Elysian (37 page)

“Thanks,” she says it weak, depleted. “So I guess he’s off the market.”

“What do you mean he’s off the market? He knocked her up. Trust me, it means very little to him.”

She gives a knowing nod.

“Brielle, there’s probably another guy for you. I wouldn’t worry too much about Drake. In a year we’ll be in college, and I bet that’s exactly where you’ll find your Mr. Right. Or maybe even after that. You never know what life has planned.” I shoot a dirty look to the sky in the event my mother a.k.a. the planner of all things ‘future’ were paying attention.

“I’m sure if I wanted, I could find another guy.” She links her arm through mine as we head toward the gym. “But I don’t want another guy. I know it’s hard for you to understand. Hey!” Her face brightens. “Em and I are like Logan and Gage, and that would make you Drake.”

Crap.

“World’s worst analogy,” I whisper.

“You may not like it, but it’s true.” She lets go of my arm and heads to her locker. “You’re going to be the death of those boys, Skyla Messenger.”

Chloe steps between us with her wet hair slicked in a ponytail, a new cheer uniform with the words the Gas Lab embroidered on the front.

“There are no truer words, Brielle.” She offers a quick wink in my direction. “There are no truer words.”

***

I miss Marshall.

Now there’s an odd thought to have as I pull into the Oliver’s driveway. I rushed home to change and to plead with Mom to stop the instant coffee debacle before the Gas Lab turns into an
instant
disaster. I don’t know why I feel the need to pull that place out of the shitter before it officially flops, most likely because my father’s blood money is attached to the venue.

The Gas Lab.

I shake my head as I park behind Logan’s truck. The first thing I’m going to do when I sue my family for the disastrous establishment is change that ridiculous name to something a little more fitting, like the Chloe Free Zone, or Ezrina’s Lab. Anything but the aforementioned reference to the inner workings of the Landon’s bowels. Honest to God, every idea they have is literally formulated from crap. Especially Drake. He’s landed a prominent place on my own personal shit list.

The cool night air greets me as I head toward the Oliver’s door.

I hate that Brielle likened me to Drake in the equation. I hate that
I
likened me to Drake in the equation.

Marshall wafts through my mind like a ghost.

That’s strange. Second time. I wonder if this is some new method he’s developed to get my attention. God knows he’s above using the phone.

The door swings open revealing Emma and her tight-lipped smile on the other side. I swear the woman gets less friendly with each passing week. You’d think she’d be thrilled that Gage and I were no longer officially together. Hell, I’m shocked she hasn’t hired Mom to officiate a party in honor of her son’s newly single status.

“Gage is miserable. Do something, Skyla,” she hisses into me, and my jaw drops.

“If it makes you feel better, I’m miserable, too,” I say as I step in the entry.

Truth be told, I don’t really feel like playing her games.

“You can’t be OK with this.” Her eyes widen like a pair of hardboiled eggs.

“The only way for me to end his misery is to be with him—permanently,” I say it like a taunt because we both know she’d rather eat every one of her linen napkins than witness that scenario unfold.

She sucks in a breath, and her mouth rounds out as if I’ve just spewed the vilest expletive, but she doesn’t refute my theory.

“I thought so.” I speed past her into the family room where Logan and Gage both rise to greet me. There’s another knock at the door which gives Emma and I both something to distract ourselves with for a moment.

“You ready to do this?” I whisper as Logan offers a brief hug.

“Ready or not, here I come.” He averts his gaze out the blackened window.

So much is going to change tonight, and I hate it.

I head over to Gage, and he offers a sly smile with his chin dipped in.

“I’m sorry I lost it,” he whispers. His dimples go off, and my insides melt.

“I can never stay mad at you, Gage Oliver.” I pull him in and press my lips to his ear. “Your mom says you’re real upset. If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to you after this.”

He shoots a look of venom across the room. I trace his stare and land right on Emma.

Emma ushers Giselle and Ellis over to the loveseat before sending her own hate-filled lasers right back at me.

Great. Nothing like creating a riff between mother and son to get the night off on the wrong foot. I may as well face it, Emma is going to hate me forever no matter what I decide.

“All right,” Logan says just as Barron walks into the room with two giant boxes of pizza. “Everyone take a seat,” he says it bored, unmotivated to carry on with the conversation.

Ellis swoops an arm around Giselle’s shoulder, and she giggles as if it were the funniest thing on earth.

“Face five.” He dives in for the kill and smacks her one over the lips.

Shit. Ellis is so going to have his head handed to him on a platter, and Dr. O will be right there to dig a ditch for the rest of his over-hormonal body. I glance around, and no one else seems to have noticed the sexual infraction that just occurred. Lucky for him. God only knows what Emma will do to poor Ellis if she sees him defiling her baby with skin on skin contact. Although, I do kind of like the idea of Ellis taking the heat off me for a while.

Logan interlaces our fingers as we sit down on the couch. Gage glances at the two of us, and his jaw pops with clear annoyance.

“I don’t know how I’m going to do this.” Logan pans the entire lot of us as we wait for whatever comes from his lips next. “I thought it’d come to me, and I’m blank.”

“Start with the facts.” Dr. Oliver looks down his nose at us the way he does when he’s about to inspect something suspicious or listen to anything foolish Tad has to say.

“OK,” Logan clears his throat. “I’m dead.”

Everyone in the room gives a collective gasp.

Shit. I give his hand a squeeze.

Maybe you could have segued into that fact a little later? 

Logan gives a remorseful nod.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Emma leans in as if she truly misunderstood.

She probably thought you said, ‘I’m taking Skyla to bed
.’

He holds back a laugh.
Can I?

“What the fuck’s going on?” Gage demands. His eyes pierce through us like arrows, insisting on an explanation.

“During the war”—Logan inhales the statement—“I guess Chloe cut off my head.”

“Eww.” Giselle makes a face, looking decidedly like a child in the process.

“
Dude
.” Ellis ticks his chin back. “Does that mean I’m dead, too?”

“No,” I jump in. “Ezrina brought you back. You’re a Count, and apparently she’s allowed to bring you back—just the once.”

“And”— Logan uses my logic as a springboard—“I had my chance. This time I’m irreparable.”

“So—what”—Gage looks skeptical and pissed—“are you trying to tell us you’re a ghost?”

I bet he thinks you’re a Fem
because I totally thought that myself.
 

“I’m not a ghost. I’m not a Fem. I’m in a treble.”

The color bleeds from Gage’s face. His features soften, and he looks like he might be sick.

Logan dives into the full sordid story which, without coincidence, involves my mother—both of them actually.

“So, I’m basically on reprieve at least until I get convicted.”

“Then what?” Dr. Oliver’s voice is hardly audible.

“Then”—Logan nods—“I’m permanently off the planet.”

Emma lets out a yelp before bursting into tears. Giselle follows suit, and they both rise and hug Logan a very long time. Barron joins in, and suddenly I feel like a voyeur, an outsider who doesn’t really belong.

“I’ve known.” Barron can hardly push out the words. “I suspected something the night Gage was hurt, and deep inside I knew. It destroys me to know I couldn’t keep you safe. I promised our father.” He shakes his head despondent.

“It’s not your fault,” Logan assures him.

No. It’s mine.

Gage pulls me up by the hand. He stares into me with a resolute sadness amidst the wails of his mother, his sister, the hard sniffles of his father, and he examines me, weighing this moment with the heft of its heartbreak.

How long have you known?
His dimples press in, and our eyes pool with water in tandem. We’re both sinking and soon enough we would drown.

“Halloween.” I give a circular nod.

“I asked her not to tell.” Logan slaps Gage on the shoulder. “Come here, dude.” He pulls him into a half-hug.

Gage gives a violent tug and holds onto Logan with his eyes squeezed tight. A seam of liquid blooms across his lashes, and that’s when I lose it. Tears fall in long, fat streams, running down my shirt into the crevice of my lips until I taste them, drink them down for fortitude. 

I wish I could look away. I wish I had stayed home. Here they are, Logan and Gage, locked in a visceral pain that will be unending from this point on.

Chloe dealt that final blow. She did this, and I’ll do whatever I can to make sure she pays. To hell with what the visions say, I’ll be the last person on the planet to spare her life. It was probably a lie. I’m probably just setting her up from the future. I consider it a moment as I etch the undeniable pain of Logan and Gage’s embrace into my mind. I need to remember this. This is precious fuel to rid the planet of Chloe Bishop once and for all.

Logan and Gage pull back, both with bloodshot eyes, each inhaling a never-ending breath.

Ellis crops up and pats Logan on the back. “So what does this mean?” He looks pissed as if Logan somehow deliberately did this to tick him off.

“I don’t know what it means.” Logan looks around and takes us all in. “The only thing I could guess is that I’m lucky enough to get to say goodbye.”

A moment of smothering silence drifts by.

“That is a blessing.” Barron nods into the idea. “We’ll make it a point to spend as much time with you as possible. Emma and I would enjoy that very much.”

“Done.” Logan relaxes for the first time all night. “I’ll be carrying on as usual, school, the bowling alley. I’ve already left detailed plans for once I’m gone.” He looks to Barron. “They’re on my desk. I suppose I’ll be tinkering on those right up until the end.”

My heart seizes. It’s all real. Logan is saying his goodbye, taking appointments for our one on ones, leaving his written word on what needs to be done in his wake.

The room gives a light spin and fainting feels like a real option.

“Skyla? Are you going to be sick?” Giselle steps in just as Logan wraps an arm around my waist and secures me to his hip.

“I’m OK.” I take in a deep breath. I forbid myself to blackout like some damsel in distress. “In fact, you’ll be OK, too,” I say it right to Logan. I don’t mind making the open declaration in front of Dr. Oliver, Emma and God. “I’ll see to it myself.”

Dr. O steps forward and places his hand on mine.

“You can’t stop destiny, Skyla.”

“Nothing’s impossible, Barron.”

“Yes”—he offers a sincere look of sympathy —“but you can’t control everything, and death does come for us, one by one we all go home. Just because you fear it doesn’t mean it will go away. The only thing you can control is fear itself.”

“Control your own fear, Barron. I’m making sure Logan sticks around for a good, long while.

An image flashes through his mind, clear as day, and projects to me. A series of clowns, each far more grotesque than the last, bounces through his thoughts, each of them drawing in closer until he blinks them away.

I snatch my hand from him like pulling it out of a fire.

What the hell was that?

“I do control my fears, Skyla,” he says before nodding into Logan. “I suggest you control yours.”

Emma and Barron offer to take Giselle home to the Kraggers.

“I’ll catch you later, dude.” Ellis socks Logan in the arm. “Hey, try to stick around until homecoming. I’m having a killer after-party.”

“Will do, man.” Logan socks him right back.

And here we are, just Logan, Gage, and me standing in the middle of death, trying to ignore the stench clotting up our lungs.

Gage nods toward the stairs. “I’ll head up and give you a chance to talk.”

“No, it’s OK.” Logan gives a forlorn smile in my direction. He turns to Gage. “Make sure she gets home safe. Maybe you can teleport back.” It comes out hoarse.

“Where are you going?” My voice trembles as I stammer out the words.

“I’ve got someone to see.” His dimple inverts. “Dudley.” He reaches up and caresses my cheek. “No more secrets.”

I clasp onto his hand and kiss it. “No more secrets.”

We watch as Logan takes off—the front door opens and closes quiet as a whisper.

Gage comes over and holds me.

We don’t say a single word.

The tears say everything for us.

Gage and I drive back to the Landon house in the Mustang. It’s funny how I sort of feel like Logan is here with us, like he’s around me as certain as this caged steel. I see him in the fog as a ghost, in the trees as they sway in the wind, in the sky as the haze clears in patches.

I park high on the driveway behind the minivan, and Gage pulls me in, blinking us both to the butterfly room.

It’s dark, unnaturally dark, and a part of me likes it this way.

“You want me to turn on the light?” he whispers, still holding me secure in his strong embrace.

“It’ll be too bright.”

“How about this?” Gage taps the wall, and the butterflies illuminate a brilliant shade of cobalt, the exact color of his eyes.

“How did you do that?” I wrap my arms around him and pull him down to the pile of pillows I have amassed.

“It’s a Levatio thing.” His dimples depress as the blue hue washes over him. It takes all of the color out of our world and replaces it with a beautiful sense of calm.