Текст книги "Perfectly Damaged"

Автор книги: E. L. Montes

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

“There’s one over by the living area.” Bryson points toward the right of him. I dart straight to the bathroom and press my back into the door the moment I close it.

What the hell are you doing here, Jenna? My mind begins to race with thoughts. At least they’re my thoughts for a change. This is ridiculous. It’s times like this I wish I knew how to drive; I’d jump into Charlie’s car, speed out of here, and never look back. As far as I can tell, the only people that know about this morning are Logan, Charlie, and me. If anyone else knew, I think I’d be sick. Beyond sick. People would start asking questions, and questions lead to more questions. And unanswered questions lead to curiosity. I can’t have that. It’s bad enough Logan probably thinks less of me.

I breathe in and out evenly, stepping to the sink to dab my face with cool water. Once I’m pulled together, I step out. Charlie’s face is the first thing I see when I open the door. She scares the living daylights out of me. “What are you doing standing there like that?”

“I heard you talking to yourself,” she whispers, which is really a harsh non-whisper because Charlie is the worst whisperer ever.

Shit. I look around. The guys are no longer in the kitchen. “Did anyone else hear?”

“No.” She drops her crossed arms. “They’re in the back, getting things ready for the party. It’s starting in an hour.” She pauses. “Jenna, I know how you feel when people ask this, but—”

“Yes, I brought my medication,” I interrupt.

“Are you taking them?” She sighs heavily. “Don’t give me that look. I had to ask.”

“Don’t.” I raise a finger to her chest. “Don’t ever ask again. I know what I’m doing. This is supposed to be a good weekend. Don’t ruin it by acting like her.”

Charlie’s shoulders relax. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. You’re right. This is going to be an awesome weekend. Come on, let’s go have some fun.” She wraps her arm around my shoulder and hustles me out back onto a large deck where the guys are hanging around.

I’m supposed to be having fun right now, but all I’m trying to do is steer clear of Logan. I keep my distance. Every time I catch him staring at me, I look away. I stay close to Charlie and watch as new partiers arrive.

* * *

The party has filled out with over thirty people—all drunk, of course. Charlie is all over Santino. At least she’s having a good time. Logan is playing cards with Bryson and a few girls at one of the tables. I guess he got the hint; he hasn’t looked at me once over the past hour.

It’s the perfect moment to escape, so I climb down the steps of the deck and look past the trees, toward the lake. No one’s there, so I head to the waterfront. I reach the end of the dock and take a seat. With my feet dangling over the edge and my arms crossed, I inhale and exhale a fresh breath of air. The music from the house becomes distant. I zone it out, focusing on the image before me. I watch the sun set as blue, purple, pink, orange, and yellow paint the sky. The reflection bounces off the lake and ripples when a light breeze whips by. I try to picture myself home at this very moment. I’d probably be stuck in my room, but I’d rather be here.

I’ve probably been sitting here for about twenty minutes when I hear the dock’s floorboard creak loudly. Startled, I turn around to see what it is. Logan is walking over with two beer bottles in each hand, a warm smile spread across his chiseled features. I swallow hard, taking him in fully for the first time. Every other time I’ve been around Logan, I’ve been too wrapped up in my own head to really pay attention. He has a great physique, tall and toned. His broad shoulders could belong to a linebacker. His arms, swollen against the sleeves of his T-shirt, are sinewy and tan. Brown hair, cut close to his scalp, is a perfect contrast to his clear blue eyes. He’s wearing loose jeans that hang low on his waist, and his confident, carefree attitude is obvious in the way he carries himself. He’s got sex appeal, that’s for sure. I’m certain other girls can’t resist him.

With every step he takes, the more ragged my breathing becomes. I’m nervous, and I have no idea why. I’ve been purposely avoiding him the entire evening. I think it’s because he saw one of my meltdowns this morning. He probably thinks I was having some type of boy trouble or something. Little does he know he witnessed one of my mild episodes.

“Hey,” he says as he reaches me. “Mind if I join you?”

Yes. “No.”

He sits beside me as another light breeze blows by us. I inhale his scent. “So are you enjoying yourself?”

God, my eyes are closed. Did I seriously just close my eyes to breathe in his scent? I flutter my lashes open. Embarrassed and momentarily distracted, I blurt out, “Huh? Oh, yes. Yes, I am.” He extends his arm, offering me a beer. “No, thank you. I don’t drink.”

“Never?” He raises a brow.

“No. Well, I used to. Not anymore.”

Logan wrinkles his nose. “Bad experience, huh?” I answer with a nod and turn my head back to the lake. “Are you girls thinking of staying tomorrow too?” He cracks open a beer for himself and takes a gulp.

“Probably not. We’ll probably leave in the morning.”

“You should think about sticking around. We have a barbeque going on in the afternoon, and then we usually jump in the lake and have a few drinks.” He chuckles. “Although you don’t have to partake in the drinking.” I try to hold back a smile. He leans forward and I look over at him; he’s staring directly at me. “Are you smiling?” he asks with a large grin.

“I think it’s funny that you used the term partake.”

“I think it’s nice to see you smile.” His smile wavers, and he raises a brow. “Why do you do that?”

I look down at my feet swinging beneath me. “Do what?”

“You instantly stop smiling the moment I mention it. It’s okay to smile, especially out here.” I peek up at him. He spreads his arms wide, bottle in hand, and looks around. “No one will catch you.”

“I’m not afraid of anyone catching me.”

He nods, takes another swig of his beer, and looks straight ahead, across the lake. “Then what are you afraid of?”

Myself. “Nothing.” I steer the conversation away from me. “It’s beautiful out here. Thank you for inviting us. I’d probably be home watching TV or sleeping right now.”

“Sleeping? It’s only eight…nine…eight or nine.” He takes a sip of his beer.

“Yeah, well I don’t exactly live the high life.” He laughs at my response. We look at each other. His grin is contagious; I smile back at him. It’s a light smile, and I know I’m doing it this time. I just hope he doesn’t mention it. Logan drops his stare to my lips and his eyes linger there. For a moment, I watch him watching me. My smile slowly fades, and I don’t know if it’s a nervous reaction or a physiological one, but my tongue darts out to wet my lips. When it does, he tears his eyes away, taking another gulp of his beer, and the moment is gone.

“So how long has your family had the lake house?” I ask, hoping to cover the awkward moment.

“About twenty years,” he answers, but he doesn’t look back at me. He’s focused down on the beer bottle, twirling it in his hand.

“Oh, wow. That’s a long time. It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, it is. When my uncle George purchased the land over twenty years ago, he barely had two dimes to rub together.” He shrugs, still twirling the bottle. “It was a deal he couldn’t pass up. He used all his savings on the land itself and purchased lumber and other items little by little until he had enough to build a small cottage. Originally, it was a two-bedroom, eight-hundred-square-foot cabin, not the four-thousand-square-foot party house it is today.”

I smile, trying to picture a small cabin where the large home now rests. “How did it get the way it is now?”

Logan brings the rim of the bottle to his lips and tilts his head back, chugging the rest of the beer. I swallow as I watch his lips curl into a smile around the rim. After he finishes, he places the beer down and looks up at me with a lopsided grin. “As my uncle’s business increased and more money came in, he began expanding the home. When Bryson, my brother, Sean, and I were in our teens, my uncle came up with a new tradition. Every summer, we’d come here and help with expansions and renovations until it became what it is now.”

“That’s amazing.”

“It is. The thing is…” He lifts one leg, leaves the other dangling, and twirls his body so that he’s facing me but not looking at me. His focus is over his left shoulder, on the house set back from the dock. “You’d think three teenage boys would want to spend their summers partying around, but we looked forward to helping with the lake house every year. There’s a piece of each of us in there.” He nods his head toward the property. “I guess that’s why we make it a point to still come. I mean it’s not like it used to be, filled with family, but I guess people grow and change.”

“Yeah. People do.”

Logan reaches for another beer bottle and twists it open. “So what’s your story?”

“I don’t have one,” I reply automatically, but my words come out flat.

“Everyone has a story, Jenna.” My name on his tongue sounds foreign, odd, but nice.

“Mine’s not worth telling.”

“I doubt that.”

I snap my head over irritably. “Why are you so interested?”

He shrugs, trying to school his features despite my nasty outburst. “I just think you’re interesting. That’s all. Is that a problem?”

“Trust me, the last thing you need is to know anything about my life. And the last thing I need is someone else judging me. So save yourself and become uninterested. Okay?” I hop to my feet. When I look down at him, a sigh escapes me and I relax my shoulders. He was sweet this morning, and now I’m being a bitch. “Look, I’m sorry for that. Just ignore me, okay? Thank you for being friendly.”

I turn to walk away. Halfway down the dock he calls out, “I didn’t tell anyone it was you this morning.” I stop, but I don’t look back.

“Thank you,” is all I can say. Before he has the chance to say another word, I walk away, following the path back to the house. I climb the stairs to the deck and pass the partiers, who are now in various stages of inebriation. Charlie is sitting on Santino’s lap on a patio chair. He hands her another shot glass; she tosses her head back and takes it. But the liquor must be too strong for her to handle. It’s either that or she’s over her limit because she spits it back out, coughing.

“Oh shit.” Santino laughs.

I storm over. “Come on, Charlie. You’ve had enough. It’s time for bed.” I grip her arm and she stands sluggishly, stumbling into me.

“Oh, come on! It’s still early. The party just started!” Santino raises his arms, begging.

“No. She’s had enough.”

Bryson stands up. He seems to be the only other person besides me that’s not stupid drunk. “I’ll help you get her up the steps.”

“Thank you,” I reply. He tosses Charlie’s arm around his shoulder, grabs her waist, and hauls her in the house and up the stairs.

As soon as Charlie is settled in one of the twin beds and Bryson leaves, I lock the bedroom door and place a chair securely underneath the knob. I check the tiny closet in the room. It’s clear. Then I make sure the window is locked and the curtains are drawn before hiding myself underneath the unfamiliar comforter and forcing myself asleep.

chapter 10

Jenna

It’s quiet in this room, quieter than my own bedroom. There’s no sound whatsoever. No creaks of the floorboards. No rotating blades of the ceiling fan. Nothing. Not even the voices I’ve grown accustomed to are present. Complete silence. Except for my own intrusive thoughts, which are rapidly running through my mind like a hamster on a spinning wheel. There’s no stopping my thoughts of Logan, my mother, and Brooke.

I hate that Logan is even on my mind. He’s no one. No one at all. Yet here he is, present and accounted for, drawing almost every ounce of my attention. I hate it. I hate it so much I almost wish for the voices to come back. At least with the voices I know what to expect for the most part. I’ve adjusted to them controlling every memory, every thought, and every image. And the fact that I’d rather their presence than the chaos of my own thoughts scares the hell out of me.

My chest tightens at my realization and a moan slips out as I force myself to sit up. My eyes scan the room. On a nightstand between the twin beds, bright red numbers blink at me. 5:00 a.m. Great. I groan, rub a frustrated hand over my face, and gingerly step out of bed. Charlie is sleeping away and I don’t want to wake her. Being as discreet as possible, I reach for my cell and tiptoe toward the door, where I remove the chair from under the knob, unlock it, and close it gently behind me as I leave the room.

What now? It’s five in the morning and I’m standing in a dark hallway by myself while everyone else sleeps. I need to wash my face to cool off my damp skin. Bryson mentioned last night that there’s a bathroom on the second level, but with all of the doors down the hall closed, I can’t make out which door leads to which room. Screw it. I’ll just use the one downstairs; the last thing I need is for me to sneak into someone else’s room and accidentally wake them up.

After I use the restroom, wash my hands, and tie my hair back in a ponytail, I step out. Just as I close the door behind me, I hear a loud thump.

I look over toward the kitchen to my right. Bryson is standing by the counter with an apologetic look on his face. He mouths, “Sorry.” Then he bends over, grabbing an item off the floor, and straightens back up. “You’re up early,” Bryson whispers as he waves me over. Looking down at my feet, I slightly sway in place and inhale shakily. What’s wrong with me? He’s not going to attack me. Exhaling, I relax a bit and walk toward him.

“So are you,” I respond as I reach the table. I stand there with my hands crossed behind my back.

He holds up an iPod, ear phones dangling from the device. “Yeah, I’m getting ready for my morning run.”

“Ah.” I nod and take note of his workout gear: sweat pants, a sleeveless T-shirt, and running sneaks.

“Would you like some coffee?” He points to the pot brewing, and then places the iPod on the counter.

“No, thank you. I don’t drink caffeine.”

He smiles. Bryson is just as good-looking as Logan. They’re probably the same height, but where Logan has low-cut brown hair, Bryson has shaggy, dark blonde locks. Logan has blue-grey eyes. Bryson has green. Logan’s arms are covered in tattoos. Bryson seems to have just a few, not nearly as many as Logan. “You don’t drink alcohol or caffeine,” he remarks. A small chuckle escapes his lips. “You’re probably the first person I’ve met who doesn’t drink either.” There’s no point letting him know that caffeine and alcohol have a bad effect on my condition and sometimes worsen my anxiety. It’ll just lead him to questions about my illness.

He backs away from the counter and pours himself a cup of coffee.

“You drink it black?” I ask him. He nods in response with a smile. “No sugar?” He nods again, this time pressing the cup to his lips. “That’s gross.” I wrinkle my nose.

He raises a brow teasingly. “Coming from someone who doesn’t drink it and who’s anti-anything delicious.”

I drop my arms from behind me. Shaking my head, a low, arrogant laugh tickles my throat. I pull a chair from underneath the table and have a seat. “I used to.” I smile matter-of-factly with my arms crossed over the table.

Bryson pulls out a chair as well and sits across from me. “So did you have a good time last night, aside from having to babysit Charlie?”

My fingertips tap along the table. “Uh, yeah. It was okay.”

He places both hands to his chest, feigning a hurt expression. “I’m wounded, McDaniel.”

I shrug. “Sorry. It’s just not my scene. But the place is beautiful. The lake is peaceful. I do love the scenery.”

“Nah. I get it.” He lifts the mug and takes another gulp of his coffee. “Well, if you decide to stay today, it’s going to be awesome.”

I just remembered something. “Today is your birthday, right?” He nods. I grin at him. “Happy birthday.”

His smile spreads wide. “Thanks.”

“How old are you?” I’m not sure why, but this small talk is distracting me from my own thoughts. Why not keep the momentum going?

“Twenty-eight,” he replies.

I wonder how old Logan is. “You and Logan are the only ones related between all the guys?”

“Yep. Logan is my cousin. His mother and my father are siblings.”

“Who’s older?”

His forehead wrinkles. “Between his mother and my father?”

I laugh. Stupid me. I wasn’t clear. “No, between you and Logan.”

He flicks his brows in realization. “Ah. I am. Logan is younger by two years.”

Which makes Logan twenty-six. Five years older than me. I shouldn’t be so curious, but I am, so I take advantage and continue to ask questions. “Are the two of you very close?”

“Yeah. I’m an only child, but I grew up living’ next door to Logan and Sean all my life. We were the Three Musketeers.”

“Sean is Logan’s brother, right? The one who passed away?”

He nods, clasping his hands before him cautiously. He’s just sitting there, not resisting or backing away from my interrogation. I lean into the table a little. “How did he pass away?”

“Accident,” he answers.

“What kind of accident?”

“Motorcycle crash.” Whoa. A chill shoots down my back and I cringe.

In a lower tone, I ask, “How long ago?”

“Two years ago,” he responds, just as low.

I look up at him. I know how it feels to lose someone you love dearly, especially a sibling. “Am I asking too many questions?”

Bryson nods.

“I’m sorry.” Great job, Jenna. You’re finally around people and you just don’t know how to keep quiet.

“It’s okay. Can I ask you a question now?”

Well dammit. I guess I really don’t have a choice. I nod for him to go on.

“Why are you so curious about Logan?”

Whoosh. That felt like a blow to my lungs. I lean back in my chair. “I’m not.”

He doesn’t seem so convinced. “Yeah, you are. All these questions, they’re mostly about Logan.”

I shake my head. “No. They were about both of you.”

Bryson presses his hands flat on the table, pushing himself up to stand from the chair, and grabs the now empty mug. “No worries. I gotta go for my run. It was nice chattin’ with ya.” He places the cup in the sink and heads out the back door.

That was just awkward. What the hell is wrong with me? I need to learn how to control my impulses. A buzzing noise catches my attention. My phone is vibrating. I pick it up and look at the screen: DAD. He never calls me this early. I swipe the screen and hurriedly answer the call.

“Hello?”

A deep sigh comes through the earpiece. “Sweetheart, I’ve been calling you.”

“You have? I don’t have any missed calls.”

“Yes. I—” Shit. He’s breaking up. I look at the phone. Dammit. I only have one bar.

“Dad, hold on. I’m not getting any reception in here. Let me step outside.” Now out on the deck, I check my bars again. All five are active. “Dad?”

“Yes. Where are you?” He sounds clearer, worried.

I relax my shoulders. “I’m with Charlie. I’m fine, Dad. I just needed to get away.”

“You can’t do that, Jenna. You know better.” Here we go again. The lecture. I see a bench swing up ahead, hanging from one of the trees. I head for it.

“I’m twenty-one. I can come and go as I please.”

“Not in your condition,” he argues.

My condition? I freeze. I hate it when he and Mom make it sound like that. “What did Mom tell you?” Silence. I push my feet forward until I reach the bench. I take a seat and push back off the ground, leaning into the sway as I swing forward and back. “What did she tell you?” I ask again.

“She said the two of you had an argument and that you said a few hurtful things, which caused her to retaliate.”

Wow. She manages to bullshit her way through everything, all the time. I laugh. “And you believe her?”

My father lowers his tone. “Jenna. Come home. We can talk about this in person.”

“No.” I can’t believe this. He believes her. Short, quick breaths start to take over. Calm down, Jenna. Breathe easy. “You always take her side. Always. Why?”

“You know that’s not true. I’m trying to help both of you.”

“Because of my condition. Is that right?”

“Jenna.” He breathes heavily. “I didn’t mean it that way. You know I love you.”

I do. My father has always been there for me. Even with the differences between my mother and me, he’s tried not to take sides. But lately she’s managed to win him over. I inhale and exhale a shaky breath. “I know.”

“Good. Listen, I know you’re in good hands because you’re with Charlie. Take as long as you need. Just text me to let know you’re okay. Okay?”

I nod before realizing he can’t see me. “Yeah. Okay.”

“And you know what?”

“What?”

“How about when you get back we set a date for just the two of us?”

A comforting warmth floods through me. We haven’t had a day like that in forever. After Brooke’s death, he buried himself in work. I think it was the only way he knew how to deal with losing a daughter. I don’t blame him; I buried myself away from the world the day she was taken from us. “I’d love that.” I choke over the words.

“Good. I love you, sweetheart. Be safe, okay?”

“Okay. Love you too, Dad.”

We end our call. I sit back, lift my feet onto the bench, and admire the beauty of the early morning as I swing alone.