Wild Hearts (39 page)

“Take me to your house,” I said, my voice raw. “I don't want to go home.”

He shook his head. “No. You've got to go home.” I rested my forehead against the truck window and stared out. I had to tell him the whole truth. He deserved that much.

“I've known for three days.”

He took his eyes off the road, slowed the truck, and looked at me for a second. He eased the truck off the road and into the grass. He forced it into park and stared at the steering wheel. Slowly, he turned in his seat until his seat belt was strained. He
pushed on the dim overhead light and closed his eyes before looking at me.

“You knew? Why didn't you tell me when you found out?”

I lowered my head. “Because I told myself not to get close to anyone. I never thought it would happen, Logan, I didn't! But then I liked you and everything happened so fast. I didn't want to hurt you.”

Logan sat still without saying a word. “I wouldn't have pulled away, Brie. You know that.” He turned forward and slammed his back into the seat.

“I wanted to, I swear.” I touched his arm and he faced me again. “But if I did, that would have been hanging over us today, and we've been working so hard to have this great event. At least this way, you didn't have that burden today.”

“But
you
did.”

He leaned over and hugged me. We sat in his truck, in the silence of the deserted road, until my cell rang and jarred us apart. It was Mom.

“We're almost there,” I said before she had even asked a question. How fast a place changes from “home” to “there.”

I said good-bye and ended the call, throwing my phone into my bag.

“Stop,” Logan said.

“Stop what?” I asked. “What's wrong?”

“We can't spend our time together like this,” Logan said.

“Like what?” I couldn't keep the twinge of annoyance out of my voice.

Logan reached out and ran his pointer finger up and down my cheekbone. “I feel as angry and sad as you do, believe me,” he said. “But if I go there, I won't come back. Time will pass and once we're separated, we'll both wonder where the hell we were those last few days that we had together.”

“We would already be living in the future. What we're going to probably experience when I leave.”

“I'm sorry to tell you this, but I know that I'll definitely not be feeling great. But I'm already lining up jobs in my head so that I will be busy around the clock from Pam's, to home, Holden, and soon school.”

“I should do that, too,” I said. “I can still help with the horses on the technical side with the website, and I—”

Logan leaned forward, hands on both sides of my face, and kissed me. I undid my seat belt and slid closer to him. I'd just gotten lost in kissing him when my dad's ringtone went off. I planted a quick kiss on Logan's cheek and reached into my bag. I held up the phone so he could see as I powered it off.

Logan opened his mouth and I covered it with my hand. “I don't care. What are they going to do? There's nothing left to lose.”

Logan pulled me gently toward him and I started crying all over again.

 

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Thunder does all the barking, but it's lightning that bites.

Logan and I had been inseparable over the past week and a half. At first, it was hard to do anything but mope, but I'd realized he was right. We spent hours at Amy's house watching movies and playing foosball. We rode Mazy and LG everywhere. Logan even put Holden on an old quarter horse and we took him riding with us.

Logan had worked out a deal with his dad to reduce his shifts in the field and make them up later. For now, he wanted to spend every free second with me.

Mom and Dad were away—gone to Cali to scout out the best neighborhoods—and they were due back tomorrow morning. It was a Friday night, so most of the town was at the movies or bars. But Logan and I were at my empty house. A U-Haul sat mostly packed in the driveway. Dad hadn't hitched it to the SUV yet.

We were leaving on Sunday morning.

Logan was in the kitchen, making us turkey Stroganoff for dinner. We'd rented the latest DVD volume in an action series that we both liked.

“It's ready,” he called from the kitchen. It felt like a date. A normal date. Not at all what it really was—our last night together.

“Smells great,” I said.

“You'd better say that,” he mocked. “It took me five whole minutes to stir this and twenty minutes of waiting.”

We ate at the kitchen table and, after we had finished, Logan put the plates in the dishwasher. I flicked on the TV and put in the movie. Logan covered me with one of our throw blankets. We cozied up together on the couch and put our socked feet on the ottoman. We watched the movie and I hid behind Logan during the bloodiest parts. Violence and gore—not my thing. But watching the lead actor was
so
worth it. We didn't talk. We just enjoyed the movie.

“Want popcorn?” Logan asked, getting off the couch and stretching.

“Ugh,” I groaned. “Too full.”

“You, too full?” Logan teased. He plopped back down on the couch. “Since when, Miss-I-Can-Eat-Three-Hot-Dogs for lunch?”

“Logan!” I shoved him and tried not to laugh. “So what.” I sniffed, pretending to be offended. “I like hot dogs.”

I stretched out onto the couch and put a pillow behind my head. Logan shifted so my legs were in his lap. “I like you,” he said softly.

“Come here,” he said, pulling me into a sitting position and getting up and standing behind me, rubbing my neck.

“Thank you,” I said. “Want to go upstairs and just—?”

“Let's go,” Logan interrupted.

He scooped me into his arms, carrying me through the living room. Giggling, I wrapped an arm around his neck.

“Is this really necessary? My legs
do
work.”

“Shh,” he said, laughing. “I'm trying to be chivalrous. Just let me carry you up the stairs.”

I buried my nose into his neck and let myself sink into his arms. He smelled like sweet hay, soap, and cinnamon. He carried me through my bedroom doorway and I flicked on the light. My room was mostly empty, with only a few boxes against the wall and some clothes hanging in the closet. Logan put me down by my bed.

“Can you lock the balcony door and close the blinds?” I asked. “I'm being way, way over-cautious but if my parents showed up and saw us lying on my bed together—even with all our clothes on—they would
freak
.”

While he did that, I rummaged through one of the last boxes in my room and found my container of candles. Vanilla and peach seemed like safe choices—nothing too girly—so I put those on the bare table beside my bed and lit them.

Logan turned off the lights and together we eased down onto my bed. Logan's arms wrapped around me and I snuggled into him. A memory of the first time that we had spoken flashed before my eyes. My body trembled as I held back a sob.

“What's wrong?” Logan asked, squeezing me tighter.

“Nothing,” I said, blinking and glad I was facing away from him. “It's just . . . this is the last time we'll get to be together.”

“Don't think about it like that,” Logan said. He brushed my hair off my face. “It's not going to be the last time we ever see each other. Or the last time we'll ever get time to ourselves like this. I promise.”

I sat up and scooted around to face him. He sat up, too, looking into my eyes. “What are we going to do? Do we break up?” I paused. “Or try long-distance?”

If he said he wanted to break up, it would kill me. But most of all, I cared about his happiness. So I had to ask that question.

“Break up?” Logan shook his head. “No, we have to try, Brie. We can do long-distance.”

That made me smile. “True. You sure you want to? I mean, you might want to date another girl. One you can actually—” I stopped.

Logan rubbed his hand up and down my arm. “I want to be with you. No one else. We'll do whatever it takes to make this work.”

It wasn't long before Logan had coaxed me back into his arms. Shadows from the candles danced on my walls, and soon I drifted off to sleep.

 

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Where the road ends, the trail begins.

In a weird way, I was relieved Sunday morning finally came. Yesterday, Logan had helped me pack the last of my boxes and then I'd spent the rest of the day with Amy. We said good-bye last night, since she knew I only had a few minutes to see Logan this morning.

“I'm going to miss you so much,” Amy had said, hugging me.

“Me, too! But we've got webcams and we'll text all the time,” I said.

We let go and I looked around her room. Posters of Nashville, Atlanta, and Houston covered her walls.

Amy grinned. “Definitely. And here.” She reached for her Watson's uniform and took off two buttons. She pinned them on my shirt. “The horse to remind you of Frogger and the horseshoe for good luck.”

“Amy!” I hugged her again. “Thanks.”

Turning, I rummaged in my purse and pulled out a large bubble-wrapped rectangle. “Here. For you. You did so much for me—helping Logan with the horses and designing our website. It's a little thank-you.”

Amy squinted and carefully unwrapped the package. She pulled out a black picture frame and gasped.

“Oh, my God.” She ran her fingers over the glass. Inside was a “window to the South” painting I'd bought in Pensacola. The painting had different squares, or windows, for the southern states. Each state had its name hidden somewhere in the window and there was a recognizable icon for each. Florida's square had a white sand beach and clear waves, Texas had the Alamo, Mississippi had a river barge, and Tennessee had a guitar.

“You like it?”

Amy sat on the end of her bed, holding the painting. “It's perfect,” she whispered. “It's the most amazing thing I've ever seen. Thank you so much. I don't want you to leave!”

Amy and I both started to cry, and soon we were sitting beside each other on her bed, trying to stop our mascara from running.