Fall (Roam Series, Book Two)

by Stedronsky, Kimberly

“If you come in… I’m just going to sleep, Logan, okay?”

  He pressed the button on his keys to lock his car, the brief beeping sound indicating the Camry was secure. “I promise not to kiss you again without asking. Just sleep. I’m going to check some things out online for a while, and try to prepare for 1955. When your dad gets home, or Morgan, I’ll leave.”

  I opened the front door with my keys. He followed me in, locking the deadbolt behind him. “Dad?” I called, hoping he’d gotten a ride home and left his car at the VFW.

  Logan checked the upstairs, basement, and garage thoroughly. “He’s not here.”

  “I’ll text him.” I did, asking him to please call if he needed a ride.

  “Go upstairs and go to bed. I’ll just hang out down here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” He crossed the room to the bottom of the stairs, gazing down at me. His dark, curly hair fell in boyish waves against his forehead. “Permission to kiss you, Miss Camden?”

  I sighed, exhausted- but amused. “Granted. PG only,” I tapped my cheek with my index finger.

  He pressed his lips to my jaw, just next to my ear. I shivered, his warm breath tickling my neck. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around me.

  “Okay,” I replied in a sigh, thankful for his company. “Night, Rush.”

  Once in my bedroom, I walked directly to West’s suitcase and pulled a folded, white dress shirt from the bag. Pressing it to my nose in between movements, I managed to remove my clothes and slip his buttoned shirt over my head without crying. His smell numbed my quickening thoughts. I was asleep before my cheek touched the pillow.

  “…just want her to get some rest.”

  “You’re not hearing me, Logan. Wake her up.”

  I stirred at the voices outside my bedroom door, confused. My iPhone wasn’t on my nightstand where I normally kept it. What time is it? I moved and sat up, disoriented. Who’s talking?

  The window facing the driveway told me that it was light outside. I separated two slats of the plastic mini blinds, blinking at the brightness. Fresh, white snow blanketed the grass and road, and judging by the mailboxes, the accumulation was at least a foot deep. A plow truck rumbled by, spraying the end of the driveway with blackened slush.

  At that moment, I saw the bumper of the black SUV parked close to the garage door. Struggling for coherent thoughts, I turned and ran to my door. Is he here? West is here?

  “Cam?” Logan stood at the foot of the stairs next to a tall, blond girl talking energetically with her hands.

  Her long curls bounced my way, and she crossed her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow. “Morning, sunshine,” she quipped, nodding her head my way. “Congratulations.”

  I covered my stomach, suddenly realizing that I wore only West’s dress shirt and underwear. Backing toward my door, I looked between both of them. “Violet?”

  West’s seventeen-year-old daughter was almost as tall as Logan. Her dark, blue eyes, so like West’s, pierced mine. “So you were going to go without me. I thought we had an understanding,” her boots were leaving crushed, wet rings on the carpet, and I resisted the urge to tell her to take them off.

  “Logan said he hadn’t heard from you…,”

  “After Russia, I didn’t think there was any need for friendly phone calls. We all want Troy dead, and I want my mom back, so cut the crap. You should have called me.”

  Caught off guard, I tugged on the hem of the over-sized dress shirt self-consciously. Her too tight jeans were snug on her thighs and disappeared into her fur lined boots. Her jacket, shimmering silver, gave her an otherworldly air. She was sexy, with the kind of almost-eighteen-year-old body that I long ago realized I’d never have. Nothing about her curves would have anyone guessing that she was still in high-school.

  I lifted my chin, straightening my shoulders. Ignoring her, I turned to Logan. “Is dad home?”

  “He’s in his bedroom.” He said nothing more, and that was enough to convey that my dad had, in fact, been drinking.

  “I’m going to get showered and dressed. We plan to leave tomorrow morning.”

  “Well, I plan to leave today. I don’t need to wait for you; I just need your key.” She nodded toward my arm, my numbers standing out against the bright white shirt.

  I covered my arm with my palm. “We need to prepare.”

  “Fine, you two prepare, just give me a ride through the fountain. I’ll see you in 1955.”

  “Ladies,” Logan rolled his eyes. “Really? What’s with the hostility? We’re on the same team.”

  “We need to stay together,” I gentled my voice, turning to Violet. “Please just work with us here. Did Logan tell you about going back to Russia once we get to 1955?”

  Violet cocked her head to the side slightly. “He told me. I think you’re going for the wrong reasons.”

  I stepped back. “You do?”

  “You’re looking for…West,” she said his name between her teeth, “because you want rainbows and a happily-ever-after. Though I’m not his biggest fan, he did sacrifice his life for you to be safe here. I’m going to find the other doors. I’ve been preparing for months for Troy. I won’t go down without a fight.”

  “But you’ll go down.” I steadied my words. “He will kill you.”

  She shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  I looked at Logan. He watched me intently, his eyes moving from my shoulders to my feet. “Maybe you should change.”

  His assessment made my heart thud. Gone was the smile from his words; he was disgusted that I’d put West’s shirt on, that much was clear. I nodded, retreating to my bedroom and locking the door.

  Violet was driven to find her mother, and to kill Troy. She’ll be useful, I told myself sternly. Take her with you. My stomach turned.

  But Troy had killed me. I was the one in that pool.

  I would be the one to kill Troy.

  Chapter Seven

  “Where do you buy raspberry vinegar?” I asked Mrs. Rush as she peeled an orange. She laughed lightly, patting my shoulder.

  “Anywhere, sweetie. I’ll teach you how to cook if it’s the last thing I do.” She brushed her hand against her apron, wagging a finger in my direction.

  I smiled. Thanksgiving at the Rush’s was more comfortable than I had expected. The turkey in the oven sent my appetite into growling fits of anticipation; I covered my middle in embarrassment as another grumble sounded, loud enough for Mrs. Rush to hear.

  “You can’t wait, Roamie, you’re eating for two,” she chided, moving toward the bread bowl on the table. “Please eat a roll while it cooks.”

  “I like this dress,” Logan sauntered into the kitchen from behind me. He slipped his arm around my waist as he stole a cookie from a decorative tray on the counter. “You look like an angel.”

  I straightened rigidly, covering his hand with mine. My dress was short, a cream, sweater material with a cowl neck, the clinging fabric clearly defining my rounded abdomen. The hem touched the back of my legs, just above my knees. “Far from,” I said, under my breath. He squeezed me reassuringly before letting me go.

  Violet waited at West’s house for us, after a heated conversation that ended in me handing her the keys. Logan felt we needed to invite her to dinner, but I insisted that she’d raise too many questions with both of our families. She insisted she didn’t want to go, anyway.

  Dinner began with Mr. Rush complimenting me on my cranberry sauce, so I decided we were off to a good start. Near dessert, the inquisition began. I gently set my fork down on the table and counted the moments until I could excuse myself.

  “So, Logan tells us that he may not join the Marines if you two get back together. You know my views, so I’m hoping you two are working out your issues.”

  I glared at Logan. Really? Logan rolled his eyes, focusing on his plate. Mr. Rush hated that his only child had decided to join the military. He was a baseball fanatic, and constantly encouraged Logan to think of playing
for the minor leagues.

  “That’s… um… a lot of pressure,” I breathed a nervous laugh. “Ultimately Logan’s future is… up to Logan.”

  “Well, not anymore, right?” He gestured to the general area below my chin. “Now it’s up to my grandson or granddaughter.”

  I lowered my eyes, tracing my fingers along the edge of the tablecloth. “Okay.”

  “I suggest,” he cleared his throat, taking a swig of water before continuing, “that we take the initiative here. Carol and I would like to offer you thirty thousand dollars for the wedding, and a ten percent down payment on a house.”

  Logan nearly jumped out of his chair. “Dad, you told me you wouldn’t-…,”

  Robert held his palm up. “Hold on. Let’s hear what Roamie has to say.”

  I sighed, keeping my eyes down. “I don’t generally accept marriage proposals from my boyfriend’s parents.”

  Robert smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. His clear, brown eyes twinkled when I met them. “At least he’s your boyfriend again. We’re moving in the right direction.”

  Realizing my slip, I looked at Logan, exasperated. He grinned, shoving a fork full of mashed potatoes in his mouth.

  “Mr. Rush,” I turned to Carol. “Mrs. Rush, I’ve known you both all of my life. I love you both. You’re very generous. You have to know that no matter what happens… I have to think about what’s best for the baby.”

  “A fabulous wedding sounds like a great start,” Carol smiled, reaching for my hand. I let her squeeze my fingers. “And we love you too, sweetie.”

  “I don’t-…,”

  “We could be here for you, to help with the baby, hire a nanny…,” she continued, reaching for her wine glass. “And you could go to college. It’s not too late.”

  Selfish did not begin to describe my next thought process. I imagined dancing with Logan at our wedding reception, with Mr. and Mrs. Rush dancing beside us, smiling proudly. Flashing to our first house (ten percent down) with a white, picket fence, a grand kitchen (containing several tomato knives) and a nursery, I saw our baby cradled lovingly in Logan’s arms.

  I suddenly pictured West’s face, and jerked back to reality, mortified.

  “I’m sorry, please excuse me,” I slid the chair back, barely making it to the downstairs bathroom before gasping. The tears rolled down my cheeks, and I dabbed at them with toilet paper, fighting for control.

  “Cam.” Logan knocked softly. “I’m so sorry. My parents were out of line. Can I come in?”

  “Wait,” I sniffed, trying to contain the mascara trails on my cheeks. When I opened the door, he moved into the small space, closing the door behind him.

  “I know that was too much, I’m sorry. I’ve heard it all for months, so I guess I’m used to it.”

  “For months, Logan. Months. It’s been two days since we started speaking again.”

  “We’re best friends. Time doesn’t matter.”

  “Circumstances do. I was alone, so alone, and it’s been the hardest… time since my mom…,” my voice broke.

  “We’ll find him.” He cupped my face in his hands, locking eyes with me. I took a deep breath.

  “I don’t know if you want to find him, Logan.”

  He took a step toward me, and I flattened against the wall between the toilet and the shower.

  “I don’t know if I do, either.” The hum of the exhaust fan masked my erratic breathing. His mouth lingered near mine, his hands diving into my hair from the back of my neck. “Will you kiss me?”

  I shook my head, trying to move back, but he followed. “No.”

  “Please,” his fingertips traced the line of my jaw, and involuntarily I leaned against his touch, closing my eyes.

  “No,” I repeated, my airy words betraying my body’s natural reaction to Logan’s hands. His fingers ran down my arms, stopping at my wrists.

  “You want to.”

  Trying to swallow, my throat resisted. “Stop it, Rush,” I pleaded.

  He tugged me to him suddenly, forcing his lips on mine. I cried into his mouth, bracing my hands on his chest. Crushed between him and the bathroom wall, I had nowhere to move but into him. I want to move into him. The realization was devastating; I fought the way my body remembered being touched, and kissed, and adored.

  “I can’t do this to West…,” I begged against his mouth.

  “You did this to me,” he rowed.

  A knock startled us both. “Are you okay, sweetie?” Carol, through the door.

  “Yes,” my voice cracked. I slipped out of Logan’s grasp, reaching for the door. He stopped me, grabbing my hand. “Logan…,”

  “Tell me you love me, too,” his voice strained; every part of his eyes told me that he needed me to respond.

  “I…,” my breath caught; a series of tiny, pulling sensations erupted in my abdomen. Gripping my dress, I covered my stomach and looked down.

  “What’s wrong?” Logan reached for me. “Are you sick?”

  “No, I…,” I lifted my eyes to his. “I think… it’s moving…,”

  His hands slid over mine as he widened his eyes excitedly. “Really? Can I feel it?”

  “I don’t think so… it feels so deep inside, and she’s really so small yet,” I murmured, holding my breath and waiting for the next tugging flutter. Nothing.

  “She?”

  I shrugged, sighing. “Or he.”

  We were silent for long moments, his fingers still covering mine. West was so far away, in another place and time, and I had no idea if I’d ever find him… or if Troy would find me first if I tried. I need him here… I need him.

  “I can tell when you’re thinking about him.” Logan reached past me for the door handle, his gaze still locked in mine. “You forget to breathe.”

  He opened the door suddenly, moving past me and into the kitchen. I exhaled, realizing that he was right.

  That evening, we went to my house bearing leftovers for my dad. Morgan was sound asleep after shopping all evening to get a jump on the Friday deals. Logan’s mood had turned chilly after our talk in the bathroom. When he parked himself next to my dad on the couch and slipped into a turkey/ football coma, I decided a nap was the most appealing idea I could think of. Sometime around nine, Logan’s phone ringing from downstairs woke me. After a few minutes, I heard him come in my room and kneel by my bed.

  I opened my eyes, a sense of urgency taking over. “Bank, safety deposit box, pack and go,” I listed for the next morning. He shrugged.

  “Okay. I’m going to head home.”

  “You’re not staying?” I asked, fully expecting him to spend the night.

  He rubbed his neck tiredly. “No. I have a feeling that you’ll… be just fine.”

  His words were chilled, a sudden change in the caring way he’d been to me over the past few days. As he began to move away from the bed, I held him, pulling him closer. Before I could think of the consequences, I pressed my lips to his.

  “I do love you, you know. I always will.” I ruffled his dark curls. “Please just remember that when you dream tonight.”

  He looked unconvinced. “I’ll try. Get some rest… don’t stay up all night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I watched him leave, quickly growing irritated. A headache festered in between my eyes, and no amount of pressure from my fingertips made it go away. I longed for the days I could pop two Advil and call it a night.

  Packing for 1955 proved to be much more difficult than packing for 1977. Nothing in my closet was acceptable, and I ended up with mostly jeans. West had been right; jeans were easy and they worked for years.

  Sometime around eight, Morgan knocked. When I opened the door, she looked massively annoyed. “I’m dropping dad off at some party at the bar, and going out with Jason.”

  I looked down, sighing. “At least he’s not driving.”

  “I don’t even want to talk about it.” She shook her head disgustedly. “Anyway, his keys are downstairs if you need to go anywhere. Are
you okay with me going out?”

  “Sure,” I reached for her, and she gratefully accepted my hug. “Are you okay? You sound really down. Other than with dad, I mean.”

  She shrugged. “I’m fine. Jason is so amazing. I really see us going somewhere.” She squeezed me once again before heading for the stairs. “Get some sleep. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  I watched them both leave from my bedroom window, continuing to pack. Fishing my iPod out from under my pillow, I plugged it into the speaker dock by my bed and switched back to the nineties playlist. No love songs tonight.

  Halfway through a Boyz II Men’s I’ll Make Love to You, I shut the device off and shoved it into my packed bag. My iPhone would have to stay; no use bringing it to 1955. I picked my phone up off my desk, noticing Morgan had texted me, and slid the message open.

  As I read, my lungs refused to work.

  Sorry I’m so pissy. Reed called me and actually wanted to get together. Of course, now that J and I are getting closer. Effing men! Anyway he said he would come over tonight- told him not to bother. So if he does just don’t answer the door. Love ya.

  Troy… I dropped my phone, gripping the back of my desk chair. Breathe, breathe… I couldn’t.

  He found a way.

  Troy found a way to return, but West didn’t.

  Trying to fight the cloud seeping over my mind, I gave into blackness. When I woke, I was sprawled ungainly on the floor, propped against my bed. I carefully prodded my scalp, deciding that I hadn’t smacked it on the nightstand. As Morgan’s text flashed through my mind, I cried out, rushing to my feet before my blood had time to reach my brain. Troy is here, he’s coming here…

  My fingers were clay as I fumbled for my phone, trying to call Logan. Finally, I held down the voice prompt, nearly screaming Call Logan! My phone obliged, and I hit speaker as the ringing began. Two… three… voicemail?

  Growling out loud, I grabbed my bag and West’s, running from my bedroom. Two steps down I slid on the carpet, falling hard on the third step. My eyes darted frantically to the dark windows, two by the front door and one near the living room. I panted, my rear-end bruised from the fall. Is he here?