by Jayne Frost
“Illiteracy,” I joked. “It’s not just for inbred hicks anymore.” My attempt at humor fell flat, and she frowned, concern etching her brow. No pity, though. I smoothed the wrinkles with my thumb. “That’s why I went to LA. To meet with a doctor who specializes in adult dyslexia.”
“But, I know people with dyslexia. Dylan has dyslexia. He can read.”
After explaining to Tori about the three different types of the disorder, mostly to buy some time, I sat back with my arm behind my head. Easier to look at the ceiling for this.
“I have the garden variety brand of dyslexia. Except …”
When I didn’t finish the thought, Tori snuggled against my side, gazing up at me with her chin resting on my chest like I was about to tell her a bedtime story. Having her this close, it should’ve warmed me, but I was cold all over. I hadn’t figured out how to relate the story without re-living it. So far, only Dr. Patel and the therapist she’d recommended in Austin had witnessed the telling.
“Remember how I told you my mom died when I was eight?” I felt her nod, and I took a last gulp of air, enough to sustain me for my descent into the murky depths of my memory. And then I closed my eyes. “I was there.”
Eight Years Old
Mama gave me a little shove, and I stumbled onto the wooden steps in front of the trailer.
“Take your sister and get out to the car,” she whispered, setting Laurel on her feet beside me. Peering around Mama, I saw Daddy sleeping on his chair. My lip curled back, and Mama grabbed my chin.
“Logan, baby, do as you’re told. I’ll be there in a minute.”
I wasn’t a baby, but I didn’t mind it when Mama called me that. So I nodded. She kissed my forehead.
“Ugh … Lo, stop pulling my arm,” Laurel whined. “Lo-gan!”
I should’ve been paying attention. Should’ve made her be quiet.
But it was too late. The light flickered on, and my daddy’s roar sliced through the night air. “Elizabeth! You hidin’ from me, bitch?”
Laurel stopped dead in her tracks. “Daddy …”
Turning toward the dirty window, I saw him. Daddy. He was out of his chair. And then he roared again. And Mama screamed.
Yanking Laurel’s arm, I dragged her toward Mama’s beat up old Mustang. “Shut up. Shut up,” I pleaded. “He’s going to hear you.”
My hand slipped off the door handle. Once. Twice. I rubbed my sweaty palm on my jeans.
God, please, help me.
And the door opened. And then we were inside.
The window in the backseat was little. But still I could see. Mama was on the porch now. One of Daddy’s hands around her mouth, the other in her hair. “Who are you going to see?” He shook her. “Huh? You cheatin’ on me?”
Mama did that thing she told me to do when Daddy was angry. She just … stopped.
It worked, and his hand slid off her mouth. “We’re outta milk, Jake. I need some for the kids’ cereal.”
Maybe it was her voice—she had the voice of an angel—but he stopped jerking her around. “Don’t you be leaving me alone with these kids very long, woman. You got ten minutes.”
Mama’s eyes jumped to the car for only a second, and I knew to get down. Daddy thought we were inside the trailer, me and Laurel. I shoved my sister on the floorboard so she wouldn’t ruin the plan. She glared up at me. “Sorry, sissy.”
“Go on now,” Daddy growled, and he shoved Mama down the steps. She landed on her hands and knees. But it didn’t faze her. She pulled herself to standing and, wiping her hands on her dress, she walked toward the car.
Run, Mama.
But she didn’t. Her eyes locked on mine as she took careful steps, scooting around the empty beer bottles and soda cans.
Just a little farther, Mama.
I saw Daddy before she did. He burst out of the trailer, his wallet in his hand. “Where’s my money, you whore?!”
And he was running. And Mama was running. She slid behind the wheel, and the engine fired up. “Logan … stay down. Don’t let him see you.”
But as she pulled away, I peered over the backseat. Just my eyes, like an alligator. And Daddy was in his truck.
The car went all funny, the way it did that time Mama drove over the ice. I tumbled onto the seat, and we were going so fast. But I was happy. And Mama smiled at me in the rearview mirror. She was happy too.
“It’s okay, baby.”
It seemed like a long time passed, but I wasn’t sure. Because my eyes were droopy, and Mama was singing that Judds’ song about grandpas’ and the good old days. The car pulled to a stop, and I blinked at the red light. Mama reached over to change the radio. And then I heard tires squeal and she looked up. Her eyes got real wide and she glanced around all quick like. A flash of blond hair outside the window. Mama’s mouth barely moved when she said, “Be a good boy, Logan. Watch your sister.”
The car door ripped open, and I dove onto the floorboard next to Laurel.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
I peeked over the seat and saw Mama on the ground. She was bleeding. She was bleeding so much. And then I noticed the car in front of us. Just for a second. There was a red glow around the license plate. I stared at it. Stared and stared until it sped away.
And then someone was leaning in the car. A man with blood on his hands. “Is this your Mama?” He was big, with a beard, but he sounded scared.
I nodded and looked back out the window. And the other car was gone.
“Don’t move,” said the bearded man.
I didn’t move. But I hoped he’d come back. And he did. When he pulled the seat back and held out his hand for me to take, I saw Mama’s legs. But her top half was covered with a blanket. A yellow blanket with a big, red blotch. The blotch looked wet. I didn’t want to look at the blotch. Instead, I looked at Mama’s legs. One of her shoes was missing. It was the red sandal with the little bow that fit between her toes.
When the bearded man helped me out of the car, he looked surprised to find Laurel clinging to my waist. Pulling her closer to me, I looked up at the man, and in my most polite voice, I asked, “Can you find my mama’s shoe, sir?”
She needed her shoe. For when she got up.
The bearded man took my hand, and he grunted something that sounded like, “I’m sorry.” And then he told me to sit on the bumper of a big truck. I did that too.
And then there were lights. Red lights. And blue lights. And the blotch was bigger.
The policeman knelt in front of me. He asked me questions. I told him about the car. I told him about the red glowy light. I told him everything.
And then there were two of them. Both on their knees, talking to me.
“Concentrate, son. You want to help us, don’t you? Just tell us what you saw. The license plate on the back of the car. Give us a letter.”
I tried. I tried so hard.
“I can’t,” I said and looked down at the pavement.
The policeman stood up, and there were spots of blood on his boots. And through his legs, I saw Mama. There were people around her now. And there was no more blotch. Just red. Red hair. Red dress. Red.
The policeman leaned forward again, his forehead all scrunched. He smelled like how Mama did in the morning. Like coffee.
“Son, if you want to help your mama, you need to concentrate and give us a letter.”
And I knew what he meant. If I didn’t give him a letter my mama would die. So I tried some more. And no letters came.
And she died.
By the time I finished my story, day had slipped into night. I was on my back now, Tori’s hot, salty tears soaking through my T-shirt. Forehead pressed to my temple and lips a hair’s breadth from my ear, she spoke in a faint whisper.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Over and over she said it, fingers digging into my shoulder where she held onto me. I wanted to tell her it was okay, that I was fine, but I couldn’t form the words. My lids were too heavy, and I was so fucking tired.
/>
Banding my arm around her waist, I took my last bit of energy and rolled us onto our sides.
Face-to-face now, I threaded a hand in her messy hair. “Stay with me, baby.”
My voice was thick, the words slow and slurred. I was drunk on Tori and truth, and I hadn’t slept in weeks. And it didn’t even matter that she’d probably be gone when I woke up. Or that there would be no sex. Right now, she was here. And she smelled of warmth and safety and cookies. And I loved her.
And I might’ve said that too.
65
He’d said it. Not once, but twice.
I love you.
I love you.
It was like an echo. In the room and in my heart. And I so wanted him to mean it. I wanted the words to be true.
Tipping back, I peered down at Logan’s face. Beneath the stubble and the faint shadows bruising his eyes, I saw an eight-year-old boy. Lost and alone. And in that moment, I felt our connection, the something that bound us beyond lust, love, or attraction.
We were the same, he and I.
Our lives had changed—not over months or years, but in seconds. Three shots and Logan’s destiny was sealed. No matter what happened after that, he’d always be motherless. And me … a minute later or a minute earlier on that rain slicked road, and I wouldn’t be a widow. And Paige would be alive.
My copy of Wuthering Heights called to me from the table.
Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
Pushing the hair back from Logan’s face, I pressed my lips to his forehead. And I did something I’d never done for anyone. I sang to him. So softly it was nothing more than a whisper.
The logical part of my brain told me to protect my heart. That Logan’s damage and my damage were too much to overcome. There wasn’t enough left of either of us to survive if we crashed to earth. But I wouldn’t think about that now. For a few more hours, we’d simply float.
The minute my eyes popped open, I knew it was late. Sunlight flooded the entire loft from corner-to-corner. If I had to guess, I’d say it was mid-morning. Which meant, I was in trouble. With the concert just over thirty-six hours away, I had a to-do list that could choke a horse.
Stupid.
Slowly, I stretched my limbs, stifling a groan when my hip protested. Once the pain subsided I pushed myself up. Logan shifted, and I chanced a peek at his face. So beautiful. The worry lines around his eyes had faded, and I was grateful for that. And then my gaze fell to his chest, and his shallow, even breaths.
Something metal caught my eye, and I tipped forward.
Smiling, I lifted the coin. Logan had a lucky penny.
Just like …
My heart stammered, and then slammed against my ribs as I ran my finger over the stamping that covered the Lincoln Memorial. One word. LUCKY. All caps. The L was slightly lower than the other letters, and inside the stamp, most of the black nail polish had flaked off. But a little remained. Enough to let me know this was my penny. The one my dad had made me with his kit when I was six. Just to be sure, I checked the date on the coin. 1988. The year I was born.
Logan’s fingers closed around mine, and I jerked. His expression was inscrutable. “Good morning, baby.”
I blinked at him. “Where did you get this?”
But I knew. As I looked into those pale blue eyes, I knew.
Logan was the boy I’d given my penny to when I was nine. The boy who’d never offered his name. But that didn’t matter, because I’d made one up: Lucky.
In my head, the boy was Lucky.
Lucky after the penny that was my most prized possession. Lucky because his dad had loved him so much, according to my mom, that he’d picked him up the day after his mother’s horrific accident. Lucky because he wasn’t a foster kid.
Just … Lucky.
Logan smiled sadly. “You gave it to me.”
“When?”
His thumb brushed over my knuckles. “The day you stole my heart.”
66
I leaned against the counter in the kitchen while the coffee brewed, my gaze fixed on Tori in the living room. Holding the penny up to the light, she watched it spin on the end of the twine.
Me—I was that damned coin. On the end of her rope, spinning.
I’d meant to tell her about the penny last night—I’d meant to tell her a lot of things—but after all the stuff with my mom, everything got hazy.
I love you.
Had I said it aloud, or was that just a dream? I couldn’t be sure, since I’d just slept for ten hours and the world was still a little fuzzy around the edges.
After fixing Tori’s coffee, I headed back to the living room. “Here you go.”
Taking the mug, she scrutinized me with a pinched brow. “My mom said that Lucky … that you, had gone home with your dad.” Tears welled in her eyes as she closed her fingers around the coin and brought her fist to her heart. “I didn’t know it was you. How long have you known?”
I took a seat beside her, leaving a couple of feet between us. “That night at your parents’ house.”
“That’s why you left?”
Ran was a more accurate description. I frowned into my first sip of coffee. “Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Inhaling a controlled breath, I set my mug on the table. “Have you ever seen the movie, The Reader?” She shook her head. “This woman went to prison rather than admit she couldn’t read. I’ve been carrying this secret my whole life, baby. You don’t understand what it means … how it feels …”
She scooted closer. “But it’s not your fault.”
A brittle laugh scraped my throat. “Which part—not being able to read, or letting my mom’s killer go free?”
I’d said it—admitted it—and now it was real. Shame pooled in my belly, coating me from the inside out, and I hung my head. In a flash, Tori was on my lap, straddling me, her hands in my hair.
“You did not let your mother’s killer go free! Why would you think that?”
Curving my hands around her thighs, I chuckled. “Because it’s true. I spent years blaming Jake. And even then …” I shook my head. ”I stayed in that trailer until I was seventeen. What does that say about me?”
Tears I didn’t deserve spilled onto her cheeks. “It says you were scared. Are you sure it wasn’t your dad? ”
Tori spoke in a whisper, as if she might disturb the ghost in my head if she talked any louder.
“No. The car in front of us that night, it wasn’t his. It was just dumb luck that we were there. Two robberies had been reported with a vehicle that matched my description. I found that out after Dr. Patel requested the police report. But I was the only one who saw a license plate.”
My hands trailed up her thighs to her waist, memorizing the feel of her. Higher I went, to her nape, where my thumb found the little notch on her throat. Stroking the tiny ridge, I smiled. One inch, the difference between life and death. Without the scar, Tori wouldn’t be here. So I leaned in and kissed the perfect imperfection with all the reverence it deserved. And then I pulled her against me, tucking her head under my chin.
“When I found out who you were, I took it as a sign.”
“What kind of a sign?”
Stroking one hand up and down her back, I kept the other in her hair. “You’re my redemption, Victoria. You’re everything. On my darkest day, I found you. And I know it’s not the same for you. You had your great love. And I get that.” I brushed my lips over the soft strands on her crown. “I just want a chance. I want to make memories with you that are so beautiful they make you weep like you did in Paris. I want to be that for you, because you’re that for me.”
She turned to stone in my arms, and I felt my heart crack, falling to the ground in shards at her feet. I could never be that for her.
I was trying to figure out how to rephrase my plea so she wouldn’t freak out when she said in a small voice, “I hate Paris. Paris is the worst place on earth.” A tremor took her whole and
she sniffled. “During the last Damaged tour in Europe, we played a gig in Paris. I was pregnant. Three months. After the show, I wasn’t feeling well, but we had another date in London, at Wembley. Ninety thousand seats—sold out. I told Rhenn to go. I didn’t think he would … but he did. And while he was onstage the next night in front of all those strangers, I lost my baby in a hospital with a view of the Eiffel Tower outside my window. That day you found me in the church, I wasn’t crying for Rhenn. I was crying for the baby boy that I never got to meet.”
She lifted her gaze then, fat tears streaming down her beautiful face. “I loved Rhenn. I did. But maybe he was only meant to stay for a minute. To teach me what he had to teach me and be on his way.” She cupped my cheek. “If my life were a song, Rhenn would be the first verse. But I think … I think you’re meant to be the chorus. The part that goes on and on. I love you, Logan. And it’s so big … this feeling, I don’t know what to do with it.”
Our confessions hung in the air, an overcast sky filled with tears, shattered dreams, and bittersweet memories. And a rainbow. I saw it in Tori’s eyes, every color under the sun.
She loved me.
Jesus. How impossible was that?
I realized I hadn’t said anything, and a furrow formed between her brows. Pressing my lips to the little spot, I whispered, “I love you, Victoria. Always you. Even before I knew it was you.”
She tipped her chin, lashes fluttering. “Do you think … I mean … is it too much?”
“What, baby?”
“Us. I’m afraid.”
I rose to my feet with Tori in my arms. “No. We’re even now.”
I wasn’t sure if it were true. Because I had more than I’d ever expected. I had Tori. So I had it all.
Wrapping her legs around my waist, she buried her face in my neck as I carried her to my bed and laid her down on the uncovered mattress.
“Where are the sheets?” Lifting her hips so I could strip off her jeans, she raised her brows and waited for an answer.