His First Crush

by Mj Fields

  Both rooms have doors leading to the deck. I guess I should have looked closer into the bedroom they were all sharing to make sure all four sets of eyes were in there.

  I’m immediately pissed at her.

  “It’s damn cold out here,” I snap.

  “Then you should go inside,” she snaps back.

  “What the hell are you doing out here? Get inside where you’re safe,” I demand.

  “Inside where I’m safe?” She laughs irritably. “Never once had an issue when I was outside until now, so just leave me alone.”

  I think about what she has been through in her past and even last night. She’s right. She almost died last night in a club, years ago in their house in Liverpool, England, and in a car accident with her dad. Still, she needs to be inside.

  “It’s fucking January, London. Don’t be a child. Go back inside.”

  “A child?” She’s trying to be argumentative. She is being, but her exhaustion evidently takes some of the fight out of her. She sounds so fucking tired. “You’re the one in a towel.”

  I don’t wait for more nonsensical arguments from her. I shoot over and grab her to pull her up, but she pulls away, which pisses me off even more. I bend down and lift her up, carrying her ass inside while she silently fights to get away from me.

  “Just put me down. God, Logan, just leave me alone,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “Maddox is here. Brody is here. You aren’t being paid to babysit me, or fake wanting to be around me, or—”

  She stops yapping when I drop her on the bed.

  “Go to fucking sleep.”

  “Go away, okay? Just—”

  She stops when I turn my back to her, drop the towel, and step into the pajama bottoms Harper left for me.

  I turn around and look at the shocked expression on her face as it grows redder by the second. “Let your boyfriend know my ass is better than his.” I flop back on the bed and hit the light.

  When she starts to get up, I instinctively grab her wrist and pull her back.

  “Logan,” she cries softly. “Just don’t.”

  “Shut up”—I pull her toward me and position her so her back is to my chest—“and go to sleep.”

  “I don’t want to sleep with you,” she argues verbally while melding into me, little spoon to big spoon.

  “I know. You made that clear. You chose him last night.”

  “I...” She pauses. “I...”

  “Where was he when you were minutes from death, London?”

  “Don’t even. If Dad and Maddox hadn’t paid you to watch me—”

  “No money was ever exchanged, not one fucking cent. And your dad had no clue. So just shut up and go to sleep. Jesus, London, we need sleep.”

  She’s quiet, too fucking quiet. It’s appreciated, but I know it’s the calm before the storm.

  I inhale the scent I have missed, the scent that is her—sweet, clean, calming. Her body relaxes slightly, and I allow mine to do the same. I loosen the vice grip around her waist, and her hands that once gripped my wrist to pull mine away loosen, as well. Then she pulls it up as she lifts her head and turns my hand palm up before resting her head back down.

  I replace it with the hand I’m resting my head on and bring it back around her waist. That’s how it was for those last weeks of college, and that’s how it should be now.

  After a few more quiet moments, she finally yawns and asks, “Where have you been, Logan?”

  “I’m right here now.” I can’t help pulling her closer. I can’t help thinking about what the world would be like without her. “We need sleep.”

  “Logan?”

  “No, London, just no talking. I’s so pissed off at you right now that I should put you back outside, so just stop talking because I—”

  “I’m pissed at you, too.” she pushes my hand away and rolls to her back. Then, when she looks at me, I expect her words to show on her face, yet they don’t. Those blue eyes aren’t angry; they are sad, confused, and filling with tears. She looks like she wants to say something, but when her lips part, they quiver. She closes them quickly then swallows down the building tears.

  I close my eyes, unable to comfort her the way I want, because I’m not hers. He is.

  “Well, I don’t get why you wouldn’t just leave me alone. You aren’t obligated—”

  “London, you should shut it down,” I warn, keeping my eyes closed, not wanting to engage in the bullshit she is turning this into, the escape from the cruel reality. “You wanna be pissed at someone, be pissed at the man who walked into a place where people went to have fun and opened fire on them.”

  A strangled cry sounds from her throat, and my eyes open.

  Seeing the fear and confusion in her eyes, on her face that is lit up by the rising sun, I think, Fuck, this is how she copes, not that it’s a bad thing. She’s gotten through a fuck of a lot by doing that. But because I’m not going to be the one she blames, I tell her like it is; what she’s avoiding.

  “You aren’t pissed at me, London. You need someone to be angry at, and that’s not me. You know damn well it’s not, so shut it down and try to get some sleep, because when we wake up, we have to face it again.”

  “Why? Why would someone do what he did?”

  I give her the only reason that makes any sense. “Not gonna even try to figure it out. The reality is some people are just shit, London.”

  “How sad must he have been to—”

  “Do not give him the excuse of being sad. When you’re sad, you fucking cry, you drink, you go to the gym, you hang with friends, you fuck.”

  “What happened to make him so angry then?” She starts to tremble.

  “He’s responsible for his own actions, not someone who may have pissed him off.”

  “How hurt must he have been to resort to—”

  I take her chin in my hand, needing her to stop trying to figure out the actions of a mad man, wanting her to stop trying to make sense of the senseless. “Some people are just shit.”

  She clamps her hands around mine and nods as tears spill out of her eyes. “I don’t want to live in a world where—”

  “There’s more good than bad. There is, and you need to focus on that,” I interrupt whatever shit she’s about to say.

  She nods again. “Logan?”

  “Please no more.” I can’t fucking do this with her when all I see when I look at her is fear, anger, pain, and her fucking lips on him.

  “Do we love—”

  “Absolutely fucking not,” I snap and let go of her face.

  “You said it because you thought we were going to die. You said it because you wanted to keep me calm. You said it because—”

  “I said it because all those fucking reasons.”

  “Well, then I’m glad I hurt you by kissing him. I’m glad because you hurt me by lying to me.” She attempts to pull away, but I hold her tighter. “I’m glad, Logan,” she sobs into her hands, “because now...now you hurt me worse than I hurt you.”

  I pull her hands from her face.

  “Let go of me.”

  “We never did. We clearly have no clue what we want. Because when I fall in love with someone, they’ll never fucking do that to me. Never.”

  “Well, same, Logan, same.”

  “What the fuck does that even mean, same?”

  “When I fall in love, real love, not some stupid crush, the boy will never leave me without further contact. He’ll never lie to me about why he’s around me, and he would know that if he ever pulled something so stupid as to drive into a building to find me and he died, I would never ever forgive myself. I would never love a boy who did that. Never. Not ever.” Her face contorts into what some call an ugly cry. It’s not ugly; it’s sad, so fucking sad. Then she struggles, trying to pull her arms free. “Let me go. I don’t want a boy like you to see me like this.”

  “You look...” I stop myself from saying it, but then I just can’t. “You look pretty.”

  She turns her hea
d and closes her eyes, lips trembling. “Stop lying to me. Just—”

  “Fine, no more fucking lies. I wouldn’t have said I’d watch out for you if I didn’t want to. No, I didn’t get paid. Yes, London, I fucking love you, but you—”

  I stop when she turns her head back to me and leans up. “Then kiss me.”

  “You have a fucking boy—”

  She yanks her arms away and grabs my face. I lean back, not giving in to her, denying myself exactly what I want.

  She doesn’t let go and sits up right along with me, hands now around my neck as I keep trying to get the fuck away.

  “I don’t. I was...” She pauses and looks down, scowling, trying to figure out what she was. “Mad, scared, hurt, angry. I needed—”

  “You needed him, yet here you are, straddling me? That’s not gonna fix shit, London.”

  She pulls herself against me and whispers, “I’m sorry.”

  “Well, I’m not. I’m not fucking sorry I was there. Not when your brother asked, and not when I landed at Hancock and saw the club shooting on the news. I’m not sorry that I listened to my gut. I fucking knew you were there, London, I did, and I’m not sorry I fucking came for you. You can’t love a boy like that. You can go back to Lawrinson and cuddle up to a guy like him—your boyfriend. Your first boyfriend. Jesus L. Christ, London, what have you done?”

  She hugs me tighter. “I’m sorry.”

  “You bet your ass you are.”

  I mean to push her away, but I don’t. I lay back, her tangled around me, and me around her. She pushes up so she’s straddling me, takes in a deep breath, and then slowly runs her hands up my abs.

  “Don’t start what you aren’t gonna finish with me. Not now, London.” I put my hands over hers, stopping them.

  “I want you to...” She pauses and closes her eyes. “I want you right now.”

  For some reason, that fucking pisses me off.

  I sit up and flip her onto her back. Her sweet breath bursts out as her back hits the bed. Then she reaches down, grabbing the hem of her shirt, and starts to pull it up.

  “No.”

  “No?” she asks in confusion.

  “No. You have a fucking boyfriend, and I am not ever gonna be someone’s fucking side piece. And you, you’re not ever gonna fucking cheat, you hear me? That’s not you.”

  Her lip pouts out again, and she slowly nods up and down.

  “Now, roll over and resume the fucking position. And no more talking, London. It’s sleep time.”

  She does.

  I can’t sleep, but she does. She’s sleeping, she’s safe, she admitted what I should have known, what I did know, but that mental picture of her kissing him, that’s going to take a hell of a lot to forget. And if I see him again, he will be the one who pays for her fuck up.

  She murmurs something in her sleep and turns onto her stomach. I wait until she relaxes then push her hair away from her face.

  I watch as she becomes more restless, but she is still fucking perfect; looks like an angel. A tortured angel.

  When she gasps and grips the sheets, her eyes fluttering open, she whispers, “Sorry.”

  “Sleep,” I say, pushing more of her fallen black hair away from her face.

  She moves closer, rolls to her side, and wraps her arms around me. I lie back and pull her head to my chest where, within seconds, she’s no longer restless. She actually looks peaceful.

  §

  “She’s okay.” I hear the attempt of a whisper and open my eyes.

  Fuck.

  I see Maddox attempting to push Lexington back out the door while whispering, “She’s fine, Lexi. Let her sleep.”

  “Why’s Logan naked?” she asks, suppressing a grin, reminding me of London when I first met her.

  “Great question,” Brody hisses.

  I feel London move slightly against my chest, and then she whispers, “You’re in so much trouble.”

  “I heard her!” Lexington yells then runs into the room, leaping onto the bed.

  London sits up and catches her. “You can’t go back there ever, London. You can’t.”

  “I know, Lexi, I know,” London says as she hugs her.

  I sit up and meet the angriest eyes I have ever seen.

  “Do you think you could put some clothes on?” Brody spats.

  I slide off the bed and stand. “I have clothes on.”

  “Not a shirt.” Lexington is apparently done crying and is now amused. “And you have big boobs.”

  “Okay, Lexington,” London and Emma say at the same time.

  Maddox throws a shirt at me, the one he just had on. “I’ll grab another.”

  Lexington gasps.

  “What, Lexi?” He flexes his chest, and she laughs.

  “Just trying to stir up trouble.”

  He grabs her and throws her over his shoulder. “Breakfast is ready. Then the kids are going to hang with the grandparents.”

  “All of them?” Lexington asks as she giggles.

  “A bunch of them,” he answers as Piper dodges his attempt to grab her up, too.

  Piper stops in front of me and raises her arms.

  “One second,” I tell her as I throw the shirt on to appease Brody. Then I grab her and start to swing her around my back. She puts both hands on the sides of my face and looks at me.

  After a few minutes of her staring and saying nothing, she smiles. “You gonna haf a Weed.”

  “A what?” I ask, knowing full well what she said since I speak Piper. Ls and Rs are an issue. She’s telling me I’m gonna have a baby, a Reed, her brother’s name.

  She smiles and looks at London.

  “Oh, for fu—”

  “Brody,” Emma gasps, cutting him off.

  “She’s eighteen years old, Em. Jesus, can she get through college first?”

  “Brody, take a walk,” Emma demands.

  “Your daughter is a virgin, Brody,” I defend her. “She’s—”

  “Better stay that way until...” He stops and scratches his head. “Until she’s married.”

  “Brody, walk,” Emma demands again.

  During this time, Piper climbs down and is standing in front of London, scratching her head.

  “Yow sista is gonna haf a Weed.”

  “Lexi is gonna have a baby?” London actually laughs and looks at Brody. “See? I’m not the one you need to worry about.”

  Piper laughs and skips away.

  “She still hooked on the pipe?” I ask Harper who’s holding Reed, and she laughs. “Gotta love her imagination.”

  She sighs. “Mom calls it intuition.”

  “Well, I’m not into weed, or having kids, so I’m going with imagination,” I try to joke.

  “You think Dad hates you right now”—London stops on her way out the door and looks back at me—“get my sister knocked up and see how that works out for you.” Then she walks out.

  Harper looks at me with a knowing grin.

  “It’s not like that. She’s a pain in the ass.” I look away from her.

  “Yeah, but—”

  “You want to remain my favorite stepsister, end of subject,” I tell her, throwing the blankets over the bed and straightening them out.

  “Can I ask how she is? How you are?”

  I shrug. “When I heard something outside after my shower, I went out thinking it was the media. It was her. So, had I not dragged”—carried—“her in here, she’d have been a popsicle. But I did. And she was pretty fucked up. She seems better now. Hopefully she’ll be even better tomorrow.”

  “And you?”

  I look up at her and shake my head. “Just another day, Harper, just another day.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  * * *

  Questioning

  Logan

  I avoid Brody because, although I get that he’s protective over London, clearly so am I. I am not his fucking enemy.

  I watch my dad seemingly place himself between us, protecting his little boy. I’m not a little
boy, but again, I get what he’s doing. I would probably do the same.

  I watch Maddox who seems, dare I say...happy?

  He looks at me and nods. I nod back.

  Then I see London looking over her cup of coffee at me, then him, then back at me. I give her what I hope is a questioning look, one that asks what? but doesn’t alert the others. She rolls her eyes then looks at Maddox and gives him the same damn look. He smirks over his cup of coffee. She sets hers down, rather loudly, and stomps out of the kitchen.

  My first reaction is to follow her, but looking around, those British daggers are still on me, so I don’t.

  Maddox looks at Harper, and she whispers, “Leave them alone.”

  He whispers back, “I have no issue with that. The others, though...” He shrugs.

  “The others what?” Brody asks.

  “Yeah, the others what?” Dad says louder than Brody.

  London walks back in with her roommates. They both look around the room like deer in headlights. Jamie is the first to speak.

  “Hi, Lucas Links. Hi, Tessa Links.”

  “Hi, Jamie.” Dad smiles then asks them all, “Are you coffee drinkers?”

  When they nod, he goes to grab them a cup.

  Tessa walks over and gives Jamie then Christy a hug. “How are you two doing?”

  Christy looks around at everyone then back at Tessa. “Good?”

  Tessa nods and smiles. “Well, that’s a good start.”

  Emma walks over next to them. “Remember our ride here?”

  They both nod.

  “We talked about how incredibly boring and normal they are?”

  They nod again.

  She smiles. “Keep that in mind.”

  “And annoying,” London says, looking at Brody and Maddox. “But they’re okay, I suppose.”

  “We’re glad you think so, London,” Maddox pipes in. “You should also know I felt quite the same when I met him.” He thumbs to Brody. “I’ll also assure you that, when I found out he was my father, it made things even more awkward. I will assume he’s not yours, so the worst of it is over.”

  London smiles at him. She adores him.

  He puts his arm around her. “And this one, she’ll make it so you have no choice but to blend right in.”

  I find it very interesting that Jamie seems to fixate on Dad, while Christy is bright red as she seems to try to avoid looking at Maddox and Brody. Football players and rock stars, as different as doctors and mechanics, as different as men and women, and as different as Jamie and Christy. We all have our thing, the thing we respect and look up to. It’s clear what theirs are.