Expel

by Addison Moore

  Logan maneuvers the boat between a thicket of reeds tall as a person. The strong scent of rosemary perfumes the air with a fragrant howl as a choir of crickets destroy the silence with its chirping symphony. I close my eyes a moment—let the world vanish to cinders beneath my newly christened lids.

  “I don’t think we’re even,” he whispers, dragging a fire line down the side of my neck with his lips.

  “Whoa,” I straighten in an effort to stave him off, causing the tiny craft to wobble. “You know,” I push my shoulder into his face to deflect his unwanted affections, “you’ve been acting more than a little strange since you’ve come back. I know you mentioned the live for today stuff and you’re really stoked about having a new lease on life, but let’s call a spade a spade—you’re about to go down in the history of West as a total jackass supreme.”

  “Probably,” he says, slinking his hands up the back of my sweater and offering a spontaneous massage.

  Sadly, I delay in deflecting those particular efforts because, for one, his hands are oven hot, and two, the massage feels rather necessary at this point.

  I give a few involuntary moans as I point over the tops of my shoulders, and Logan is quick to accommodate.

  “Recognizing the fact you’re an asshole is a great start,” I pluck his arms free from under my sweater since he accidentally on purpose just unhooked my bra, but I don’t call him on it. “So, the old you was kind and courteous, and would never in a million years juggle the breasts of three girls at once.”

  A quick bout of laughter escapes him.

  “I’m here to live, Skyla. I’m a guy. We were born to juggle, snuggle—you name it. Besides, what fun is being Logan Oliver if I can’t enjoy a breast or two?” His hand crawls up my front like a tarantula.

  “Logan!” I bat him away.

  “Come on, Skyla.” In one swift move he knocks me back and lands on top of me with his full weight, “Let me give you a proper thank you. Show you how well all the essential parts are functioning.”

  “Again, no need for a thank you or a demonstration,” I try to wrestle his hands from gliding back up my sweater, but it’s proving to be a futile effort. And judging by the rock hard bulge in his jeans, everything’s in full working order, that, or he’s smuggled a root beer bottle on board.

  Logan pushes his lips over mine, crushes me with his chest as he fiddles with the buckle on his jeans.

  “Stop! I can’t breathe.” God—I’m going to have to use my Celestra strength just to get out of this mass tangle of flesh. The strange part is, he hasn’t had one single thought. He’s either put a moratorium on thinking, or the Mustang caused a mass exodus of brain cells. Chloe’s power-mower skills have turned Logan into a classic jock airhead rife with hypersexual tendencies.

  Logan doesn’t stop. He reaches up my sweater, lands himself on second base without the proper invitation.

  “Let go right now,” I seethe, “or I will go ninja all over your ass.”

  But he doesn’t listen. He’s all hot and bothered, twisting and writhing over me, too busy suctioning his lips to my flesh to hear me. I try to slap him out of his lust-inspired stupor, but nothing.

  Logan squeezes and gropes like he’s testing produce at the grocery store. I hone in all of my pissed off glory and knee him hard in the balls. I think I’ve just successfully reduced the odds of him procreating with his newfound asshole genes, down to nil.

  Logan rolls off into a fetal position, choking on his pain.

  I yank an oar off the side mount, spike it into the water in an effort to get back to dry land, and the boat starts on a sideways spin.

  “I’m sorry, Skyla.” He thrusts himself on top of me.

  In an effort to scoot the hell away, I accidentally launch my upper torso into the water. I manage to hook my knees over the side of the aluminum structure to halt myself from falling in completely. Water rushes in, fills my ears with the soft sound of effervescence. Giant bubbles prick my face as I let out an underwater scream from the icy shock.

  My arms flail as I try to surface for a breath. Logan reaches down and grabs a hold of my hair at the base of my neck. My left leg ejects into the water as the boat gyrates wildly. Logan locks his hand over the back of my head. My arms flail in histrionics, my legs kick out—can’t breathe.

  My nostrils burn from taking in a blast of frozen liquid.

  “Stupid bitch,” he grunts, pushing my other leg over the side.

  It occurs to me as I sputter and twirl my way to the surface that just maybe Logan wasn’t helping me up—just maybe he was holding me down, throwing me overboard.

  I come up and pinch my nose, spit several times as I continue to gasp for air. Logan thrusts the oar in my direction with a violent swing, and I manage to duck before he decapitates me with the effort.

  “Stop pissing around, Skyla,” he disrupts the night with an unnatural aggression.

  I swim over to shore, climb over moss-covered rocks turning my ankle in the process.

  “Skyla?” He calls, but I don’t answer.

  I run like hell to the Mustang and give a NASCAR worthy performance the hell away from Logan Oliver.

  Chapter 19

  Love Hurts

  I’m so thankful Mom and Tad are still not back from their Valentine’s misadventure. I loathed the thought of having to render an explanation as to why I’m sopping wet, not to mention the fact my face is red and swollen from sobbing over the idea Logan Oliver really is a jackass. I’ll just have to learn to live with the fact he’s morally bankrupt and virtually irredeemable.

  I catch a glimpse of the horror that is me in the hallway mirror. I have the lake’s equivalent of seaweed woven throughout my hair, and I’m ten times more pathetic looking than previously imagined. A nice hot shower is in order before I map out my revenge on said jackass, but as I’m about to head upstairs, the steady rhythm of hiccups captures my attention.

  I spy Mia crumpled on the couch in the family room pumping some serious heartache into a pillow, and I race on over.

  “What happened?” I ask lower than a whisper, ignoring the fact she might parrot the question in my direction.

  “Gabriel danced with Melissa all night.”

  “That’s because he’s an ass,” I say it sweetly, pushing the perspiration-soaked hair from off her forehead.

  I just want to run to the freezer and grab a pint of chocolate peanut butter ice cream and spend the rest of the night watching chick flicks with my sister, but I have to wash the bodily fluids of Logan the predator off my person first.

  “Look,” I wag her by the chin. “I’ll run up, take a quick shower, then maybe we can watch a movie and eat ice cream.”

  “You mean it?”

  “Of course, I mean it.”

  “Tad says all you ever do is lie, that we shouldn’t trust you.” Her features soften with disappointment. Mia accepts every word from Tad’s lips as gospel. That’s what the hell is wrong with this family—they keep listening to Tad.

  “Tad is just another ass like Gabriel Armistead.” And Logan Oliver.

  Really I should educate both her and Melissa on Chloe’s faux maxim she espoused at winter formal, chicks before dicks and all that good stuff. Plus they’re sisters, there must be some deeper code of ethics when dating and relations are involved. Logan and Gage dart through my mind. That ended badly.

  I give her a heartfelt hug, feel her hot cheek rub up alongside mine and savor the moment. When Mia was little she used to inundate me with hugs, beg for them like they were candy. Once Melissa came along, the only body part she wanted to shower me with was her middle finger. This is the Mia I miss—sweet, achingly sweet and vulnerable, Mia.

  “I love you, Mia,” I whisper. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

  ***

  I can’t get into a scalding hot shower fast enough. I lock my door and push the dresser over a notch out of habit, pull out a pair of sweats that happen to be my own for a change. Soon I’m going to have an entire pi
le of laundry that belongs to Gage. Of course, I’ll wash it for him, fold it—spray it down with my perfume before I give it back.

  How am I ever going to tell Gage about what happened tonight without stressing him out into a coma? Of course he’s going to get pneumonia—double pneumonia along with a triple coronary. It’ll be a miracle if I don’t finish him off before prom.

  Logan is on a determined path toward assault charges, or worse—manslaughter, judging by the way he held my head underwater. I shudder recalling the words that flew from his lips. He’s become unrecognizable, a beast, a monster. Maybe that’s why you should never bring people back from the dead. Look at Chloe? And Holden? Both your textbook assholes and probably Ethan, too, I just haven’t had time to analyze him properly.

  On my way to the bathroom, a strange arrangement of jewelry catches my attention. Two of my necklaces form a large silver heart, set over my laptop.

  Great.

  Mia and Melissa must have been fishing around in my jewelry box again. I flip up the magazine that hides the third disc Marshall gave me. Clearly I’ll have to put this in a location Mia and Melissa would never think to look, lest I wake up one morning and find it strapped around one of their necks. I flip the coin in the air and catch it. The wall safe in the butterfly room is the best place for this.

  I head into the shower. I don’t even wait for the water to heat up before jumping in and lathering up with enough soap to remove the lake slime off my body.

  Logan and his misguided behavior run through my mind. Obviously serious brain damage has occurred. How can I be mad at him? He could never be so cruel or heartless. This is devastating. Maybe I can talk to Ezrina? I bet she has some elixir somewhere that can repair the damage, and he’ll be back to his sweet self in no time. Although—if I continue to let him act like a monkey with his balls on fire, it might be a great way for me to finally get over him. It might be the only way.

  I let the water run over my shoulders, a little too hot, for a little too long. Unexpected tears mix into the fold. For some reason these four smoky walls are the only place it feels safe to admit that I still have very strong feelings for old Logan. I don’t care what Chloe or even Gage try to feed me about him, I know sweet sensitive Logan wasn’t a figment of my imagination. I cherished the way he would drink me in with those glowing amber eyes, the way he soothed me with his calm, even tone—his vibrant kisses, each with a life of its own. Was I truly so blind in love that I couldn’t see him for the person he really was? There is no way he could have always been so horrible. It’s just not possible.

  Our short time together runs through my mind like a silent movie. The first moment we met, our first time at the falls, battling Fems, him taking me under his wing and training me—how he let me go to protect me. An entire wall of tears gush from me, warm and salty rivaling the water pouring over my shoulders for attention. I give in and mourn Logan, the old version that I would die to have back. I miss his easy ways, the constant assurance of his love.

  I miss it. I miss the way Logan Oliver loved me.

  I turn off the water and wrap the towel around my damp flesh, get out and stare at my soft impression in the foggy mirror. I’m too numb to move, too warped from the heartache of losing the lover of my heart, to face a moment—an entire future without him.

  A letter begins to form on the glass. The letter S, then K, then, Y- L - A.

  “Go to hell, Holden.” Holden Kragger is going to try to officiate this as the worse Valentine’s ever, but I won’t let him.

  Another set of letters form beneath my name. L -O – G – A - N.

  Logan? Was I mumbling Logan’s name in the shower? God—what if Holden, the not so friendly ghost, has harvested the power to read minds?

  Just as I’m about to smear his efforts, a heart emerges, enwreathing both our names.

  “Skyla,” a soft voice whispers, “I love you more than the heavens love the sun and the moon.”

  A soft blue light illuminates the bathroom from behind.

  I turn around and find a familiar lovely face staring back at me.

  Logan.

  Chapter 20

  Logan

  “Oh my, God,” I breathe.

  Logan and his pale perfection, his transparent blue features staring back at me with a clear look of wonder and agony rolled into one.

  “If you’re here, then who—” I take in a quick breath, not willing to volunteer the information myself.

  “Holden,” his voice emits a ghostly whisper.

  I let out a little whimper. I’ve screwed up before, turned perfectly good things into a pile of shit quicker than a vapor can mingle with the atmosphere, but this, this was of a scope and magnitude that left little room for anything but the unhinging of my jaw. This would permanently reside as the innermost deepest mistake I have ever made.

  Marshall blinks through my mind. He said I was on my own. He could have averted this tragedy from the beginning if I had only restrained myself from blinding him with sputum.

  “That wasn’t you on the boat tonight,” I huff a small laugh, full with relief.

  He shakes his head.

  “When Giselle comes—” I don’t want to imply he’s not good enough in his transparent state, but, “well, she looks in every way human.”

  His cheeks fill with color, flesh converges over his velum features, and he appears fully formed in jeans and t-shirt.

  “Logan,” I jump up and hug him, losing my towel in the process. I knead my hands into the hard flesh of his arms, pat him down like a criminal, run my fingers over his face, trace the outline of his smile, before kissing him full on the mouth soft and lingering—so sad—so happy.

  He pulls back and takes me in, holding my gaze with his hypnotic sense of being.

  “Um,” he points down never letting his gaze wander south of my chin.

  “Oh, right,” I reach over and grab my robe, wrap it tight around my body, and lead him out to the bedroom. “I can’t believe you’re here. I mean I didn’t know you weren’t here, here. Oh my, God.” I cup my hand over my mouth. “He’s destroying you.”

  A loud rattle on the other side of the wall inspires me to drag Logan up to the butterfly room for privacy.

  Logan pulls me in next to him as we settle on the black glittering floor, the galaxy at our feet. He drops a long forlorn kiss on top of my head and sighs.

  “I knew something was wrong,” I say it low, ashamed that I wasn’t aware from the beginning.

  “I’ve missed you with an indescribable ache, Skyla.” He bears into me with those resolute eyes that testify to his words. “You and me,” he swallows hard, “we’re right together. I see it clearer now than ever before.”

  A spark ignites in me. Deep inside I know this to be true. I don’t understand it, I’m not sure I want to. This never-ending anguish, this never-ending misery, it carries on its sad refrain deep in my soul, haunts me. But now he’s dead and still nothing seems simple.

  “What are we going to do about this?” I cradle his perfectly warm hands—hold them carefully as if they had morphed into a newborn.

  “You can’t let on that you know its Holden.”

  “Why? I hate Holden.”

  “You need to kill him,” it comes out sharp. “If you confront him, you’ll ruin the element of surprise.”

  “Kill?” It comes out weak. “I can’t kill you. Let Gage kill you, or better yet— your uncle.” I find the prospect of me snuffing the life out of Logan Oliver in any incarnation highly improbable.

  “We’ll figure it out. Speaking of Gage.” He takes in a deep breath as if Gage’s own state of being were almost as challenging as his.

  “Dr. Oliver doesn’t want me to stress him out.” I bite down on my lip.

  “I know. He needs to finish healing.” Logan stares at our conjoined fingers, picks up my hand and bumps his lips over my knuckles. “What happened at the lake?” His voice trembles with anger.

  “Were you there?”

  �
��There was a binding spirit around the vicinity. I could only get as far as the parking lot.”

  “He was rounding out second base when I kneed him in the balls.”

  “Good girl,” he tugs at my hand. “Sorry about that,” it depresses out of him. The line on his cheek where I cut him sags, and I reach over and trace the hard ridge of flesh with my finger.

  “You’re here. You feel so real. This isn’t fake. Why can’t you live like this? We can have Holden shipped off to prison for impersonating you.”

  “It doesn’t work like that. This is a temporal form. I can’t live my life like this, and I won’t stand for Holden tearing down my existence just to satisfy his every itch.”

  More like satisfy every bitch.

  “Can others see you?” I squeeze his hand.

  “Only if I allow them.”

  “Maybe you should show yourself to Holden. He can drop dead of a heart attack, and you can have your body back.” I’m only half-kidding.

  “I have a feeling he doesn’t scare so easy.” Logan’s jaw goes rigid. “He’s already drained the bowling alley of three night drops.”

  “Probably sponsoring that lousy wardrobe of his. Did you see what he did to your truck?”

  Logan gives a slow blink of dissatisfaction. “I’m more concerned with what he plans on doing with every girl on the island, starting with you.”

  Holden scoffed at being Ethan, no wonder he was kissing my feet with gratitude when he turned up in Logan’s body. It’s like graduating from a paddleboat to a cruise ship. He was probably trying to do me a favor by sleeping with me first, before hitting the bevy of bathing beauties waiting for him back at Ellis’. I’ve got to stop him from defiling Logan’s body.

  “Skyla,” Logan gives a devilish smile, “we’re holding hands. I can hear you.”

  “Did you get your powers back?” I’m hopeful. Right about now I’m sorry for every lousy thing I’ve ever done to Logan.