by Elle Kennedy
I’m a total fucking mess.
33
Grace
The moment I finish writing my Abnormal Psychology midterm, I race out of the lecture hall like I’m trying to outrun a forest fire.
My father is not the kind of man who overreacts or dabbles in melodrama. He’s incredibly levelheaded and annoyingly straightforward, but he has the infuriating tendency to downplay a crisis instead of admitting when shit has hit the fan. So when he phoned me this morning and casually suggested that I should check in on my boyfriend today, I immediately knew something was wrong.
Actually, I knew it even before the phone call. The apologetic text Logan sent me last night had triggered my concern, but when I’d pushed him, he insisted that everything was okay, claiming he had to stay with his dad longer than he’d anticipated. He’d also made sure to reiterate that he was truly sorry for not making it to dinner or being able to drive me home.
I went to bed unable to fight the gnawing suspicion that something bad had happened, and now, combined with the vague heads up from my father, I’m certain of it. Which is why I opt to cab it to Logan’s house instead of walking or taking the bus. I want to see him as soon as possible, before the crushing worry I’m feeling starts flashing worst-case scenarios in my head.
As I settle in the backseat of the taxi, I pull out my phone and text Logan.
Me: I’m on my way to your place.
Nearly a minute goes by before he responds with: Don’t know if that’s a good idea, babe. I’m in a lousy mood.
Me: Fine. Then I’ll cheer u up.
Him: Not sure if u can.
Me: Still gonna try.
I tuck my cell away and bite my lip, wishing I knew what was going on with him. Obviously it has something to do with his visit home last night, but what the hell had happened?
A burst of anger goes off inside me. I’m running out of sympathy for Logan’s father. I really am, and it’s making me question how good of a therapist I’m going to be. Granted, I don’t plan on specializing in addiction issues, but what does it say about me that I can’t feel any compassion for Logan’s alcoholic father?
Fuck, and now is not the time to be second-guessing my career path. I’m only equipped to deal with one crisis at a time.
The cab driver has to stop at the curb in front of Logan’s house because the driveway is full. Logan’s pickup and Garrett’s Jeep are side-by-side, with Dean’s sporty something-or-other and Hannah’s borrowed Toyota behind them.
When I ring the bell, it isn’t Logan who lets me in, but Tucker. A groove of dismay digs into his forehead as he closes the door behind me.
“Are you guys in a fight or something?” he asks in a low voice.
“No.” I suddenly feel cold. “Did he say we were?”
“No, but he’s been rude and bitchy all morning. Dean thought maybe the two of you were fighting.”
“We’re not,” I say firmly. Then an unnerving thought occurs to me. “Has he been drinking?”
“Of course not. It’s one-thirty in the afternoon.” Tucker sounds confused. “He’s upstairs. Last I checked, he was working on his marketing midterm.”
His answer relieves me, but I’m not sure why. Logan has told me on numerous occasions that he doesn’t drink when he’s upset. I know he’s afraid he might have inherited his father’s addictive tendencies, and suddenly I feel like a jerk for asking Tucker that question in the first place.
“I’ll go up and talk to him. Maybe he’ll tell me what’s bugging him.”
I leave Tucker in the front hall and head up to Logan’s room, where I experience another rush of relief.
He looks okay. Short dark hair looks the same. Blue eyes are alert. Sexy muscles rippling beneath his sweats and T-shirt. There are no outward signs of injury, but when our gazes lock, there’s a world of pain in his expression.
“Hey,” I say softly, walking over to give him a kiss. “What’s going on?”
His lips brush mine, but the kiss lacks his usual warmth. “Your dad called you, huh?” he says wryly.
“Yep.”
A shadow crosses his eyes. “What’d he say?”
“Hardly anything. He told me you stopped by last night, that he got the sense you were upset, and that I should check on you.” I search his face. “What happened in Munsen?”
“Nothing.”
“Logan.”
“It was nothing, babe.” He lets out a tired breath. “Or at least, nothing out of the ordinary.”
I take his hand. God, it’s like ice. Whatever went down last night, he’s still exhibiting the effects of it.
“Sit down.” I have to forcibly tug his powerful body beside me on the bed, but even after he submits, he stares straight ahead instead of meeting my eyes. “Will you please tell me what happened?”
“Jesus. What does it matter?”
“Because it matters, John.” I start to feel aggravated. “Clearly you’re upset about it, and I think it’ll help if you talk about it.”
His bitter laughter echoes between us. “Talking about it won’t achieve a damn thing. But fine. You want to know what happened last night? I saw my future, that’s what happened.”
I flinch at the sharpness of his tone. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I saw my fucking future. I traveled forward in time, I got a visit from the Ghost of Christmas Future—how else do you want me to phrase it, Grace?”
My spine stiffens. “You don’t have to be sarcastic. I get it.”
“No, you don’t. You don’t get it. I have no life after I graduate. No future. But I’m doing it for my brother, because Jeff has dealt with it for almost four years now. And now it’s my turn, and I don’t fucking like it, but I’m going to suck it up and move back home, because he’s my goddamn father and he needs my help.”
His hoarse outburst cracks my heart in two.
“I know what it’ll do to me,” he continues, sounding more and more despondent. “I know it’ll make me miserable and I’ll probably grow to hate my dad, and I’ll eventually lose you—”
“What?” I interrupt in shock. “What makes you think you’ll lose me?”
He looks my way, his blue eyes filled with regret. “Because you’ll wake up one day and realize you deserve better. Don’t you see? Last night was a preview of what it’s going to be like. We’ll have plans, but I’ll end up having to work late, or my dad will get wasted and fall down the stairs, and then I’ll have to cancel on you, or worse, keep you waiting like I did last night. How long do you think you’ll put up with that?”
Disbelief hurtles through me. “You honestly think I’m going to break up with you because you might be late a couple times?”
Logan doesn’t respond, but his stony expression tells me that yes, he does believe that.
“Doesn’t your brother have a girlfriend he’s been with forever?” I point out.
“Kylie,” he mumbles.
“Well, did Kylie break up with him? No, she didn’t. Because she loves him, and she’s willing to stand by him no matter what.” I’m angry now. So angry I shoot to my feet, fighting the urge to smack some sense into him. “So what makes you think I won’t stand by you?”
His silence irks the living fuck out of me.
“You know what, John? Screw you.” I struggle to control my breathing. “Clearly you don’t know me at all if you think I’m the kind of person who would give up on a relationship the moment it hits a few obstacles.”
He finally answers, his voice low and sullen. “Can we please not talk about this anymore?”
Un-fucking-believable.
I gape at him, unable to fathom what I’m hearing. And unable to listen to it for even a second longer.
“You’re right. We won’t talk about it anymore.” I grab my purse from where I dropped it on the floor and sling the strap over my shoulder. “Because I’m leaving.”
That gets his attention. Frowning, he slowly rises to his feet. “Grace—”
I c
ut him off. “No. I’m not listening to this bullshit anymore. I’m going to leave you to your sulking, and maybe when you’re finished with your one-man pity party, we can actually have a rational conversation.” I’m spitting mad as I march toward the door. “And just in case my reaction to your idiocy didn’t make it clear where I stand with us, then let me spell it out for you.” I whirl around to scowl at him. “I love you, you stupid jackass.”
Then I storm out of his room and slam the door behind me.
*
Logan
It takes me much, much longer than it should to snap out of the shocked trance I’ve fallen into. My mouth keeps opening and closing, my eyelids blinking at a rapid pace as I stare at the door Grace just tore out of.
She’s absolutely right. I am a jackass. And I did doubt her commitment to our relationship. And—
Wait. She loves me?
My mouth opens again. And stays open. Agape, in fact, because her last words have finally registered in my extremely idiotic brain. She loves me. Even after I indicted her for a hypothetical future break-up and pretty much told her she was going to desert me when the going gets tough, she still told me she loved me.
And I let her walk away.
What the hell is the matter with me?
I bolt out of my room and take the stairs two at a time. There’s no way Grace could have called a cab or made it to the bus stop yet, which means she’s probably on the front stoop or nearing the end of the street. Which means I can still catch her.
I skid into the front hall like a goddamn cartoon character, only to freeze when I find Garrett at the door. Then I hear a car engine from outside, and my heart hits the floor like a sack of bricks.
“Hannah’s driving her home,” Garrett says quietly.
I curse in frustration, flinging open the door in time to see the retreating taillights of Hannah’s car. Damn it.
I spin around and hurry back upstairs, where I grab my phone and dial Grace’s number. After it goes straight to voice mail, I shoot off a quick text.
Me: Baby, please come back. I’m such an ass. Need to make this right.
There’s a long delay. Five seconds. Ten. And then she texts back.
Her: I need some time to digest your stupidity. I’ll call u when I’m ready to talk.
Damn it. I drag both hands over my scalp, fighting the urge to strangle myself to death. Why do I always screw up when it comes to this girl?
Footsteps echo in the hallway, and when Garrett appears, I stifle another curse. “I can’t deal with a lecture right now, man. I really can’t.”
“Wasn’t gonna lecture you.” He shrugs. “Just wanted to see if you’re okay.”
I sink down on the edge of the bed, slowly shaking my head. “Not in the slightest. I fucked up again.”
“Damn right you did.” My best friend props his elbow against the wall and sighs. “Wellsy and I heard her reaming you out.”
“I think the whole neighborhood heard it,” comes Tucker’s voice. He enters my room and leans against the dresser. “Except maybe Dean, but that’s because he’s balls-deep in a puck bunny down in the living room.”
I groan. “Seriously? Why can’t he ever fuck in his room?”
“Do we really want to discuss that perv’s sex life?” Tuck counters. “Because I don’t think that should be at the top of your priority list right now.”
He makes a good point. At the moment, my only priority is fixing things with Grace.
Christ, I shouldn’t have spewed all that bullshit. I hadn’t even meant it, at least not the part about her breaking up with me. That was my fear talking. And she’s right—I was having a pity party. I was so freaked out about everything that happened with my dad last night, not to mention everything that happened afterward. When I cried in her father’s arms.
I cried in her father’s arms.
I let out another groan. “What if I lost her for good this time?”
Garrett and Tucker instantly shake their heads. “You didn’t,” Garrett assures me.
“How can you be so sure of that?”
“Because she told you she loves you.”
“You stupid jackass,” Tucker adds with a grin.
I love you, you stupid jackass. Not the words a man wants to hear. The first three, sure. The last three? Pass.
“How do I fix this?” I ask, sighing.
“Quick. Write her another poem,” Garrett suggests.
I scowl at him.
“No, I think G’s onto something,” Tuck says. “I think the only way to save this is to bust out another grand gesture. What else was on her list?”
“Nothing,” I moan. “I did everything on the list.”
Tucker shrugs. “Then come up with something else.”
A grand gesture? I’m a guy, damn it. I need direction. “Is Wellsy coming back here?” I ask Garrett.
He smirks at my pleading tone. “Even if she is, I’m not letting you pick her brain. You’re gonna have to fix this one all on your own.”
There’s a pause, and then…
“You stupid jackass,” my friends say in unison.
34
Grace
I’m still fuming as I walk into the media building several hours after storming out of Logan’s house. Normally I don’t stay angry for long, but this time I’m having trouble expelling the volatile energy coursing inside me. I can’t believe he actually thinks I’ll dump him once he’s in Munsen full-time. That I’ll throw him away like an old busted-up toy and find something shiny and new to play with.
Jerk.
When I burst into the station, I spot Morris in the producer’s booth, balancing the telephone handset on his shoulder as he jots something down on a notepad. I frown, noticing that Pace and Evelyn are already in their seats in the other booth. Pace snaps his earphones over the backward baseball cap on his head, while Evelyn bends over a sheet of paper in concentration.
Am I late? I glance at the clock on the far wall. Nope. I’m early, actually. So why is Morris in my booth?
I take a step forward, only to halt when Daisy wanders out of the back corridor. She pushes her bangs off her forehead—they’re neon-blue now—and grins sheepishly when she sees me.
“Hey,” I greet my roommate. “What are you doing here?” She doesn’t usually hang out at the station unless she’s supposed to host or produce, and I know for a fact she’s scheduled to do neither today.
“Hey.” For some reason, she looks almost…guilty. “I just popped in to drop off coffee for everyone.”
“Since when are you the station gofer?” I narrow my eyes. “Your shirt is inside out.” I pause. “And backwards.”
She glances at her tank top, wincing when she notices the tag sticking out from her collarbone. Then her eyes flit toward the producer’s booth.
I follow her gaze, gasping when I find Morris grinning at us. “Holy shit. You and Morris are hooking up?”
Daisy sighs. “Maybe.”
My anger at Logan is momentarily eclipsed by her news. Our schedules are so hectic that Daisy and I are hardly ever in our room at the same time, which works out great for when I want privacy, but it also means I miss out on girl talk and up-to-date gossip.
“Since when?” I squeal in excitement.
“A couple weeks now?” She shrugs. “I didn’t tell you because we’ve both been so busy. You’re cool with it, though, right?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You know, because you and Morris went out.”
I laugh. “Once. And my behaviour didn’t exactly warrant a second date. I think this is awesome. You totally just made my day—and trust me, my day has been shit, so it really needed to be made.”
“Oh no. What happened?”
My bad mood returns like an unwanted rash. “I got in a fight with Logan. And that’s all I’m saying on the subject, because if I talk about it right now, it’ll just piss me off again and then I’ll be too distracted to produce Dumb and Dumber�
��s show.”
We both glance at the main booth, where Evelyn is using the reflection on her water glass to check her makeup, dabbing delicately at her eye shadow. Pace is engrossed with his phone, his chair tipped back so far that I predict a very loud disaster in the near future.
“God, I love them,” Daisy says with a snicker. “I don’t think I’ve ever met two more self-absorbed people.”
Morris saunters out of the booth and wanders over to us. He notices Daisy’s shirt and says, “Sweetheart, we’re at work. Show some decorum.”
“Says the guy who ripped this shirt off me in the supply closet.” Rolling her eyes, she takes a step away. “I’m going to make myself presentable in the bathroom. I’d do it out here, but I’m scared Dumber might take a picture and post it on a porn site.”
“Wait, the names Dumb and Dumber actually correspond to each of them?” Morris says in surprise. “I thought it was more of a general thing. Which one is Dumber?”
The second the question leaves his mouth, a muffled crash reverberates from the booth, and we all turn to see Pace tangled up on the floor. Yup, the guy who spent an hour regaling me about his cow-tipping days back in Iowa? Tipped himself right over.
From behind the glass, Pace bounces to his feet, notices us staring, and mouths the words, “I’m okay!”
Morris sighs. “I withdraw the question.”
As Daisy leaves to fix her shirt, Morris casually follows me to the booth door. “First caller’s already on hold,” he tells me. “I screened her and wrote her info on the sheet.”
My forehead creases. “Did you open the lines before I got here?”
He wears a sheepish look. “Not on purpose. I was calling my dad and pressed the wrong button, and then the phone rang and I was already in there so I took the caller’s info. She’s got an urgent G-spot question for Evelyn, so this should be interesting.”
“Isn’t it always?” I say with a grin.
