Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set

by Rebecca Belliston

  Carrie’s heart raced, and for more than just the possibility of seeing Greg again. He’d used home to describe this place, which only solidified it in her mind. He belonged in Shelton, and one way or another she would make sure that he came back.

  She smiled. “We have two.”

  * * * * *

  Dust flew everywhere, sparkling in the light streaming through the garage windows. Terrell Dixon, the supply guy, would freak out once he saw his OCD organization undone, but Greg had to find those bikes.

  “Bikes are valuable on the black market,” Carrie said, “which is why we’re down to two. But I’m scared of your reaction when you see them.”

  “Why?” Greg asked, moving an old computer monitor.

  With another box flung aside, Carrie uncovered the first bike. Pink with purple stars.

  “Amber got it for her seventh birthday,” Carrie said, looking it over. “It’s smaller than I remember.”

  No kidding. The handle bars barely reached Greg’s hip.

  “Where’s the other one?” he asked.

  After another minute, they unearthed a boy’s bike which was slightly larger, but not large enough for Greg’s adult body. Not great, but still faster than walking. The tires on both were flat, the boy’s was missing a seat, and neither had their chains. Greg pulled the purple sparkly seat off Amber’s old bike and twisted it onto the other. Then he stood back, unsure what to do about the missing chains or flat tires.

  Carrie searched through more boxes. “I know they had chains a few years ago. Where did they go?”

  Greg pulled the tires apart to examine how much patching the tubes needed. But when he opened the first, he grunted. He grabbed the second, third, and fourth tires with the same result.

  “Any idea where the inner tubes are?” he said.

  She turned slowly. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Wish I was.” He had a pretty good idea where at least one ended up. Zach and Tucker’s slingshots. He rubbed the grease from his hands. “Any luck on the chains?”

  “No.” She tore through boxes like a madwoman. “Maybe Terrell knows where they are.”

  The sun streamed through the windows with a yellow afternoon glow, reminding Greg of his limited time. The township office closed at five, whenever that was. Even with a wagon, it would be slow moving with his mom.

  He pulled off his Yankees cap and wiped his forehead. “It’s no use, Carrie. They’re not here. Even if we had chains, they’re probably bent or broken, and we still don’t have tires. I’d never make it work in time. It’s fine. It is. I should go.”

  “No. They have to be here,” she said, still rummaging. Another box. Another pile. Only she’d already searched those ones. She was just moving in circles.

  “Carrie.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her back. She looked up at him, freckled cheeks flushed from work. “Even if I had a bike, that training camp is gonna be a fortress. They’re never gonna let me leave, not even at night. It was a one in a million chance, but it’s fine.”

  She didn’t look fine. She looked devastated, and he could have kissed her for it.

  “I should go,” he said.

  Her downcast eyes stayed on his t-shirt, and for some reason, his thoughts rewound to that conversation with his mom.

  Guilt tugged at him.

  “You know,” he said, “when I swore to stay away from you, I never dreamt karma would play this kinda joke on me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just…” He pictured her name on Oliver’s marriage license and stopped himself from saying more. “I just thought it was for the best.”

  “Zach will be devastated when he finds out that you’re gone,” she said softly.

  “I’ll leave my baseball for him. He can have my slingshot, too. And here. Give him this.”

  Greg took off his Yankees hat, brushed Carrie’s honey-blonde hair back from her face, and situated it on her head. The vision unexpectedly pleased him. Her hair looked nearly gold as it waved out from under his hat, and the hat’s navy color brought out her beautiful blue eyes—eyes that suddenly pinned him.

  His resolve to stay away from Carrie had lasted all of a week. A lot of good it did him. A lot of good it did either of them.

  “I should go,” he said again. “My mom’s probably awake.”

  He said the words, yet his feet stayed.

  Cocking his head, he said, “Just out of curiosity, how much of that conversation did you hear back there?”

  She peeked up at him through her soft lashes. “Not much.”

  Who knew how true that was.

  His mom had spent a fair amount of time lecturing him about giving his relationship with Carrie a chance. She didn’t care about marriage licenses or what Oliver could offer that Greg couldn’t. She said Richard had plenty of reasons to hold back from loving her, but he hadn’t.

  “Worry less. Love more,” she had said. “In this world, you gotta fight to be happy.” Even when Greg insisted there was no guarantee he’d make it back to Shelton—or Carrie—she said life didn’t come with guarantees. “So you keep fighting. Fight and win.”

  Fight to be happy. Advice given at the most inopportune time. Typical of his mom.

  And yet…

  If he could survive the four months of training, get over his qualms about the new government, and find a way to make this position work to his favor—in the army or as a patrolman—he could become an Oliver for Carrie, minus the whole “I’ll take Oliver’s goodness” aspect. The thought scared him. Scared and intrigued him, which was stupid. There were too many ifs to think about anything beyond the next few days.

  Only…

  Carrie looked so dang cute in his hat. A stray lock of hair escaped his attempt to tuck it back. It curled next to her cheek, begging to be brushed aside.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I really should go.”

  Those huge, blue eyes stayed on him, and his mom’s words rang in his ears again.

  Fight to be happy.

  Suddenly, he straightened. “Look, Carrie, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to come back here, or if I’ll even live past—”

  “You will,” she cut in. “I know you’ll find a way to come back to us.”

  There was so much trust in her voice. She had more faith in him than he’d ever had in himself, which solidified his decision.

  “If I make it back, and if I try to give you a chance—I mean, try to give us a chance,” he said, fumbling for words, “will you give Oliver a chance while I’m gone?”

  She gave him a strange look, probably wondering why, the second he said he’d give their relationship a chance, he asked her to do the same with another guy.

  “No,” she said.

  “Carrie…” He nearly told her about the marriage license, except Oliver hadn’t specified how he got Carrie legal. Those papers could be something else. But even if it was as Greg suspected, she might not care. Just because she had rejected Greg’s marriage proposal, didn’t mean she would reject Oliver’s. With freedom within her grasp, she might jump on the citizenship wagon—which she should. He just didn’t want to be around to witness it.

  But if by some miracle she did still choose him, he never wanted her to doubt her decision. She needed to do it with her eyes wide open. She needed to know what kind of papers had her name on them and then make her choice.

  Something warm brushed his hand. He jolted when he realized what it was. Carrie was reaching for him.

  Carrie Ashworth, his introverted, self-conscious friend who hadn’t initiated a thing in her life, had brushed her fingers across the back of his hand. From any other girl, it was the equivalent of flinging herself at him.

  His resolve melted, and his hand answered her plea, lacing his fingers through hers.

  While his body was hers, his mind refused to yield.

  “C’mon. Oliver will be good to you. He’s the good one, remember?” Oliver had the goodness. Braden had the charm. Greg had the age and good looks. At the time, he�
��d been thrilled she’d found anything appealing about him. Now his part seemed pitifully small.

  “Greg, when I said it took three men to make my perfect man…” She blushed right through her freckles. “I hope you know that’s not true anymore. I’d take your goodness, your charm, and your looks. You keep telling me that Oliver’s the good one, and he is. But so are you.”

  He stiffened. “No, I’m not. I’m no Oliver.”

  “No, you’re better. A little crazier and harder to figure out,” she added with a smile, “but better because you’re willing to give me up to keep me and my siblings safe. You’re willing to give yourself up to keep this clan safe. You were even willing to stand up for a factory worker you barely knew to keep him safe. And when Jeff attacked me…” Her voice caught, and she tried again. “When I thought Jeff was going to kill me and Zach, you made us safe and then gave Jeff his freedom to keep him safe, too.” Her eyes met his, blazing with intensity. “So, yes. I’ll take your goodness. I’d take it all, and I’d take it in a heartbeat.”

  He was floored. “And you think I’m crazy?”

  Her blush deepened. “It’s true.”

  Greg wanted to argue, but the way she looked up at him…those words…

  In that moment, Carrie Ashworth was pure light: her hair, her skin, the sun streaming in on her soft lips. That chin of hers was lifted, practically begging him to lean down. She was the most kissable woman he knew—not that he had any way of knowing for sure. But those lips begged to be explored. Appreciated. But if he kissed her now, her heart would close off to Oliver completely. It wasn’t fair to do that to her, not with her, Amber, and Zach’s futures on the line.

  Not with the chance that he wasn’t coming back.

  Reaching up, he slipped off his Yankees hat, letting her hair spill over her shoulders. Then he cradled her soft face, leaned forward, and pressed his lips to her forehead.

  The move affected him more than he had anticipated. Especially when she closed her eyes and leaned into him.

  Before he could get carried away—or let his lips wander—he pulled back. It was a safe, friendly goodbye kiss, the kind Oliver would approve of. Maybe not, but Greg approved of it.

  His mom would, too.

  The innocent kiss only made him crave Carrie more. His arms wound around her petite waist, and he pulled her close. In answer, her arms found their way around him. He held her tightly, breathing in the scent of her as his mind tripped over itself, racing toward the future. If he could pull this off, if enough things fell into place and his luck finally turned, he could change her life for the better. Not just hers, but everybody’s.

  It was the only thing that made leaving bearable.

  He pressed her cheek to his chest. “Take care of them for me,” he whispered into her warm hair. His mom. His grandparents. All of them. “Take care of yourself, too.”

  “You, too.” She leaned back and looked up at him with those gorgeous blue eyes. “Come back to us. To me.”

  “I will.” Because one way or another, he was done letting life—and the government—steal people from him. He was ready to fight back. Fight for happiness. “I promise.”

  With an inhuman amount of effort, he released her. Then he reached up, brushed the hair back from her face—purposely missing that stray lock a second time—and placed his Yankees hat back on her head, knowing that this moment would keep him company long after he left.

  As he started to leave the garage, his feet turned back suddenly.

  “Can I come see you tonight?” The words escaped before he could stop them, but he didn’t retract them. “I don’t leave ‘til morning, and I want more time before I go. Maybe after my mom’s asleep?”

  Her smile lit her whole face. “I would like that.”

  He beamed. “Good. Then meet me by the pond after dusk.”

  Greg didn’t know if he could resist her a second time tonight—or if he should even try—but he finally took control of his feet and trotted out of the garage, smiling the whole way.

  eighteen

  “DID YOU KISS HER?”

  Ignoring his mom’s question, Greg knelt on the weeds. “Is it still just the one leg, or is the other one actin’ up now?”

  His mom folded her arms. “I’m not answering ‘til you do.”

  At least she was sitting in Carrie’s water wagon now. The first half of the trip, she had refused to be “dragged around like a baby.” Heaven forbid the woman accept help. So he’d kept an arm around her waist and listened to her wheeze as she limped into town. The whole time he tried to ease her weight, he pulled the wagon behind them, rattling and begging to be used. But her mind was stronger than her body, and she slowed fast. Each time they stopped to rest, she took longer to get back up. Richard offered to come and help, and maybe Greg should have taken his stepdad’s offer, but Greg wanted time alone with his mom before he left, so Richard hadn’t pressed.

  With each passing moment, the sun dipped lower in the western sky. Greg had no idea what time it was, or if the township offices had already closed and this whole trip was for nothing.

  His mom watched him, still waiting for an answer. Anytime she wasn’t walking—or wheezing—she had enough energy to pester him about what had happened with Carrie. She was the nosiest woman he knew, next to his grandma. The mother/daughter duo could pry information like the best-trained spies, but he refused to yield.

  “You ready yet?” he asked.

  “Greg,” his mom said pointedly. “Did you kiss Carrie?”

  “None of your business.”

  She smiled a slow, tired smile. “Good boy.”

  Ruthless. That was the last thing she was getting out of him. Besides, if she knew he hadn’t kissed Carrie—not really—she’d ream him out, and there was no need for that. He was scolding himself plenty.

  The vision of Carrie in the garage was intoxicating. He was anxious for their night walk around the pond where they could steal a few more minutes of privacy before he left. She’d be cold and need warming up. He pictured her big eyes, her soft lips, and…

  His mom was smiling at him. Grinning, actually.

  “We better go,” he said, jumping to his feet. “How about you ride for a bit?”

  “Not a chance. Help me on up.”

  Greg put an arm around her shrinking waist. Once her legs were steady under her, they started off. Her breathing went downhill faster than she did, and she was raspy by the time they made it to Shelton. Each of the short cement steps caused her to wince in pain, but the township doors weren’t locked, and the clock on the wall read 4:43 p.m.

  They’d made it.

  Like Greg figured, Ashlee was waiting for them, fake grin and all. He’d planned to come tomorrow on her day off, but by then, he needed to be well on his way.

  Ashlee waved from behind the counter where she was busy helping another man and woman with some paperwork. The three of them chatted like best friends while Greg helped his mom to the nearest chair. Once he eased her down, she rubbed her legs, relieved to be off them.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She waved him off, too tired to respond.

  The older couple turned to leave but spotted Greg and his mom in the corner.

  “Are you two new in town?” the man said, striding over to shake their hands.

  Greg shook the man’s hand warily. “Moved in a few months ago.”

  “Welcome. I’m Aaron and this is my wife, Liz. Where do you folks live?” he said, then he seemed to notice Greg’s mom. A look of concern touched his features.

  Greg shifted to block his view. “North of here.”

  He purposely kept it vague, but Ashlee, being the ditz she was, spilled the specifics anyway. “Oh, they live over in the Logan Pond subdivision. Have you met May and CJ Trenton?”

  “I think I met them a few years ago,” the man said. “With everything going on, we citizens should stick together.”

  As if that would help anything.

  “Nice meeting y�
�all,” Greg said, giving the hint.

  With a wave, the couple left Greg and his mom alone with the blonde vulture behind the counter.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Pierce,” Ashlee said, smiling. “So nice to see you and your…your…” Her words trailed off as she got her first good glimpse of his mom. Her fake smile faded into a look of horror. Seeing her reaction confirmed his fears: his mom was declining fast. Too fast to last four months of training.

  His mom grabbed his hand. “Help me stand.”

  “Stay,” Greg ordered. “I’ll bring the paperwork to you.”

  She shot him a dark look. “I’m not dead yet. Help me up.”

  Stubborn woman.

  “I’m so sorry you had to come in, Mrs. Pierce,” Ashlee said as they worked their way over. “I wish there was an easier way.”

  His mom leaned against the counter, eyes closed to catch her wheezy breath. “It’s Mrs. O’Brien now, but no worries. The fresh air…it…” Another wheeze. “Clears my lungs.”

  Ashlee shot Greg a worried look. He glared back. What right did she have to feel sympathy when she was the reason they were there in the first place?

  “Can we sign her stuff quick?” Greg said.

  “Yes, of course. Let me scan your card, Mrs. O’Brien. Now that you’re married, we’ll also need to change your name on your paperwork and issue you a new card.”

  His mom realized her mistake the same time Greg did.

  Mrs. O’Brien.

  “Can’t we update her information next month?” Greg said in exasperation. If she even lived that long. “We’re in a real hurry.”

  “I…I don’t know.” Ashlee glanced up at the camera in the corner. “We really should—”

  Greg sidestepped, blocking the camera. “Next month. Please, Ashlee.”

  It took a moment, but she nodded. With a half-hearted smile, she scanned his mom’s card in her little device and then did the same with his. “When do you leave for training, Greg?”

  He looked up. “What did you say?”