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He does and my stomach fills with cement when no matter what I ask, he gives me nothing that separates my shooter from half the guys I go to school with.
“I’ll know him if I see him.” Logan dips his head as if he’s sorry he has nothing else to offer.
“I’m scared he’ll know you if he sees you, too.” My thoughts are too slow and I can’t afford this delay and I discover myself thinking out loud. “Linus wants to use you. He thinks there’s a traitor on our side, and he thinks the traitor is associated with my shooter. Linus wants to use you to find my shooter and our traitor.”
Logan settles back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest. “What do you think?”
I briefly close my eyes, hating the ache inside. “I think you should go to the police and tell them the truth. Someone shot me and I don’t know who I can trust, which means I don’t know how to protect you.”
Logan stays silent, and each second that passes creates a heavy weight on my chest. “Are you still in danger?” he asks.
It would be bad to admit how much of an excellent question that is and how jacked-up my mind is that I didn’t bother asking Linus that. I sigh. That’s wrong. I know the answer. I’ve always known the answer.
Living this life means being under a constant threat, and not only me, but the people I care about. Linus is right. Friendships outside this life are wrong. It’s selfish.
“You should go.”
Logan’s eyes flicker over my face, but other than that—no movement.
“I said you should go.” I push some heat into my voice.
He lazily shrugs one shoulder. “You said should. That suggests choice.”
“That was me being nice so I’ll try again—go.”
“No.”
No? My back practically arches like a ticked-off cat’s. Did he just tell me no? “I’ll scream. I’ll tell them to get security. I’ll tell them you’re a serial killer.”
“Okay.”
I blink. Yeah—I w
as totally bluffing. I could do that to most people, but not to him. “Logan!”
“Abby,” he mocks my frustration.
I growl and slam my fist against the bed. “I should never have become your friend. I should have never become Rachel’s friend or West’s friend. I should have never let any of you in and now I have to live with the consequences that I put you in danger and that you’re still in danger and that really pisses me off.”
Logan smiles. Smiles. It’s a shit-eating, I’m-going-to-kill-him-the-moment-I-yank-this-IV-out-of-my-arm smile. “Why are you smiling?”
His grin only grows. “You said we’re friends.”
Oh. My. God. That’s what he heard? “You are crazy.”
“Yeah, I am. This is how it’s going to be—your friends are going to watch over you, you’re going to get better and we’re going to figure out who shot you.”
I’m shaking my head. “There’s no we’re.”
“There is.” He rubs his hands together and I know that motion—he’s buying himself time. “You and I have been a we’re for a while.”
Fear sprints through my veins. “I hate you.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
I rap my head against the pillow—hating the loss of control, overwhelmed by the pain in my shoulder and the throb in my head. Wishing I could somehow rewind time and have chosen to leave with Logan last night instead of going back into the bar, rewind it back to before I walked into the garage months ago and decided to befriend Rachel, which lead to Logan, rewind it back to before Grams began to forget what day it was, rewind back to before my father made a tragic mistake and went to prison...possibly rewind all the way back to my birth.
I swing my arm over my eyes, loathing all the emotion raging through me. “I can’t do this. Don’t you understand, I can’t do this.”
