by M. J. Fields
“You lied to me! I don’t trust you!”
He releases me, and I didn’t realize until then that he was actually holding me together. I begin to shake in anger—no, rage.
“You don’t trust me?” He laughs incredulously. “You don’t trust me?” He hits his chest hard enough with his thumb that I not only hear it, but feel it as if it is me he hit. “You get off an elevator, and run to some little theater bitch, and lock lips with him right in fucking front of me after I tell you that I want you.”
For a moment, the hurt in his eyes causes me to feel merciless, but that moment passes. “How does it feel, Logan?”
“What?” he gasps.
“How does it feel?”
“Well...” He scratches his head. “Not really fucking good.”
His words are said so that I know he’s clearly confused, which pisses me off more.
“All those dinners I suffered through your harem of fake-boobied blondes, Thanksgiving weekend, and you knew I had feelings for you,” I defend. “You knew!”
“You had nubs, back then for fuck’s sake, London. You were a kid. You’re still a kid!” he blasts back.
I poke him in the chest. “I specifically let you know when I was no longer a kid.”
“At fourteen?” He mock-laughs. “When you got your period? What the fuck, London? Was I supposed to start sniffing your ass and trying to fuck you? I certainly wasn’t attracted to you like that back then. Fucking sick,” he says, looking at me like I’m warped, which pisses me off.
“No!” I huff. “But, I don’t know, Logan, maybe consider my feelings and—”
“I was at my fucking peak”—he curls his lips—“kiddo.”
“Then take a shower and go jerk off. Maddox took two or three showers a day when he knew he loved Harper and would do anything to not hurt her. Go do something besides fuck every plastic bitch who spreads her legs for you! How many have there been since last semester, Logan!”
“You watch your damn mouth,” he says as if my curse words are unacceptable. “And I’m not Maddox. I’m—”
“Fuck. You.”
“Fuck me?” He laughs with agitation. “You aren’t even close to being mature enough for me to fuck, or it would’ve happened a few weeks ago.”
I force a laugh. “Oh, so you equate maturity to spread-ability?”
“What the hell does that even mean?” He laughs at my words.
“It means, that just because someone isn’t easy and overly eager to get fucked by ‘The Missing Links’ ”—I air quote his dick’s nickname and roll me eyes—“that someone isn’t necessarily immature! Those others are no more mature than me Logan! They’re easy. And I’m not easy!”
“Let me explain something to you, little princess.” He grips my chin. “Just because a woman likes to fuck, that doesn’t make her easy. And just because I’ve yet to fuck you, that doesn’t make you any less eager.”
“Pft,” I say, pulling my chin from his grip. “You are sooo full of yourself. That’s real mature Logan!”
“There’s a whole lot of me to make anyone full.” He pauses. “And you spread around that I have a tiny dick. That’s real damn mature.”
Embarrassed at some of the things I have done and said, and angry, and exhausted, and frustrated, and clearly emotionally unstable, I shake my head and walk around the wall that is Logan to see Maddox and Ava standing at the door.
“Great,” I mumble, looking down so I don’t have to see the speculation or anger in Maddox’s eyes. “Just great.”
“What now, London? We were past all that shit weeks ago! You and I were good!” he snaps as he turns.
I glance back and catch his mouth snapping shut.
“Fuck,” he mumbles.
I hear a giggle escape Ava’s mouth as I again focus on the floor.
“Ava, not fucking now,” Logan snarls.
“You two are so—”
“Don’t,” he warns.
“I won’t say I told you so,” she chides softly.
“Well, maybe this shit is your fault! Maybe if you hadn’t been talking shit about her and me for years, this fucked-up seed wouldn’t have been planted, and I wouldn’t be in hell,” he hisses as he walks toward the hall.
“Logan, the police are here for statements,” she says, grabbing his arm.
“Tell them, when I get back from the gym, they can get the fucking thing.”
“You can’t go to the gym!” I scream after him. “You aren’t a student here!”
“Surprise, London.” He throws his hands in the air. “I’m back.”
“What!”
“Getting his Masters,” Ava whispers.
When they leave the room, I look up.
Maddox doesn’t look angry. He looks concerned.
I shake my head, and he nods once.
“Otherwise, you okay?” he asks.
I shake my head again.
He pushes himself off the doorjamb and walks toward me. Hugging me, he says, “I can’t say I’m sorry, because I’m not.”
I grip his shirt and inhale the scent of home.
“Had he not been there, you may not be here.”
I want to yell at him for meddling, but he’s right, so I don’t.
“You’re gonna be okay, London. You always are. We always are.”
“I wanna go home, Maddox. I can’t do this. I can’t be here.”
“Okay, London, then home it is.”
### The End ###
His First Crush
Logan’s Story
His First Crush (First Series, Book Two)
Copyright © 2018 by MJ Fields.
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover design and book formatting by Juliana Cabrera, Jersey Girl Design
Edited by C&D Editing
First Edition: February 2018
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To The Reader
To the reader,
First, if you haven’t read Her First Kiss, you’re going to want to do that. So STOP and go grab it, read it, and then come back to read the rest of London and Logan’s long awaited story of love.
Love you...more,
MJ
Playlist
The Flame by Cheap Trick
Don’t Know What You Got (Till It’s Gone) by Cinderella
Too Much To Ask by Niall Horan
Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover by Halestorm
Him& I by G-Eazy ( Halsey)
Into You by Ariana Grande
Hall of Fame by The Script
Move Along by The All- American Rejects
Perfect by Ed Sheeran
Legacy Family Tree
Firsts…
To my readers old and new.
First loves are without doubt my favorite to write. That moment when someone realizes they have found someone who will forever change them and leave a lasting footprint on their heart.
When you find it, embrace it.
If you lose it, realize you are not alone.
When it happens again, know you are truly blessed.
Love is a beautiful thing.
Hope, Chance, and Happenstance
Logan
What the hell does a twenty-three-year-old “player” know about love? No more than the rest of the damn world, but at least I can admit it.
Love’s a fucking game. Its players are hope, chance, and happenstance.
Hope that it’s reciprocated and that those in the game have the common goal to win—I’ve seen the strongest teams lose to love.
>
Chance is pure coincidence that you’re at the right place at the right time, together—doesn’t happen often.
Happenstance is a fucking fluke, normally crushed by love.
I know I love my family, but if they weren’t my family, I wouldn’t know them, let alone love them. I would have been born to another, who I would have loved because they were my family.
I know I see love in the eyes of my sister Ava. For her children, she would do anything for them. Hell, she would die for them, so would I.
Right before Christmas, Dad and I went to Brooklyn, where she and Thomas, the man she was planning to marry who was killed in an accident, were building a life. She was holed up in their flat with the twins, Chance and Hope, doing something she considered living, but she clearly wasn’t truly living, not the way she should have been.
You see, her first love was Luke Lane. They fucked around on the sly for years until he broke her heart after she admitted sex wasn’t really all she wanted from him, that she had secretly loved him all her life.
It all started when they hooked up one summer night when he was home on leave and she had just graduated high school. For seven years, when he was home on leave, they continued to do so. When she graduated law school, passed her bars, and had her feet planted firmly, she admitted she wanted more, that she in fact loved him.
He ditched her.
Unbeknownst to them, however, he left a little bit of himself behind. Chance, their son.
The night after Luke broke her heart and left a little bit of himself behind, Thomas Hardy, drummer for The Burning Souls, was home for Christmas. He confessed his love for her. Ava and he slept together. He also left a little something brewing, as well. How fucked up is that?
Hope is Thomas’s.
Apparently, Thomas lied to her and told her the paternity test she had done while pregnant said he was the father of both the children.
Then, the same night Thomas died, Luke was in an explosion. The stress Thomas’s death caused had Ava going into labor. She delivered the babies soon thereafter.
When the facts surfaced about Chance and Hope not having the same father, she was so afraid of judgment and what it would do to them, to all of us—those who were very close with the Lane family—she hid it. In her grief, in her fear, in her overwhelming challenge of being a new mom, she pushed us all away.
When Luke healed and put two and two together, he finally stepped up, and yeah, he admitted he loved her. Ava being Ava, she pushed him away...until she couldn’t.
So, yeah, I know that love is real, but really fucked up. It’s not all happy ever afters, and it can crush a person. The only crushing I want to do is on the field.
I know I love my father. As annoyed as I am with him right now, as I run on the treadmill, trying not to fucking explode, I know that man loves hard, so hard. So fucking hard he’s running beside me in jeans and a fucking sweatshirt, which pisses me off and makes me eternally grateful at the same damn time.
I know I love my mother. Admittedly, as a kid, I was a momma’s boy. I loved the way she doted on me. The way she told me that one day I was going to grow into a man who was even better than my dad. The way she needed me. The way she praised me for every little thing I did. The way she looked at me was with pride and adoration.
She would lay in bed with me every night, reading to me. One book in particular is in the forefront of my mind, Love You Forever. I remember when it finally clicked that the book, was about a son growing up and moving away. That the woman snuck into his place and rocked him every night as an adult. And that when she was too sick and too old, he had to take care of her.
I never told her, but I loved her enough that I knew I would someday take care of her like that.
Little boys and their fucking moms. They either make you a good man or break you so that you just don’t know how to be.
She broke me. She wrecked me with the lies she told me, trying to villainize a man I look up to. She told me he and Tessa, his now wife, had been messing around for years. It made me question him. It made me question love and what the hell it was supposed to be between a man and a woman.
Every day of my life, I saw him treat my mother like gold, treat us all like we were everything to him. I felt duped, and any idea of growing up, falling in love with someone who I could one day get married to, have a family with, became a joke. At the same time, as all that happened, I dated a girl, who was not my first fuck, but she was into me, and when I was physically in her, I started to understand why Dad was good to Mom, even if it wasn’t her that he loved.
Sex.
Fucking.
Getting hot and sweaty.
Feeling that heat inside you, surrounding you, became a replacement to a boy who was confused by the emotional part of love, because Mom and Dad, they clearly hadn’t figured it the fuck out.
I needed her physically which, even though I didn’t love her, was enough to put up with a whole lot of fucking shit. Until she told me she was knocked up.
She wasn’t. I knew damn well she wasn’t. Dad had filled my nightstand, glovebox, and pockets with condoms since I started fucking. Hell, I didn’t have a clue how he knew I was, but he did. I never went in without one.
She told me one broke once when I was drunk. I knew better.
I took her to the clinic immediately, and she tested negative.
I broke up with her a week later.
No way was I ready to be a dad, and no way was I in love with her.
Then...well, then Mom started crying and my parents became distant. She went to Jersey more often to visit her family, and Dad wasn’t going nearly as much. I figured out pretty quickly that I was her little fucking scapegoat on trips to Jersey, not wanting her to go alone. This was where she was meeting her lover while I was dealing with the biggest asshole on the planet—my grandfather Landon and his fake bullshit.
I love her anyway.
You don’t have to like someone to love them. I figured that out over the few weeks I spent in the city, trying to get her to step up her mom game for Ava, for Chance, for Hope...and for fucking me.
Didn’t work. Fucking Senator Big Head, her new husband, kept interfering. Asked me to come work with him. I told him to fuck off. Mom didn’t like that all too much. I told her to fuck off, too.
I spent two days at Ava’s old place, surrounded by shit she left behind when she finally agreed to come home and face the music, wondering how the fuck a woman could walk away from her kids. Then I realized she couldn’t, not the woman who raised me. So, I kept fucking trying.
Still didn’t work. But, at least I knew the last time I was there, she wasn’t as cold. She looked affected, and she hasn’t been lately. By affected, I mean when I pushed him out of the way and burst into the penthouse, while he screamed at me that she was sleeping, she came out of her room and hugged me.
“I’m sorry, Logan,” she whispered as she hugged me. “I love you, and I’m sorry, but it has to be this way now.”
His fucking security guy came rushing in and almost put his hands on me.
Almost.
I would have killed the fucker, but when Mom told him that I would leave on my own, there wasn’t shit I could say or do.
Hurt as fuck, I left.
And no, I didn’t tell her I loved her, even after I heard her sob as I walked out.
I increase the speed and push myself harder, trying to outrun what happened over the past few weeks while I was in New York City, trying to outrun the fact that, just a few hours ago, I drove into a building that was full of people, innocent fucking people, being shot up because some motherfucker was too much of a pussy to end his miserable existence before killing twenty-seven people, and forever changing the lives of everyone there at that bar, having a good time. Changing the lives of everyone who watched the live feeds on Facebook as partygoers used their cameras to share the chaos. I won’t even try to wrap my head around why they would do that. We’re not all the same, but fuck, some of thos
e clips on the news showed people getting mowed down.
I increase the treadmill to the max, because now I have to outrun her and her fucking lips on his within less than an hour after I admitted to fucking loving her, not knowing if I would have the chance to say it when I knew it was the right time—we might not have made it out.
I should have known not one good thing comes from that type of admittance, not one that fucking lasts anyway. She fucking kissed that bitch Fletcher.
I see Dad stop and hear him yell something, so I tune back into the here and now.
“No cameras!”
He gets off the machine and stalks toward the news crews who made their way into the gym. I’m sure some idiot let them slip in behind them.
“Logan Links, we just have a couple questions,” they say as Dad forces them back as if he’s the entire defensive line.
Pussies.
I shut off my machine, grab my hoodie, and throw it on. Then Dad and I push past them and walk outside to more cameras, lights, and news people yelling questions.
We keep walking. Anyone who gets in our way, they are quick to move. Neither one of us are stopping.
As we are almost to Dad’s vehicle, I hear her name.
“Logan, was London Fields inside the club, daughter of Brody Hines and—”
I turn quickly, ready to lay him out, when Dad grabs my fist mid-throw.
“In the SUV. They aren’t worth it.”
“She’s enrolled here at SU, under the name of Elle—”
I lunge forward, and Dad’s chest crashes into mine. He pushes me back.
I look over my shoulder when the door opens from inside. “Come on, Logan. You need some rest.”
Tessa.
In the car, Dad whizzes through the streets and gets on the ramp for 81 southbound. I don’t even have to ask where we are going.