Rush (Roam Series, Book Four) Page 4

  “No! The longer my mother… suffers… if she’s even there, the-”

  “I know. That’s why I’m thinking about a Plan B. If you’re willing.”

  She nodded once, a grateful smile on her face. “So when we get back in the Mystery Machine, you tell Fred the plan.”

  I scowled playfully, amused at her reference. “Really? I’m Shaggy?”

  “You don’t want to be Fred. Shaggy is inventive, and he always goes in fighting. Fred is a pretty-boy.”

  “Shaggy is usually high, which would explain his lack of caution.”

  She giggled. “Well, am I Daphne or Velma?”

  “You’re too pretty to be Daphne, and too smart to be Velma. I guess you’re Scooby. The star of the show who never stops eating.”

  She laughed and took a step forward as a new song began on the radio, sighing. “Thank you, Logan.”

  “You’re welcome.” I raised my eyebrows, leaning back against the counter.

  “So, I told you mine, you tell me yours.” She ordered. “Favorite movie?”

  I exhaled quickly, shrugging. “Braveheart. Of course.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Because it is absolutely the best movie ever made.”

  She rolled her eyes, turning up the music slightly. “That’s not a reason. That’s an opinion.”

  The part of my teenaged brain that had spent the last twenty-four hours contriving half-clothed fantasies of her suddenly got all cocky. “Hey… would you… like to dance?”

  She gave me a skeptical glance, gesturing to the radio. “What, to this?”

  Dean Martin’s Sway reminded me of weekends at my grandmother’s house. “Pretend it’s Michael Bubbles or whatever his name is.”

  “Bublé.” She grinned, her curls brushing over her shoulders and dripping down her back as she shook her head. “Michael Bublé.”

  “Yeah, pretend it’s him. Come on.” I held my arms up. “You’re the dancer. How do you dance to this?”

  She curled her pink lips into a smirk, and then pulled her tongue over them. I wondered what her mouth tasted like.

  I wondered what her mouth felt like.

  “The best dance for this song would be a cha-cha, I guess.”

  “Less talky more dancy.”

  “You are such a dork.” She laughed, and then snatched my hands into hers. Her fingers, still damp from the sink, were incredibly soft. I could look down and see the top of her platinum-blonde curls. She can’t be more than 5’3” or 5’4”. “Upper body moves very little. Let it follow your lower body.” She let go of my right hand, tapping my stomach. “Use your ribs and your abs. Ready?”

  My feet were rooted to the hardwood floor. Her body, poised before me in dance formation, flipped a switch in my stomach. I took a step forward, and she naturally took one backward, pressed against the countertop.

  Her eyes, a wintry sky-blue, stole whatever words I had hoped to mumble from my vocal chords.

  “This isn’t dancing.” Her voice, more coarse when whispered from her throat, knocked me senseless. Everything tightened.

  “I don’t want to dance.”

  She reached for my neck, her eyes fixed on mine.

  I took that as an invitation.

  Reveling in my new-found upper body strength, I tucked my hands under her ass, lifting her just enough to allow her to fully loop her arms around my neck.

  “Listen.” She licked her lips again, and I dropped her to the counter, sliding my hands up her sides. “I… might… want to kiss you, but… the other you.” She tentatively raised her mouth to my jaw, and I almost lost control, just pressed up against her knee.

  “The other me?” I closed my eyes, unable to stop my thumb from tracing over the side of her breast. She only leaned further into me, and I groaned, tilting my head down to search for her mouth.

  “Yes. The other you. The Logan you,” she added, her tongue darting through her words to trace my throat. I’m gonna lose it, right now, I realized, exhaling sharply and thinking that I should back away.

  “Well, I want to kiss this you,” I managed, catching her chin in my fingers. She widened her eyes, and then those full, wet lips curved into an ornery grin.

  “Maybe when we get back,” she promised, covering my mouth with her index finger. I pushed her hand aside, following her face until her head touched the cabinet.

  The door opened just then, and West took all of two steps into the kitchen before nearly sprinting to me. Violet hopped off the countertop between us, just a half of a second in time.

  “Get your hands off of her-”

  “We were just dancing,” she fired.

  “Dancing?”

  “Nope, sorry, you don’t get to pull the ‘Daddy’ card now, West.” She blocked me with one arm, arching one eyebrow at her father. “Go mind your own business.”

  I could tell by the expression on his now-shaven face that no one spoke to him in that tone. Smug, I tucked Violet even closer to my side.

  “You can go check on Troy first,” I added.

  He took an uncomfortably close step to me, his face inches from mine. “If you’re doing this for some kind of juvenile revenge directed towards me, and you hurt her, I’ll kill you. Again.”

  I managed to keep his unwavering look. “If I wanted revenge on you, I’d just take Roam from you. I’d find a way. You may have spent centuries with her soul, but I’ve spent seventeen years with her mind.”

  “No part of her wants you, Logan.”

  “Ask her how many times she kissed me while you were in 1977.”

  “Well, as fun as it is to be stuck in the middle of this pissing match over Roam, I’m going for walk.”

  Violet shoved away from me, heading for the back door.

  “Vi, wait,” I called, but she had already crossed the small living room and was out the door. Turning to West, I pointed to the bedroom door. “Go in there to Roam and your baby, because if she doesn’t want me, then it’s not my job to take care of her. Violet and I were just playing around. Nothing happened.”

  He rubbed his fingers against his jaw before his temple. “I’m sorry. It’s easier to trust you when you look like… yourself. I know you mean well.”

  An apology? Did that just happen? I decided I was on a roll. “I like Violet. In a non-threatening, eighteen-year-old, she’s fun-and-cute-kind of way. I’m not really forty- or whatever I am in this life.”

  “I know.”

  “And whatever aftershave they used, you smell like an old dude.”

  He almost smirked, waving at the back of the house absently. “Go find her. I’ll check on Troy before I go in with Roam.”

  I nodded, moving out the back door. After walking the beach in both directions several times, I finally gave up and went back to the cottage. I hope she’s okay. The moonlit evening was mild, and the rain seemed to have finally stopped.

  Near ten, I pulled a blanket over my legs and stared at the back door, waiting. The baby cried once, but then I heard nothing but soft voices and silence from the bedroom. If she’s not back in ten minutes, I’m going out to find her.

  Finally, the door creaked open, and she quietly crept to the couch. I sat up, but she held her palm up, indicating that I stay. Without a word, she slipped under the blanket and turned away from me. My back pressed against the couch, and her hips tucked against mine.

  “Are you okay?” I hushed against her ear, knowing there was no way in hell I was going to be able to sleep with her ass jammed into my crotch.

  She shifted, moving away from me- slightly.

  “I’m just another girl with Daddy issues. You should run while you still can.”

  I wrapped my arm around her waist, tugging her against me. She rolled back to find my eyes in the darkness.

  “I don’t think we’re any less fucked up than the rest of the population. Even adding immortality, reincarnation, and time travel.”

  She gave a short sigh. After a moment, she turned completely to face me, our b
odies running parallel on the couch. She tossed her leg over my hip, and I tightened my grip on her waist, knowing full well she could feel how turned on I was. Her face pressed against my chest.

  I moved my mouth against her forehead. “What if I don’t want to run?”

  She pressed her face into my neck, gripping my shoulders with all of her strength.

  “You’re my only friend. Please… let’s just keep it that way.”

  I smoothed my hand over her curls, instantly somber. The lower half of my body reconnected to my brain, and I tugged the blanket over us and closed my eyes.

  I’m everyone’s best fucking friend.

  Chapter Five

  Violet

  Killing myself was easier than I thought it would be.

  The moment I realized that I was alive again, I gasped for air and lifted my bloodied wrist to my face. Logan kneeled over me, holding sodden towels in his hands.

  “What in the hell were you thinking?” West’s hands on my face, the pain in his voice, stunned me even deeper into disbelief.

  “I… you can kill him,” I managed, my voice shaking. I looked up at my father. “You can snap his neck. We’re still immortal.”

  His blue eyes, so much like mine, flared. “You can clean this up,” he growled, pushing to his feet. I looked at Roam helplessly; the sympathy in her expression was clear.

  “I’ll do this. Logan, help her,” she ordered, mopping up the bloody mess on the floor.

  Logan lifted me into his arms as though I weighed no more than a child. He set me to my feet, and I took small steps as he led me towards the bedroom.

  West appeared in the doorway with more towels, and I met his eyes.

  “I understand why you did this. But we’re working together. No surprises.”

  “Okay.” I tried not to cry; his disciplining voice worked some inherent parental magic on me, and I cringed.

  “Logan, please help her clean up.” Easier now. He has a temper… must be where mine comes from.

  “I am,” Logan snapped, pulling his fingers over my hair before kissing my head.

  My resolve broke; I leaned into him, letting the tears slide down my cheeks. He sighed and lifted me into his arms again, carrying me to the bathroom.

  “That was pretty brave,” he said, reaching for the hot water faucet. “You’re the ballsiest girl I know.”

  I exhaled a laugh, brushing at my tears with the back of my hand. “Thanks… I think.”

  “Most people don’t actually succeed in killing themselves when they cut their wrists. So… congratulations?”

  He held a clean towel under the water, and I rested my head against his chest. “No one would really miss me if I was gone.”

  “Oh, no, definitely not your mother- who we’ve been doing all of this for.”

  I listened to his sarcastic response, letting him scrub at the blood on my arms. “It’s been nine years. Do you really think she’s the same? Who knows what’s happened to her.”

  He scratched his beard, shrugging. “I don’t know that answer, Violet.” He sighed at all the blood. “I can’t believe you had the nerve to do this. It must have really hurt.”

  I watched him rinse the rag, and as he returned to my side, I grabbed his elbow. He lifted his eyes to mine.

  Before I lost my courage, I dug my fingers into his skin. “I’m messed up. You should know that.”

  He kept his eyes on mine. “Who isn’t?”

  “No, Logan. Between my second and third foster home… I spent a year in juvenile prison. For stabbing my foster father.”

  He lowered his eyes quickly, intent on cleaning my arms. “Why?”

  I wrapped my fingers over his hand, stilling his movements. “I can spend our time together giving you clues about my shitty past, or I can just tell you he touched me in bad ways. Do you prefer the troubled, elusive crybaby or the sarcastic, blunt little bitch?”

  He leaned forward, only inches from my lips. After searching my eyes for endless seconds, he slid his fingers through my hair, along my temple. “Well, sounds like he deserved it then.” His warm breath sent a shiver over my back, and I exhaled sharply. “Also, if I must choose… I’ve always had a thing for sarcastic little bitches.”

  I laughed with unexplainable relief, cupping his face in my hands.

  “Is this beard uncomfortable?” I reached for the towel, my eyes finally dry. He applied both sets of fingertips to his jaw, scratching.

  “I feel like the wolf man. I hope the real me doesn’t ever get this hairy.”

  The light in the bathroom was dim, casting shadows into the corners of his face. I tucked my hand against his jaw, leaning in.

  Kiss him. He deserves it.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, widening my eyes as he pulled back. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t want a thank-you kiss. I want the ‘I’m-going-to-die-if-I-don’t-kiss-you-right-now’ kiss. Let me know when you’re feeling that.”

  He pressed his lips to my forehead before leaving me in the bathroom.

  I processed his words, attempting to wash the dirty towels in the bathtub. Does he feel something for me? I blew at a curl stuck to my cheek, shaking my head. Stop it, Violet. All he wants is Roam. West appeared in the doorway, and I turned back at his voice.

  “Don’t worry about this, Vi. We’re leaving.”

  “But… what will we do?”

  “When we get back, we’ll try the inclined planes- somehow. We’ll find Laurel.” He squatted at my side, and in the close confinement of the bathroom, I was hyper-aware of his every movement. “I’ll find your mother, Violet. It’s my fault that you’re apart, and I won’t stop until I make things right for you… for both of you.”

  I averted my eyes to the bathtub, dropping the towels. “And if she’s not the same? If she’s… hurt? Or… not herself?”

  His palm rested on my shoulder, and I fought back more stupid tears. God, maybe Roam has some contagious crying disease. “I’ll take care of her. And you. And not just because it’s my responsibility- because I want to.”

  I turned to him, recognizing for the first time, being this close, that he had a light sprinkling of freckles across the tops of his cheeks. He was so tanned, they almost disappeared into his complexion.

  “I always wondered… where my freckles came from.”

  His hand stilled, and then he gripped my shoulder, turning me into his arms. “You’re not alone, sweetheart. Not anymore.”

  His endearment sounded completely natural; I pressed my forehead into his shoulder.

  Eva began crying from the bedroom. I sniffed, and pushed away, nodding. “Thank you.”

  The trip back to Ohio was about as lively as a wake. I assumed co-pilot position, already sick of all of the fifties music on the radio. Logan and West took turns driving. When we reached the half-way point, I gave up trying to hold myself back from discussing our plans. Turning to West in the driver’s seat, I cleared my throat. “So, when do we try these inclined planes?”

  Without turning toward me, he answered too quickly. “When we have Troy secured, and Roam healthy enough to take care of Eva.”

  Logan was right. I knew it. Yes, he planned to save my mother… when it was convenient for him.

  “What if you stay, and I take her through,” Logan called from behind me, leaning closer to the front seat. “Roam will never be able to explain Eva.”

  “And if Troy is in 2012 and secure, there isn’t much danger if we try to cross over,” I agreed, silently thanking Logan for his support.

  West glanced at us once before turning back to the road. “It sounds like you two have discussed this.”

  “Yep.” Logan answered. I love the way he doesn’t cower from West. He seems to intimidate everyone but Logan.

  “I will find a way to explain Eva.” Roam’s defensive words sounded from next to Logan. “My dad and Morgan will know her.”

  “When I marry you, we can explain that she is my child. It will work out.”


  It was as if West’s words had shifted the mood in the entire van. I imagined end-of-the-world movie scenes where ice slowly crept over all hard surfaces of the vehicle, inching toward Logan before swallowing him whole.

  “Married, huh?” He said something else to Roam, but I stopped listening.

  He is definitely hurt. That’s it- not getting involved.

  The tension only increased with every mile we traveled. When we reached Cleveland and took turns using the department store bathroom and changing our clothes, we all began to feel the fatigue from the last few days set in.

  Roam and West held Eva between them in the backseat, whispering lovingly to each other, and I stole a glance at the baby.

  Such red hair. Grinning, I turned back to the windshield to give them privacy. As crazy as the circumstances may be, she is my sister.

  I have always wanted a sister.

  The Christmas music on the radio, so familiar even in 1955, comforted us- a little. Logan reached for my hand, and I let him take it.

  The confusion and shock of the next ten minutes were burned into my memory forever. I stood by the Pilot, watching Roam turn back into herself and bleed all over the snow, dropping to her knees. West went back and forth through the fountain, shouting at Roam, but she was curled over, unable to speak.

  Eva was gone.

  Somehow Logan carried her into his Camry, and I watched as West turned to darkness.

  He fired orders at Logan, instructing him to take Roam to the hospital and call her father. Logan was pulling onto the highway before West could turn back to me.

  I ran to the passenger seat of West’s Pilot; he was already shifting the SUV into gear as I closed the door. “What… what happened to Eva?”

  “Don’t talk.”

  I closed my mouth, stunned. He peeled onto East Ninth Street, and I gripped the handle near the window. Once on the freeway, I jumped as he slammed his hands once, twice, on the steering wheel, a tortured growl forcing me to shrink back against the door.

  How well do I really know him? What will he do?

  He reached in the tray beneath the radio and retrieved a phone that I assumed was Roam’s. He dialed some numbers on the phone screen, and I heard him speaking to someone about building a cell in his basement. Materials, supplies, within twenty-four hours, price doesn’t matter.