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“Baby, stop with the Lego building.” His voice was demanding and harsh, and the butterflies airlifted. Was it from being turned on, or was it from my hint of fear? Or both? Why did I like it when he sounded like that?
“Maybe us talking isn’t such a good idea.”
Silence.
“Did you take anything in that I said yesterday?”
“What?” I pictured him scowling and his hand clenching the phone.
“Emily?”
“Of course I listened to you.”
“So you heard that part where I said I loved you?”
Yes. And how he missed me. And I wanted to let him in—but it made me feel exposed.
“I’m not chasing after just some chick I want to fuck. I’m chasing after a woman I love who isn’t letting me in.”
“God, Sculpt. I’m pretty certain you don’t have to chase any woman.”
I heard a loud bang. “I don’t give a fuck about other women. Are listening to me?” I was, but I was ignoring the parts about how he was chasing after a woman he loves. “What do you want me to do? What do you need from me and you have it.”
I threw off the covers and sat up.
“What happened after I left, Sculpt?”
“No, Eme. This isn’t about that. You’re trying to push me away, because you’re scared of how you still react to me. You’re changing this into something else.”
“Sculpt—”
“Emily, fuck. Tell me. Just tell me what the hell is happening in that head of yours.”
I was so pissed off from him pushing me that I couldn’t stop the overflowing words. “Do you want to know what it felt like when I saw you again? The anguish. The pain. The feeling like I was free-falling off a waterfall in the scorching heat. Like I lost my breath. A stupid tingling in my skin that felt like I’d been set on fire. The deep ache that refuses to go away whenever I think about you. Oh, and the butterflies in my belly, they go into a freaking frenzy every single time I hear your damn voice, but I’m uncertain whether all that is because I’m turned on or because I’m scared. Or what I’m scared of. I feel it all hanging around my neck like a cowbell. It’s a reminder of how much I loved you and feared you. And how stupid I was to want you at the same fuckin’ time. I want that out of me. I never want to feel helpless again. I feel like I’m out of control and only you know how to stop it and I hate that.” I took a deep breath.
Silence.
More silence.
Then …
“I’ll be there in a few hours.” I could hear him moving around. Rustling. A zipper.
“What?” I threw my legs over the side of the bed and got up and began to pace. “No. Why would you do that? You were just here. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Fuck. I shouldn’t have left. I should be there with you.”
“Logan. Seriously—no. Please. I don’t want you catching a flight just to come here. You’re with the band. Doing what you’ve always dreamed of. You’ll ruin your chances if you leave. Logan, think about what you’re saying.” God, was Logan crazy? No, he just went after whatever he wanted.
Silence.
Then, “Call me Logan. No more Sculpt.”
Mistake. Twice I’d done that.
“Eme?”
I closed my eyes. “Yes?”
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Say it.” It’s that voice, the one I yearn for. And that terrified me because I felt … God, it made me feel whole again.
I sunk down on the bed, lowered my head into my hands. “Logan,” I whispered. I imagined the corners of his lips were edging up, and damn if I didn’t want to see it.
“Dream sweet, Emily.” Then he hung up.
I fell backward onto my bed, phone held to my chest with both hands. Dream sweet, Emily.
I threw a flake of hay into Stanley’s stall for his night feed. He was a big Clydesdale cross that had several open wounds on his back from an improperly fitted harness when he used to pull a wagon far too heavy for one horse. His owner sent him to slaughter two weeks ago where Hank had seen him and picked him up.
Stanley and a few other horses with injuries came in the barn at night until they healed. We didn’t have wolves, but there were coyotes prowling at night.
“You already did that.” Kat was sitting on the cement floor with her sketch pad on her bent knees.
I looked over the stall door and saw the two flakes of hay. Shit. I had. Stanley would have extra tonight, which I’m certain he wouldn’t mind.
I was completely distracted wondering why Logan hadn’t called or texted yet. He always called before ten. Well, every night for the past ten days. I was used to it. I expected it. Shit, I was mad because I noticed that he hadn’t called. Kat noticed that I noticed. And I realized that listening to Logan before bed was becoming something I looked forward to every night.
Last night we’d been talking while I lay in bed, and he was telling me about the last venue they played at and how Ream was giving attitude to a chick who’d been following them. The chick wanted Ream; Ream had her once and now no longer wanted her.
Logan then proceeded to tell me that Crisis fucked anything that had tits and ass. Kite was more subdued about it, but he did it too, just quieter than Crisis. I also found out that they were all coming back to the farm after the tour. They had a celebration bash planned at the end of the month their manager was organizing.
“You talk to Sculpt yet?” Kat was sketching again, trying to act nonchalant.
“Nope.”
“Huh.”
I knew she was waiting for me to say more, but I had no intention of talking about it. Logan was with the band. Or with a chick. Shit. I rested my forehead on the wood beam. Damn it. Damn it. I knew this would happen. I was getting too close again. I was thinking about him constantly. Counting the days until he came home. Home? I sounded like a girlfriend waiting for her boyfriend to get back.
