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to me that I’m still having a hard time digesting. Seeing all that happiness on him is amazing and terrifying and I change the subject
“Now that you’ve captured me in the chase,” I say, “will you tire of me?”
“Abby, can’t imagine one minute with you being boring.”
I grin and lean up so that my arm’s on his chest. “You said that once, remember? When I was turning eight and scared no one at school liked me and you promised to be my best friend for life.”
Logan beams as he combs his fingers through my hair again. “As I said, never a boring moment.”
Logan
The alarm on my cell goes off and I’m so dead to the world that my eyes won’t open and my muscles that I swear were filled with concrete overnight won’t budge. Every breath in is the scent of wild honeysuckle and underneath my arm is solid warmth. My hand is splayed across Abby’s tempting belly, and her back is tucked close to me. Sometime during the night, Abby laid her hand over mine.
We finished Chris’s grandfather’s land on the second day and we’ve moved around to neighboring farms, cashing in on their need for work. It’s been going faster with Chris helping us lift the hay and with Abby driving, but regardless, it’s work.
One more day—today—and we’re done. Only problem, my body may be done before our time commitment. My alarm continues to chime and cold feet kick at my shins. My arm tightens around Abby and my fingers slide to her side. It’s amazing what I can get Abby to do or not do while threatening to tickle her.
“Do it and I’ll cut your balls off,” she says in this sexy yet groggy voice. “And turn off the alarm.”
I chuckle and the air mattress underneath us squeaks. “You can turn it off.”
“It’s on your side and I was shot, remember? I’m healing and need my rest, not being your damn tractor slave.”
I crack my eyes open and her bandage stares me in the face. Regretfully, I remove my hand from her stomach, turn off the alarm, and then I’m careful as I peel back the tape. The wound that was raw and angry when we first arrived here is now healing.
It’s not just her outside that’s healing, the inside is, too. Abby’s laughed more in the past few days than we’ve heard the entire time we’ve known her. She smiles, not just with her lips, but with her eyes.
It’s been a fantastic week and I hate that tomorrow she has to return to all of her demons. I press my lips to her back like I’ve done every morning and begin the routine of cleaning it and bandaging it back up.
I toss her old bandage into my garbage container for medical supplies and spots appear in front of my eyes. I take a second before I try moving again because that was one hell of a head rush.
Abby shifts and delicate fingers touch my bicep. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I grab my bag and cooler, get what I need, then test my blood. There’s movement outside the small room Abby and I are in. West, Ryan, Noah, Chris, and Isaiah are getting their asses up for our last day of work. We were planning on leaving tonight, but after seeing Abby come alive, we decided to switch it up and leave in the morning.
Abby leans against my shoulder and when there’s the beep, I tilt my tester toward Abby so she can see that my number is in the higher end of normal. But it’s normal. At some point, I’m assuming she’ll get bored with all this, but for now she’s curious and I’m humoring her.
She’s like a damn hawk as I measure my insulin and after years of doing this in dark corners or bathrooms, it’s strange to have an audience. It’s also a bit irritating, like having someone read over my shoulder, but I promised to use this to explain everything to her and in exchange she hasn’t asked once to return home.
I rotate the injection site from my stomach to my bicep, and then clean up and dispose of everything.
“Is there any easier way?” Abby asks. “You’re always doing math, calculating, measuring, figuring out. Plus you said it’s better if you do a routine, but besides waking up in the morning, we’ve had no routine. Is this the best way?”
“You sound like my father and that’s not a compliment.”
“Tough and I’m serious.”
I stand and pull a shirt over my head. “My father’s been pushing me to get an insulin pump.”
“Will it do everything for you?”
I bob my head while slipping on my shoes. There’s still stuff I’ll have to do, but for what Abby is asking... “Yeah.”
Abby scrunches her face like she’s smelled something bad—like she doesn’t understand why I haven’t superglued the pump to my stomach already. “Then get one.”
“Stop selling drugs.”
Patented pissed-off Abby glare. “It’s not that simple.”
