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“I…I volunteer,” he croaked, feeling lame.
Her eyes flared with surprised. She opened her mouth as if to ask him why. But then she pressed her lips back together and glanced away. “Well…thanks for being so patient with us and pulling over for Tess. She…”
She motioned into the car but didn’t seem to know what to say about her friend. He didn’t know what to say about her gratitude. Had he just fallen down a hill and landed on his head? Paige Zukowski was not supposed to be nice to him. To tease him.
“Yeah, well…” He rubbed at the back of his neck, utterly uncomfortable, out of his element, and not sure what to do about the girl he was obsessed with actually smiling at him. He was used to her hating him. “At least she’s a happy drunk. A lot of them aren’t.”
Her gaze touched on his and something dark and knowing swam in the depths of her brown eyes. “How well I know that.”
At first, he thought she was referring to him. The last time he’d been drunk, he’d killed someone. That was about as far removed from being a happy drunk as a person could get. But then, in an unconscious gesture, she touched the side of her shoulder and rubbed one specific spot. He tracked the movement with his gaze, seeing a half-moon shaped scar embedded in her perfect skin.
“Wha—” Shocked, he lurched forward to help her, much the same way he’d done at The Squeeze when she’d cut her finger. Not that he could do anything about a scar that had healed long ago, but his body reacted before his head did. He wanted to fix anything wrong with her.
But she jerked back, her eyes flaring with fear. He stopped himself, realizing what he was doing. Body going into a hyper-aware kind of shock, his epidermis heated and chilled at the same time, making his entire system feel as if he had ants crawling on him.
She knew pain at the hands of a nasty drunk and bore a scar to prove it.
That wasn’t acceptable.
He wanted to act. He wanted to hurt whoever had hurt her. Fisting his hands at his sides, he let his system prepare for war even though it was too late to do anything about it now.
Feeling as useless as he’d ever felt, he whispered, “Your dad?”
Of course it had been her dad. She’d already admitted as much at the one group meeting they’d attended together, talking about how her father had turned into a drunk.
Without answering, Paige jerked away and jumped into the back seat with her friends, slamming the door.
Logan stood there, hollowed out and numb. Tempted to stumble to the bushes and borrow Tess’s sick spot, he covered his mouth with one hand because it struck him how much this was his fault. His actions had turned her father into a morose alcoholic, and she had suffered the consequences.
“So how do you guys know each other?”
Logan glanced over his shoulder to find Bailey perching herself on the edge of her seat so she could rest a forearm on the back of his and lean in toward him with an expectant look.
He cleared his throat and shifted, casting a quick darting peek in his rearview mirror to meet Paige’s gaze. He still couldn’t believe her dad had actually hit her. And left a scar.
“We, uh, we work together at The Squeeze,” she said, looking straight at his reflection, her gaze demanding he keep silent about everything else, which baffled him.
“Really? Hmm. Paige has never mentioned you before.” The way Bailey said Paige’s name told him Paige was getting a stern, reprimanding look. He slid another quick glance into his mirror, amazed she hadn’t told her friends about him. Amazed she didn’t want them to know.
She’d told no one. Anything.
When she looked up and made eye contact, he realized she wouldn’t say anything, either.
Why hadn’t she fed him to the wolves already and gotten him chased out of Granton? He appreciated her silence more than he could say, but he had a sinking feeling it was for her own protection, not his. If she spoke of his relationship to her, she might have to keep talking, and reveal her mother’s suicide and father’s abuse.
Dawning realization struck him. That had to be it. He clenched his teeth, not liking this insight at all. He didn’t like thinking she couldn’t talk to anyone about her scars—physical and emotional. Maybe he should go see Samantha and ask her to seek out Paige privately and—but no. Every time he’d butted into Paige Zukowski’s life, he’d only left her hurting more. He needed to mind his own damn business.
Blinking rapidly, he forced his attention to the road and slowed to turn down the street toward her dormitory. Okay, so he finally understood her silence concerning him. But why was she being so pleasant when he knew she hated him and still blamed him for Trace’s death?
As he pulled alongside the curb in front of Grammar Hall, a group of guys had gathered around a small tree on the front lawn and were launching things into the branches at something cowering above them.
“What is that?” he said, squinting as he leaned forward to see better. It looked as if they’d treed some kind of animal.
In the back seat, Paige gasped. “Oh my God. Einstein!” She pushed open the back driver’s side door before he’d even come to a complete halt.
“Paige!” He slammed on the brake, though she was already out and sprinting a lopsided dash in her high heels across the front lawn. Approaching the largest guy in the group, she dived at him, shoving him square in the chest with both hands and making him falter backwards away from the tree.
Logan’s jaw dropped. “Holy—is she completely insane?”
