Running On Empty

by Colette Ballard

  She grinned like I’d just given her a lollipop, but then frowned like I took it away when he moved away from her and hooked his arm around my waist. “Smooth…real smooth,” he said as he urged me toward a less crowded space near the door

  “Which one?” I smirked. “My comment, or my save?”

  His eyebrows creased. “Neither.”

  “Geez, I said I was sorry.” I glanced up at him.

  “That’s not why I dragged you over here.”

  “Then what is it? I’m kind of in a hurry; Logan’s outsidew—”

  “I don’t care about him,” he shut me down. “I care about you. Which is why I’m going to ask you to do something for me.”

  I glanced at the clock above the doorway. “Can this wait?”

  “No.” Justice’s green eyes trained on me like the sight of a shotgun. “It can’t.”

  I exhaled because it was the second part of the breathing pattern I needed to complete in order to withstand his piercing orbs. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

  He nodded. “That’s what I hoped you’d say.”

  My thumbnail scraped against the coarse strap of my bag, a gnawing deep inside warning me I wasn’t going to like his request. “Shoot.”

  The exit door squealed open and my shoulders tensed, expecting it to be Logan. Relief washed over me when a guy wearing head-to-toe camo walked in. Before the door closed behind him, I caught a glimpse of Logan in his car with his head turned, talking on his cell.

  “Please,” Justice lifted his chin toward the parking lot, “don’t sell your soul to the devil.”

  I straightened to all five-foot-six and three-quarter inches of me. “Why would you say that? You don’t even know Logan.”

  He put a gentle hand on my upper arm, his eyes begging. “I know enough.”

  Tired of unwanted advice, I jerked away from his touch. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

  Hurt and confusion swirled in his eyes, and it sent my heart tumbling. Maybe he wasn’t trying to be a jerk about Logan. Maybe he was only trying to protect me like he would anyone he cared about—like he would a friend. But dammit, why couldn’t he support me?

  “I’m just concerned…” He ran his hand through his dark waves.

  Concern was great, but it wasn’t enough. As much as I fought it, I wanted more, and Logan offered that. I motioned my head in the direction of Justice’s doe-eyed date staring in our direction. “There’s where your concern needs to be. I can handle Logan.”

  A horn honked three times, and I wished I was invisible.

  Logan’s Mustang purred as he stopped to pay at the ballpark’s entrance gate. After he handed the guy a twenty, he rolled up the window to keep out the gravel dust, then found a parking spot near the back of the crowded lot. He cut the engine, reached behind his seat for a paper bag, and pulled out a fifth of Elijah Craig.

  “You promised you wouldn’t drink whiskey anymore.”

  “You must’ve misunderstood.” The seal cracked when he unscrewed the lid. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

  Uneasiness crawled up my stomach and lodged in my throat. “But…you, um, remember what happened last time…”

  He smiled. “I remember you promising you’d never bring that up again.”

  It happened two months ago. At first, I thought it was a rumor like everything else; after all, we were talking about honor student football heroes. Logan and his best friend, Red, got jumped by four well-known troublemakers from my school. After Red went down, they went after Logan, busting his nose and bruising two ribs before Red pulled out a gun and fired it, grazing one of them on the arm. Several hundred-dollar bills in hush money exchanged hands, but the story was leaked anyway.

  No one really blamed Red for firing the gun to save his friend, and the guy’s injury wasn’t serious, but it stirred up a frenzy of gossip—the last thing Logan’s dad needed considering he was about to run for mayor. The rumor died as fast as it started when the police questioned the guy and he claimed it was a simple accident involving some friendly target practice.

  I had a feeling his story revision had more to do with something I discovered several days before the police questioned him. I’d gotten off work early one night, and since the party was in familiar territory, I decided to surprise Logan. But when I showed up at the party, I couldn’t find him, so I walked away from the crowd to call him on my cell. What I found was Red bent over the supposed snitch, one knee on his chest pinning him to the ground, and Logan standing behind him holding a pearl-handled gun in his hand.

  I freaked out, but Logan quickly explained that the whole thing was a misunderstanding. He claimed the incident was just Red teaching the guy a lesson about taking their money and ratting. And when Red took it too far, he intervened and took the gun away from him. Then he made some joke about Red being a lousy shot.

  I questioned Logan at first, but when Red and the other guy assured me he was telling the truth, and that the gun belonged to Red, I let it go. Later that night, Logan further described the first incident, detailing how he’d truly feared for his life. He insisted that if it weren’t for Red and his loyalty, he might’ve been seriously injured or worse. Once I put myself in Red’s position, I realized I would’ve done whatever it took to protect my best friend, too.

  Regardless of the outcome in both situations, Logan had been drinking whiskey, and he’d assured me nothing like that would ever happen again. I assured him I wouldn’t tell a soul as long as he meant it.

  “How about you worry about you, and I’ll worry about you?” He touched the mouth of the bottle to my chin and the bitter firewood smell rushed my nose. “I can handle this.” He took a long drink, then wiped the back of his hand across his daring smile. “Now, pretty girl, you wanna stay in here and fog up these windows, or are you ready to go out there and party?”

  “Almost,” I answered and reached for the bottle. If whiskey could alter your personality, maybe it could erase your memory.

  With raised eyebrows, Logan released the whiskey and watched me take a gulp. “You never drink whiskey, what’s—”

  Holy shit! Whiskey apparently tasted the same as it smelled—like firewood—lit firewood. I thrust the bottle back in Logan’s hands, then motioned wildly for him to pop the trunk. I flung the door open and raced to the back of the car. Ice rattled and sloshed when I shoved my hand into the cooler and fished out a cold beer.

  Logan met me at the back of the trunk, laughing. “What’s got into you?”

  I opened the beer and chugged down several drinks, cooling the flame in my throat and chest. “On top of my horse dying today, I miss my mom, and my imposter father didn’t show up for my awards ceremony,” I blurted out, shocking myself and breaking my own code of silence to reveal as little personal information as possible.

  Confusion flashed across his eyes. I never told him about my recent discovery.

  “Yeah, I found out Jack wasn’t my biological father about a month ago. And I know I shouldn’t care if he came tonight or not. I mean, he’s not even my real father, and it’s not like he’s ever acted like a real father, but…” I sucked in a jagged breath, closed my eyes for a few seconds, then exhaled the pain away, “he’s the only one I’ve ever known.”

  Logan’s face softened into the dreaded look of pity. “You gonna be okay?”

  In an effort to keep it together, I shrugged like it was no big deal. “In about a year, when I can move out of his house.” I was going for my usual nothing-can-touch-me tough act when my voice betrayed me and revealed I was just a wimpy little marshmallow instead.

  “It’s okay.” Logan pulled me toward him and wrapped his arms around me. “I’ll take care of you.”

  This was the kind of statement that normally repulsed me—one of those cheesy movie lines the big hero guy says to the damsel in distress. But for some reason, my shoulders relaxed, and I allowed myself to melt into his protective shield. It had been a really long time since anyone had
taken care of me.

  Time stood still, and every part of me took comfort in his warm embrace. I could’ve cried a million tears, but I didn’t want to risk scaring him away. I wanted his strong arms around me for as long as it lasted. I was oblivious to everything until someone cleared their throat. “Hey Westfield, party’s that way,” a guy wearing a navy polo shirt and holding a red Solo cup teased as he walked past us to his car.

  My cheeks heated up and I pulled away.

  Logan laughed and gave him a chin-lift, then turned to me, all blue eyes and sexy grin. “He’s wrong.” He hooked his finger in the unbuttoned V of my tank top, drawing me back to him. “The party’s wherever you are.”

  “Logan…” My mouth watered; his lips were so close to mine. I ached for him to kiss me, but I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea—not when we were only steps away from a makeshift bed. Things had heated up between us lately, and it was getting tougher to keep him at bay. I closed my hand around his and pushed him away. “Party’s that way.”

  He groaned and shook his head. “You’re a tough one, River Daniels.” He grabbed a couple beers out of the trunk before slamming it shut. “But I don’t give up easily.”

  “I don’t want you to give up.” I smiled up at him when he hooked his arm around my neck. “I just want you to slow down.”

  “Slow’s not exactly in my vocabulary.” He winked, then steered us toward the crowd. “But I might make an exception for you.”

  A chill started at the base of my neck and spread all the way to my fingertips. “Might?”

  Loud yelps interrupted any response Logan might’ve had as several guys wearing Winston High ball caps called out to him from a cluster of picnic tables. High fives and guy handshakes were exchanged between Logan and about eight guys—most of which I recognized as his teammates. I recognized a few of the girls who greeted Logan, most of them the cheerleader girlfriends of his buddies. The guys were friendly, but not one of the girls bothered to have a personal exchange with me—unless you counted sugary smiles and yard-sale-like item appraisals.

  “Where the hell you been, dickhead?” Red greeted him.

  Logan smirked. “Takin’ care of business.”

  Red glanced back and forth between Logan and me, then nodded like he’d just received confirmation he had the correct numbers on his Bingo card.

  Logan reciprocated Red’s fist bump, and I scowled at him.

  With an impish grin, Logan pecked me on the cheek and pulled me in front of him, my back resting against his chest as he wrapped his arms around me. The envious glares I got from several of the girls made my annoyance at his comment fade. Logan was the only thing I had that they didn’t.

  Country rock music drifted up from the pavilion where the band played, and what looked like a hundred teenagers were dancing under the covered area. The surrounding area was crowded, too—it looked like every kid in the county was here—which didn’t usually equal harmony. You could always count on a fight or two at these field parties, and at some point, the cops would usually show. They didn’t stick around—just long enough to shake the dust off of their megaphones and hand out a few tickets to meet their monthly quota.

  I was basking in Logan’s attention, barely aware of the after-party plans his friends were making, when the conversation suddenly took a sharp nosedive. One of Winston High’s cheerleaders—Logan’s ex-girlfriend, to be exact—zeroed in on me with her bright green eyes. “So, how did you meet Logan?”

  A sinking feeling in my stomach told me this wasn’t going to be a friendly chat, and I itched to join my friends at their usual hangout under the pavilion.

  Logan spoke up. “River is a horse trainer for my parents.” Not exactly my title yet, but it sounded better than exercise rider or shit shoveler.

  The glint in her eyes told me it wasn’t the answer she wanted, nor was she finished with me. I chipped at my freshly polished fingernails as she posed her next question. “So, what’s everybody doing over summer break?”

  Lucky for me, these girls loved to talk about themselves. A bobble-head cheerleader wearing a pink and turquoise plaid sundress happily volunteered, “I’ll be doing multiple cheerleading clinics throughout the state before I head off to Harvard.”

  Logan put his hands over my fidgeting fingers, kissed me on the neck, and whispered, “You’re with me. They’ll play nice.”

  There was not one ounce of me that believed these divas would play nice, but for Logan’s sake, I forced myself to relax and enjoy the show.

  Bobble-head cheerleader dressed in a red Ralph Lauren polo and skinny jeans retracted her tongue from her date’s throat long enough to respond, “I’ll be doing charity work at a homeless shelter for orphans and wayward teens and leprechauns.”

  Okay, maybe those weren’t her exact words.

  Bleached blonde bombshell bobble-head cheerleader wearing a revealing cami and short-shorts did the splits in midair and said, “I’ll be doing…” My brain inserted her actual activity, several members of the football team.

  Since I was only one bedazzled, tank top-wearing bobble-head cheerleader away from it being my turn to share, I pulled away from Logan and whispered, “Hey, I’m gonna escape before it’s my turn for show and tell. I’ll catch up with you later.” Then I disappeared before he had a chance to respond. He would appreciate that I didn’t traumatize anyone by revealing my summer plans to work two jobs so I could save up enough money to eventually move out of my fake father’s crap-hole trailer. Sure, that’d be after my prestigious horse training camp, but riding horses for ten hours a day wouldn’t impress them, either.

  The familiar catcalls and two-fingered whistling led me straight to Billi Jo, who held up a beer, praising the band. It appeared Kat had won half the battle over Billi Jo’s wardrobe because she’d exchanged her basketball shorts for a ragged-edged denim skirt, but she still sported the ball cap and her trademark red Chucks. She might have unsalted cracker looks and a don’t-care attitude on the outside, but her kind heart and dance-on-the-table-with-your-boots-on personality more than made up for it.

  A couple of girls from school were laughing at Billi Jo and her purposely ridiculous dance moves when I squeezed in and joined them in the dance-off. Kat stood off to the side—just far enough away so she didn’t have to actually claim us—and smoked a cigarette as she swayed coolly to the music.

  By the time the band stopped for a break, Kat had attracted a small swarm of guys to her like flies to sticky paper. I was in the process of dragging Billi Jo away from the guitar player when someone came up beside me and half-whispered in my ear, “Hey.” The smooth voice sent a tingling sensation down my arm, and my face heated when I realized it wasn’t Logan. I should not be tingling anywhere for anyone else—especially my best friend. Besides, I was still annoyed at Justice for his ridiculous ‘selling my soul’ accusation. “I didn’t mean to piss you off earlier. I just don’t get a cozy feelin’ about your boyfriend, that’s all.”

  I let go of Billi Jo once we were a safe distance away from all band members and turned to Justice. “I wish.” I raked my fingers through my hair and chose my words carefully, “that you and Kat would give Logan a break. He’s a good guy—so what if he’s a little different from us?”

  Justice cocked an eyebrow as if to say, ‘a little?’

  Fortunately for Justice, a group of our school friends stopped to talk and prevented me from saying something I might regret. With a fake smile and a nagging uneasiness, I fought to keep Justice’s words out of my mind. Dammit, I shouldn’t have to defend my boyfriend to Justice.

  “Hey, baby, I’ve been lookin’ for you,” Logan slurred as he came up behind me. He swung his arm around my neck, sloshing his drink down the front of my shirt, and I questioned my previous mental statement. “Where ya been?” He reeked of whiskey, which explained his condition.

  Tugging at my wet shirt, I stepped away from Logan’s helping hands. I’d had enough alcohol spilled on me for one night. “I got it,” I
said through clenched teeth, but he pawed at the cold liquid anyway. “Logan, stop.” I pushed his hands away.

  “Yeah, he’s a real gentleman,” Justice said to me, then to Logan, “How about a little respect?”

  Logan’s head snapped from me to Justice, stunned anyone would challenge him. He stood taller, straightening his broad shoulders, and widened his stance. “Why don’t you mind your own business, redneck?”

  A sudden pulsing throbbed in my ears. Logan would never allow anyone to call him out in front of people without a fight, and Justice would never put up with any guy disrespecting a girl. The two of them towered above me. I was caught between two boulders coming from opposite directions, with no easy escape routes.

  “You’re the one with the loud mouth and bad manners,” Justice retorted.

  Logan tossed his drink to the ground and took a step toward Justice. I braced my palm against Logan’s chest and held my arms out between them. My mouth opened in protest but my throat closed, not allowing me to speak. Logan stopped his advance but lobbed his arms out to his sides. “What is it with you, Cowboy? Every time I turn around, you’re hitting on my girl. You need to back off or somebody’s gonna get hurt.”

  Justice smirked like Logan had told him a lame joke. “From the condition you’re in, looks like it’d be you.”

  Sweat beaded at my hairline. Around me, I sensed Logan’s posse beginning to close in. Justice didn’t understand what he was up against. I knew he was strong enough to hold his own because I’d seen him handle eight-hundred-pound colts, but Logan and his friends had a reputation for winning at all costs.

  Logan glowered like a hungry dog waiting to sink his teeth into a juicy steak. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”

  “We got your back, Westfield,” a familiar voice called from the crowd. I glanced in front of me to find Red waving over a couple more of their buddies. In the split second he raised his arms to motion for them, a flash of white caught my attention like a neon sign. Bile rose in my throat, and my legs threatened to buckle. Tucked in the front of Red’s jeans was a pearl-handled gun—the same gun Logan had taken away from him the night I walked up on them at the party. Probably the same gun Red grazed the snitch’s arm with.