Last Summer (12 page)

But he doesn’t stop there. Oh, no. This is
Big P we’re talking about here. He’s known around the drug
community as being one of the most notorious leaders around, and
for his bad temper. Because when he’s pissed, he’s going to take it
out on whoever stands in his way.

I just
had
to buy drugs from him. I’m
a fucking idiot.

Big P pulls out a knife from his pocket. “Do
you know what this is for, Logan?” He waves it around my face for
good measure. I shake my head in response. “I’m going to fillet you
from head to toe, and then I’m going to dice you into little pieces
and bury your remains where nobody will
ever
find them. Do
you understand?”

He’ll fucking doing it, too, and I have no
way to stop him. “Yep,” I choke out.

“Take him,” says Big P, with a nod of his
head to his boys. They drag me across the parking lot. I steal a
glance over my shoulder and see a black SUV parked at the curb.

Well
, I think,
this is it, then.
This is the end of me. I should’ve stayed in the damn
restaurant.

I peer up at the sky again, because this may
be the last time I see it. Silently, I plea,
Jake, if you can
hear me, buddy, show me a sign. I’ll make everything right by
telling the police the truth. Promise.

The back door to Bernie’s swings open; it’s
some guy carrying out the trash. He’s an older man, maybe in his
late fifties, early sixties—the kind that looks like he retired
from the military, with faded-green tattoos on his forearms.
Definitely not someone I picture taking out garbage.

Look at me, look at me, look at me
, I
will him in my mind.
FUCKING LOOK AT ME!

He looks at me.

Stops.

Squints.

Then: “Hey! HEY! What the hell do you guys
think you’re doing?”

Big P and the rest hurry toward the waiting
SUV. The trash guy steps inside the back door and then back out,
holding a shotgun. He fires it once into the air, which freezes Big
P, Ice, B, and the other guy in their tracks.

“I asked you what the hell you think you’re
doing!” he yells. As he nears us, I get a better look at him. He’s
the one and only Bernie.

“Hey, man. We weren’t causing any trouble,”
says Big P. “Best put that away before someone gets hurt.”

Bernie looks at Big P and his thugs, and
then faces me. I can almost see him taking mental notes of my
condition, which, judging by the expression on his face, isn’t
good.

“Let him go,” says Bernie.

“Listen, man, this is none of—”

“I said, LET HIM GO!” He points the shotgun
in Big P’s face. Big P throws his hands up, surrendering. For
now.

Ice and B release their firm grasp on me,
but the other guy doesn’t. Big P notices. He glares at the dude and
says, “Smooth, man, are you deaf?” Finally, Smooth lets go, but not
before shoving me toward Bernie.

I stumble to the ground, aching all over,
especially my face. I regain my footing long enough to hobble off
in the opposite direction, back to the alleyway of Bernie’s. I have
no idea where I’m going, but it’s not safe to be here right
now.

Squealing tires shriek behind me, and I know
Big P and his boys are gone. I breathe a sigh of relief. “I owe you
one, Jake,” I mumble. “I owe you big time.”

“Hey, kid! Hey, wait!” Bernie jogs in my
direction. “Come inside and I’ll get you cleaned up. Do I need to
call an ambulance for you?”

“Nah. I’m fine.” I spew out a stream of
blood.

“Son, you obviously haven’t seen your face.
I’m telling you, you need someone to look at those cuts and gashes.
I have a first-aid kit inside. It’ll only take a minute.” He sounds
convincing, and I know he has the right intentions, but I just
don’t want the authorities involved yet. If he means what he says,
though, then I’ll take him up on his offer.

Bernie sits me down in his office, in the
back area of the restaurant, tucked away from prying eyes. True to
his word, he fetches a first-aid kit and begins cleaning me up.
Moments of silence stretch out between us, until he finally
speaks.

“Did you know those guys?”

“Yeah.”

He stops cleaning one wound and looks at me.
“Well, you’re definitely not friends with them.”

I repress a laugh. “No. Definitely not.”

“My guess is you got in with the wrong
crowd, maybe owe them some money.”

Is this guy psychic or what? “I’d say that’s
pretty damn accurate.”

He grunts. “Figures. Kids like you throw
their whole lives away on drugs, alcohol, and sex. There’s an
entirely new world out there for you, kid, and it doesn’t involve
any of the above for entertainment.”

After applying the finishing touches to my
open cuts, he hands me an ice pack, which I press against my jaw.
“I’m just trying to get my life straight, man.”

“Well, you can’t do that as long as you hang
out with the likes of those boys,” he states.

“I know.”

He stands up, hands on hips, and assesses
his work. “Looks better than before, but it’s still nasty. Keep ice
on your face to reduce the swelling, and take a few ibuprofens to
ease the pain. Tomorrow’s gonna be a bitch for you.”

Every day is a bitch for me
, I want
to tell him, but I don’t.

Fourteen
•
Chloe

I
stand by my window after Mom and I return from Bernie’s. The
air cools my skin, and the view from up here isn’t all that bad.
Crickets chirp loudly, frogs croak by the lake, and the summer
nights have a spicy scent to them, like Mother Nature herself has
sprayed the atmosphere with a sensual perfume.

A twig snaps, and I jerk my head toward the
direction of the sound. Out of the shadows hobbles a figure. When
the moonlight frames his body, I know exactly who it is.

“Where have you—” I start, but then I see
his face. Dark blue and purple splotches cover his eyes and jaw
line, and his eyes are swollen so much, they’re almost shut. “Are
you okay?”

Motioning for him to climb
up so we can talk, he ascends the lattice and slides through my
window. Before I can open my mouth to ask what’s happened, he
crushes me against the wall, his lips finding mine in the dark. He
tastes like salt and blood, but there’s also a sweetness that
follows.
Both of his hands grab my face, as if he’s afraid
I’ll pull away. As if he wants to siphon the very air from my lungs
because it’s what he needs to survive, because the atmosphere
around us is too electrically charged to breathe normally. Roughly,
his tongue invades my mouth, which is completely exhilarating.
Without slowing the pace, I circle his tongue with mine. The
constant giving and taking is making me lightheaded. One of his
arms loops around my waist, pulling me closer to his body.
Unpredictably, I moan, sending him into another round of intense
kisses.

Eventually, I pull away, barely able to tell
him to stop. It’s not that I really want him to; it’s just that I
don’t think I can take anymore. This feeling, like I’m floating
atop water, is completely new to me. Foreign. Scary.
Uncontrollable. Definitely not the same as the make-out sessions
with Jeremy Frazier two years ago, behind the school. Actually,
this is
nothing
like that.

Logan firmly plants his
hands on either side of my face. He kisses my forehead once, lips
lingering, and then says, “Please don’t give up on me.
Please.
”

“I won’t,” I whisper.

“Promise me, no matter what happens, you
won’t leave me.”

I can’t exactly promise that. I mean, what
if I’m unable to be by his side for some unforeseen reason? “Logan,
I don’t think—”

“Please, please, please, Chloe,” he whispers
against my cheek, his breath as soft as a breeze from a
hummingbird’s wing. He trails kisses down my neck and over my
breastbone, completely disorienting me. Then, his mouth dips even
lower. I gasp, because I’ve forgotten I’m only in a slinky,
spaghetti-strap top, and boy shorts. He hooks one finger underneath
a strap and slowly guides it off my shoulder. I don’t protest
because, deep down, I don’t want him to stop. I want to know what
it feels like to have a boy worship every inch of my body. But then
there’s that nagging bitch of a conscience, and she wants to impede
my better judgment.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs. “Tell me to
end it all right now and I will.” He lightly brushes a finger over
the edge of my top, catching the lacy border and dragging it down,
down, down, until he fully exposes me on one side. My chest heaves
up and down with each new breath. Thank God it’s dark in here; my
cheeks feel like they’re on fire. He repeats the same, slow motion
of revealing the other breast. I yelp when his light stubble
scrapes across the underside and all around the center. “Hush,” he
murmurs against my extended peak. His lips are so close they brush
the tip.

I whimper.
Do it already! Put your lips on it
and—

“Relax,” he says. “You’re
too tense. Don’t be scared, Chloe. I won’t do anything you don’t
want me to. Understand?” He massages the muscles around my neck, my
arms, my waist, my thighs and calves. Slowly, I unwind. “Now, where
were we? Oh, I remember.” With that, he feasts on my breast. I wish
I was joking about this, but I’m not. He literally takes one in his
mouth, half devouring it, and sucks.
Hard.
Just like I wanted. All the
while, he takes the other taut nipple between his fingers,
pinching, rolling, teasing. His free hand presses against my back
so that I can’t move.

I throw my head back
against the wall.
Ohhh mannn.
So this is what it feels like. It’s no wonder why
women and men can become addicted. This might be better than
kissing. I let a moan slip past my lips, but Logan’s quick to cover
my mouth with his own. “Hush, baby,” he says in between kisses.
“You don’t want your mom hearing us, do you?” Without waiting for a
response, Logan invades my mouth with his tongue, exploring as deep
as he can go.

My lips feel like they’re bruised. My mouth
is being stretched to its limits. But I don’t regret any of this as
Logan carries me to the bed, my legs wrapped tightly around his
waist.

He sets me down on the
mattress and lies on top of my body, covering nearly every inch. “I
don’t want to rush things, especially if we won’t see each other
for who knows how long.” With a sweep of his finger over my cheek,
he adds, “You’re so beautiful. I don’t want to ruin you, Chloe. I
want everything to be
right
. And if that means waiting, I
think we should.”

What?
“What?”

“We shouldn’t do this right now. I’m in
pain, and I think we should hold off.”

Why does this feel like he
just slapped me across my face
and
kicked me in the stomach at the same time? I’ve heard so many
excuses before and none of them hurt as much as his. Although he’s
supposedly looking out for me, this is as close to rejection as it
gets. Which sucks.

I sit up and fix my clothing so I’m covered
again. Clearing my throat, I say, “Um, yeah, sure.”

“Are you mad? Please don’t be mad at
me.”

He has the nerve to ask me this question
after he just told me he doesn’t want to be with me? He started it,
but he’s acting like it’s all one-sided. That’s it! No more.

“Yeah, actually, I am mad,” I say, bolting
up from my bed to get away from him. “You can’t just lead me on
like this. Do you realize how many times I’ve tried saving you
already? And each time, all you do is push me away. After what you
did yesterday in the woods, and then not even meeting me at the
restaurant today, I don’t know if you’ll get better or not,
Logan.”

He reaches for me, but I dodge his hand.
“Look,” he says, deflated, “I’m sorry. I
was
at the
restaurant, and I wish I had stayed.” He pauses to shake his head,
like he’s discarding an unwanted memory. “I can’t explain what it’s
like. I feel crazy. I mean, I was in the woods yesterday, listening
to my little brother talk to me, so I must be insane, right?”

“Logan—”

He raises one hand. “Just hear me out, okay?
You have no idea what it’s like being so addicted to something, it
leaves you breathless. One minute it’s there, the next it’s not.
It’s like a physical ache gushing through my blood, as if every
piece of me is in pain.”

“Actually, I do know what that’s like,” I
murmur.

He goes on, ignoring me. “Not to mention my
stomach hurts from vomiting, I’m delusional, I have murderous drug
dealers after me—”

“Wait—what?” I blurt. “Murderous drug
dealers?” Then it hits me. I cross my arms. I
knew
something
like this would happen; Logan wasn’t giving me the full story. Ever
since he told me about his friend, I felt like something was
off
with his version of the events. Now I know why. “Your
friend—Jake, was it?—he was killed by them, wasn’t he? They were
after you, they knew you two were friends, and Jake somehow got in
the way.”

Logan inhales sharply, shaking his head, and
looks at the floor.

And if they did that horrific crime to Jake,
what will they do to Logan? Is that what happened to his face—they
got a hold of him?
Oh, shit.

“You were running from them all along,
weren’t you? What do they want? Logan, you have to do some—”

“I know what I need to do, damn it! I just
don’t have a way of getting it. And things are only going to get
worse if I don’t play by their rules.”

Pacing across my room, I realize I can’t
even wrap my head around this mess. Logan’s in some dire shit right
now and there’s absolutely no way I can help him. Blood-thirsty
drug dealers? Not my thing.