. Even though I couldn’t see my dad’s face when he talked to Logan, I could hear his voice. And it sounded like he was barely holding it together.
“Of?” Logan asks, lightly rubbing the sole of my sock-clad foot. I’m suddenly glad I’m not wearing embarrassing mismatched or holey socks.
“Losing me,” I say, staring at his fingers on my feet so that I don’t have to meet his eyes. �
�Like he did my mom.”
“I thought your mom died from a fall?”
I nod. “She did, but it could have been anything. See, my dad is like me. Not super adventurous, you know? My mom, she was different, always trying new things, never sitting still.” I chew on my lip, fighting the rising pressure in my chest. “After my mom died, I could tell he was relieved that I became more like him. That he wouldn’t have to worry about me the way he did about her.”
“You can’t live in fear,” Logan says. “You could die from crossing the street or eating a bad cantaloupe.”
“I know. That’s why I appreciate what you’re doing for me. My dad will come around.”
The conversation falls away, and I close my eyes for a moment, concentrating on the small circles Logan is rubbing on the bottom of my feet. When I finally open them, I’m surprised to see the droplets of rain streaking down the windows.
“So much for our sunny day, huh?” I say, nodding toward the window. Dark clouds have moved in since I left Bick’s house three hours ago.
Logan slides out from under my feet and walks to the window, staring out for a long moment. “What is with this town? Every time I turn around, it’s stormy.”
“October’s always like that. It’s the Cascades. They trap the clouds here instead of letting them move over to Eastern Washington.”
“Oh,” he says. He finally turns back to me. “I should probably get going. Can I get you anything else? Water maybe?”
“Nah, I’m okay. I just took some pain pills so they’ll kick in soon.”
Logan walks to the coffee table and pushes it closer, then arranges the remotes so they’re all within reach. Or they would be, if my arm wasn’t in a sling. I don’t point this out to him, because I find the gesture to be totally sweet.
“You think your dad will actually remember to check on you like he said? I don’t want to leave you alone.”
“He’s just out in the barns. I know where he’s at if I need him.”
Logan nods and goes back to the window. A moment later, headlights splash across the wall. “Allie’s here,” he says.
“Really?”
I start to sit up, then wince again as my shoulder screams in protest.
“Yeah. She texted you a couple hours ago, while you were in X-ray. I told her you’d be released soon.”
Moments later, the front door swings open. Allie appears, holding a giant casserole dish. “So, my mom found out you went to the hospital and made you tuna casserole. It’s probably disgusting.”
I giggle, and it shakes my shoulder, sending a fresh wave of pain down my body. “Ow. Don’t make me laugh.”
Outside, the rain thickens, until I can hear the hum of it on the roof. Logan turns and stares out at the half-obscured glass. “I guess I better go. You guys sure you’ll be okay?”
Allie reaches into her purse. “I brought Titanic. We’re good for a few hours at least.”
Logan smiles, then walks back over to me and kisses me on the forehead. “All right. I’ll leave you girls to it.” Then, turning back to me, he says, “Text me later?”
“Mm-hmm,” I reply, watching as Allie crosses the room and slides open our DVD player.
“Okay then. Have a good one.”
And like that he’s gone, just as the rain really picks up. When the door swings open, the sound of it is positively roaring.
“Kinda sick of this weather,” Allie says, dropping the DVD into the slot and pushing the mechanism closed.
“Yeah. It’s getting old.”
“Do you have popcorn?” she asks, turning the TV on.
“Yep, it’s in the drawer to the right of the kitchen sink.”
“Cool. Be right back,” she says, strolling out of the room.
I try to remember the last time we had a chance to sit through the whole Titanic movie, but I can’t. It must have been at least a year ago…before she got together with Adam.
I watch Logan’s headlights in the window as he pulls out. He’s been amazing today, holding my hand at the hospital, waiting for hours while I got X-rays, listening to my dad rant about how he’s supposed to watch out for me, not get me hurt. And he did it all without the blink of an eye.
By the time Allie returns with the popcorn, the movie is rolling. Allie plunks down on the worn-out leather loveseat, handing me my own small bowl.
It’s a little awkward, holding the bowl with my sling-clad hand and eating with the other. Getting used to this is going to suck.
“I forgot how much I love this movie,” Allie says. “Leo is so hot in it.”
I lay my head against the pillow, tossing a few pieces of popcorn in my mouth. “I think he’s cuter now. He’s too baby-faced in this movie. Kate Winslet totally outshines him.”
“No way. He’s smokin’,” Allie says, twisting around on the couch so her legs are up against the back and her head’s upside down. Her own little popcorn bowl rests on her stomach.
I snort. “He’s maybe a seven. She’s definitely a ten. I’d give anything to look like her.”
Allie twists around and sits up, setting her bowl down on the coffee table. “You’re at least as hot as her, you just don’t have all the smoke and mirrors. A makeup artist and a good stylist, you’d look better than she does.”
I laugh. “Yeah, right.”
“Seriously.” Allie lights up. “Actually, my makeup is in the car. Let me give you a makeover.”
I stop chewing and stare at her, realizing she’s serious. “No way,” I say.
“Come on! You totally owe me.”
“For what?”
“For riding quads because Logan asked you, and not the thousand times I suggested it,” she says. I can’t tell if she’s being playful or serious. Maybe Bick wasn’t the only one bothered by my sudden change of heart.
I do kind of feel bad about riding quads for Logan and not for them—even if I ended up getting injured—but she just doesn’t understand that things are different with him. He knows about my fears, and he’s helping with them. Allie means well, and she’s an amazing friend, but there are times I need her and she’s too involved with Adam to notice.
I look back at the movie, watching as Kate Winslet climbs over the railing on the boat, her hair flowing out around her in the ocean breeze. “You can’t really think I’d look that good.”
Allie slides forward on the couch, steepling her hands. “Please please please please please? Just give me a chance. It’s not like you have anything else on your oh-so-full agenda. You’re practically an invalid.”
I snort, and she grins sheepishly at me.
“Okay. Fine. Let’s do it.”
She squeals and claps her hands together. “I promise you won’t regret it.”
Except I might already.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Sit still!” Allie says, unwinding my smoking hair from the curling iron she just-so-happened to find in her car. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she planned it. Maybe she thought I’d be so hopped up on medicine I would somehow not notice a stealth makeover.
I watch my nose scrunch up in the bathroom mirror. I’m afraid to look at the charred remains of my hair. “Are you sure it’s supposed to smoke like that?”
“It’s not smoke. It’s steam. I put some product in it,” she says, indignant.
“Steam. Right.” I shift my weight on the old wooden stool and chew on the inside of my cheek, rethinking this whole idea. “What if I show up at school tomorrow with half of my hair missing? I’m sure Logan would be super attracted to me then.”
She flinches, stares at my hair as if I said she just screwed it all up. “What?” I ask, my mouth going dry. I knew I would regret this.
“Nothing,” she says, not meeting my eyes in the mirror.
“I really don’t like that expression when you’re burning my hair off.”
“I told you, it’s all normal. You really should do this stuff more often. Then you’d know.”
“Hey, I managed to
snag Logan,” I say.
“Yeah, though God knows how,” she says, grinning slyly. “It was a Sunday morning, which means two things: You probably fed the calves first and you totally smelled like a farm, and you were still wearing your pajamas.”
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