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“So nobody in your position ever walked away?”
“It happens, but usually there were extenuating circumstances.”
“Like?”
I shrug. “A serious wound from a deal gone bad.”
“Not an option. Give me another.”
“They get a real job and slowly phase out, but once again, Logan, I’m not normal.”
“Give me another.”
I’m looking around as if the towering trees have an answer. “I don’t know. If there was another option, Dad would have given it to me.”
Logan swears and after a few seconds of gathering himself together, he reclaims my hand and we continue for the park.
Wherever I go, it’ll suck being alone. I was fine with alone until I met Logan. Even with Isaiah around and then Rachel, I was still fine alone, but the world without Logan’s just too empty.
“I love you,” I say to the ground and when he attempts to stop, I yank on his hand for us to continue forward. “I need you to keep walking, because I can barely handle saying this, but I love you. Just ignore me, Logan. Just pretend we’re walking and I’m not talking and that you just know that I love you.”
Logan releases my hand and slips his arm to around my shoulders. We keep walking and he nuzzles his nose into my hair, feathering a few kisses, causing delicious goose bumps and I love how I fit directly into the shelter of his body. I could have been happy with him. Very
, very happy.
Maybe I died in the alley and this is my hell. Almost experiencing happiness then losing it.
We step onto the grass to head for the swings and my heart stalls when I meet eyes that I’ve studied before. He’s just as shocked to see me as I am him, and I have no doubt that his heart also races in fear.
“You okay?” Logan asks.
A little girl with many braids in her hair skips up to him and jumps into his arms. He hugs her, but still watches me. Like I’m the predator. Like I’m what’s wrong in this world. Guess I am.
“Yeah.” I rip my gaze away from the undercover drug annoyer. “That’s a narc over there. I figured him out a few weeks ago. He remembers me and I remember him. He’s with his kid so we should go.”
Logan glances over at him then brushes his fingers on my shoulder. “We can stay.”
“No,” I say. “We can’t.”
Logan
The hunger pangs roll over me like waves and I don’t need to test my blood to know that my blood sugar is low. I walk into the kitchen, toss my keys onto the counter and stop cold.
Both Mom and Dad are sitting at the kitchen table staring at me. Because the past twenty-four hours have been completely messed up, I check out the clock on the microwave and it confirms it’s midnight.
Hated leaving Abby, but she promised not to go without saying goodbye and my parents would go insane if I didn’t return home soon.
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” I say to Dad and then to Mom. “Shouldn’t you be...not here?”
They do that long lingering look at each other and I ignore them as I head down the hallway.
“Logan?” Mom calls. “Come back.”
“Testing,” I say.
I open up my drawer that contains my bag of tricks and pause. For years I’ve gone out of my way to hide my diabetes from others, hide while I tested because Mom has had a hard time dealing with the reality of my condition. I took a huge step forward this week, and I’m done acting as if this is something to be ashamed of, as if this is something to ignore.
I grab my bag of stuff, enter the kitchen, then drop into a seat at the table. The seat next to Mom. Mom quits breathing as I prick my finger and then test to confirm I’m running low. I leave everything on the table, my needles in plain sight, and open the fridge.
