Текст книги "More Than Her"

Автор книги: Jay McLean

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THIRTY ONE

Logan

"So I think I want to meet her," I said, looking up from my textbook. We were in my bed; I sat against the headboard, shirtless. She didn't let me wear shirts. Ever.

She was on the opposite end of the bed. She did this so she could look at me shirtless without making an effort. I did whatever she said.

Balls. Pockets.

"Who?" she asked.

"My sister—or whatever. I think I want to know more about her."

She sat up and scooted closer to me. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," I shrugged. "What have I got to lose, right?"

Everything. I had everything to lose.

***

I called Dad to let him know we were coming. He practically choked on his words when I told him I was bringing Amanda home. He jokingly asked if she was pregnant. I laughed it off, remembering how she wigged out after our first time. That was three weeks ago. I was clean, and I knew she was on the pill because I saw her taking them. Still—it was stupid that we got so lost in the moment that we didn't discuss it until after the fact.

Two hours later we were at the grocery store near home. I pushed a cart while she pulled items of the shelf and placed them in there. I told her we'd probably just order a pizza for dinner. She said she wanted to cook for us.

She walked in front of me, her short shorts barely covering her ass. I watched it sway from side to side—hypnotized by the movement. It's probably why I wasn't paying attention when my cart ran into the side of someone.

My eyes lifted, "Sorry," I tried to say, but my words died. And so did my heart. At least for a second.

"Logan?" the woman in front of me said. She took two steps until she was standing only feet away. She looked me up and down. I didn't blink. I didn't move. I didn't breathe. "It is you," she whispered.

She was older. But then again, so was I. If you took away the effects of time, she looked the same. The same drugged up, fucked up person that carried half my genes. The only difference was her eyes. They looked tired. Or maybe that's just how the seven-year-old me remembers her. Maybe I remember the fire in them. The crinkle in her eyes was always due to the anger inside her. She never smiled. I remembered that then—that she never smiled. Not when I was a kid. But right now—she was smiling. It didn't make sense.

"Logan?" she said again.

What was I supposed to say to her? What's the protocol for mom meets beaten kid fifteen years later? I wanted to ask her why she did it. I wanted to know how she let it happen for so long. I wanted to ask her how—how she could do that to a kid? But really, I just wanted to tell her to get the fuck out of my face.

I could feel the muscles throughout my body start to get tense. My jaw locked from flexing so hard. My fists balled so tightly I could feel my nails breaking skin.

She took a step forward, eyeing me closer. I squared my shoulders. "Jesus, son, you've grown."

"I'm not your fucking son, don't call me that." My teeth clenched. My heart pounded in my ears.

Then I felt Amanda's hand curl around my arm, and instantly, I relaxed. As if she had some sort of power that made everything better. Maybe she did. Maybe that's why I needed her.

"Excuse me," I heard Amanda say from next to me, but she wasn't talking to me. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but fuck you." She released my hand and took a step closer to my mother. She was in between us, blocking my like a shield. "Of course he's grown," she said quietly, so only we could hear. "What? Is he too big now? You only enjoy beating on little helpless, defenseless kids?" She took another step forward. "You sick fuck. You need to crawl back in the demented hole you came from and I hope you die there. Because I swear it lady, if I ever see you again, I'll kill you myself."

Amanda

He didn't want to talk about what happened. So I left it alone. When we pulled into his house, he told his dad he wasn't feeling well and that he was just going to crash in the pool house for the night.

He sat down on the sofa, pulled me towards him, placed me on his lap, wrapped my legs around him, and held me. And that's how we stayed. For fifteen-minutes. Our arms around each other, chest to chest with our hearts beating as one. Then he sighed and pulled back. "We've had some shitty things happen to us, huh?" he said, his face so close to mine his breath brushed my lips. I closed my eyes and nodded. "It's not going to happen anymore, Amanda," he stated, almost like a declaration. "You and me—together—It's not going to happen anymore." He was talking to himself, but I nodded anyway.

***

It was clear from just looking at him that it was Jake's dad that answered the door the next day. He smiled when he saw Logan, but the smile turned megawatt when he saw me—and our linked hands. "Asshole," he greeted Logan.

I laughed.

Logan chuckled, that deep manly chuckle I love so much. "You trying to make me look bad in front of my girl," he answered, stepping into the house.

We walked hand in hand to an office where Jake's dad motioned for us to sit. We did. Then he took a seat in the chair opposite and linked his fingers under his chin. And waited. For what—I don't know.

Eventually he broke the silence. Leaning forward with his hand outstretched to me, he said, "I'm Nathan, you must be—"

"Shit," Logan broke in, "Sorry, this is Amanda." He shook his head, clearing his thoughts.

We shook hands.

Then a loud screaming came from somewhere in the house. "Is that his car?" an excited voice rang out.

The office doors burst open, and a girl strolled in, followed by a woman. Jake's sister and mom I assumed. The girl halted immediately when she saw me. "Who are you?" she said, her eyebrows creasing. She looked me up and down. I felt self-conscious. 'Um..."

"Don't be rude, Julie," her mom reprimanded.

She rolled her eyes dramatically, but her eyes never left mine. "Logan?" she said, still eyeing me. "Who is she?"

Logan stood up slowly and stretched out his arms. "Julie, how are you?"

She smiled as she wrapped her arms around his waist—still glaring at me. I swear to God—she mouthed 'Back off bitch' just before he let go of her. I didn't know whether to laugh or piss my pants.

She finally tore her eyes away from me and I let go of the breath I didn't know I was holding. Pre-teen jealousy is a bitch—a bitch named Julie, apparently. "What are you doing here?" she cooed, looking up at him.

"It's adult business, Julie," Nathan interrupted. "Go to your room and play with your Barbies." He had a shit-eating smirk on his face.

"I do not play with Barbies, Daddy! Guh! You're so embarrassing!" she cried, before leaving the room.

"That's mean, honey," his wife scolded.

Logan sat back down.

Then the woman smiled warmly at me.

Nathan cleared his throat.

Logan's gaze snapped to him.

They glared at each other. Then Nathan shook his head, "You are an asshole," he said to Logan. Then to his wife, "Mandy," he motioned his hand to me. "This is Amanda. AKA the Logan Tamer."

Her head threw back in laughter.

"Well, it's about time." She nudged Logan's side. Then shook my hand, "I'm an Amanda, too. But it's been a long time since anyone has called me that."

She faced Logan. "I made those cookies you like. You want me to bag 'em?"

Logan's grin took over his face. "You know Mandy, if you weren't married, and I didn't have a girl, we'd kind of be perfect for each other."

"That's enough," Nathan playfully warned. "Get out of here, wifey, before he works his magic."

She laughed, closing the door behind her.

Then it was silent as the mood turned serious. Nathan looked from Logan to me, and back again. "You're happy to have someone else—"

"She knows it all, Nathan, it's fine." He took my hand and squeezed once.

"Okay then." Nathan pulled out a folder from his draw and set it on the table. "What do you want to know?"

Logan shrugged, his eyes staring off into the distance. He gripped my hand tighter. I don't know if he knew he was doing it. I cleared my throat. They both turned to me. I said to Logan, "How about her name? Do you want to know that?"

He nodded, turning back to Nathan, who inhaled deeply, then opened the folder.

And then he told us her name.

THIRTY TWO

Logan

She's been quiet since we left Jake's house. In fact, she's been quiet since Nathan told us her name. I'm not really sure why.

"You don't know, do you?" she asked, turning down the stereo on the drive home.

"Know what?"

"Who she is?"

I shook my head.

"It's Megan Strauss..." she trailed off.

Her saying the name a second time didn't change the fact I had no idea who she was talking about.

I raised an eyebrow, begging her to elaborate. "As in Mick and Meg? Mikayla and Megan and... James?"

"No shit!" I exclaimed, clearly shocked.

"Shit," she deadpanned.

"Shit..." I responded.

***

"Shit," Jake breathed out. I told him to meet me at the little league field between both our houses. He paced up and down in front me. His fingers linked behind his head. He took off his cap and threw it to the ground, running his hand through his hair. "Shit," he repeated.

"So," I started. "I mean—it's not going to change anything—between us—right? If I want to get to know her, I mean?"

He paused mid step and eyed me, as if deciding what to say next. He sat down on the bench beside me and leaned back. I was leaning forward resting my elbows on my knees.

"It's not that. It's just—it's more complicated. I think maybe—I mean—you might need to speak to Kayla."

"What do you mean more complicated?"

"Exactly what I said. You need to speak to Kayla. Come by my place."

I looked at my watch. "I gotta pick up Amanda soon."

I felt him lean forward, mirroring my position. "So you and her..." he trailed off.

"Me and her," I confirmed.

"We got lucky, huh?"

"Dude, you have no idea."

***

Amanda fell asleep on the way to Jake's house. She works way too frickin much. I told her I'd pay more rent so she could at least take a night off but she won't let me. Apparently Ethan can't work too long on his feet because of the pins in his leg, so his job prospects are limited. He delivers pizza a few days a week and also has a side business with a few of his boys where they fill kegs with half water half shit beer and sell and deliver to underage kids around the area. He says he's doing the world a favor by not letting fourteen year olds drink. Valid. But still—Assholes.

I gently nudged her until she woke, "You wanna stay in the car?"

She shook her head, and sat up straight, pulling down the visor to check her face.

"You look beautiful," I told her. "You always look beautiful." I outwardly cringed.

Lame.

She just smiled, faced me and spoke, "So I know this is going to sound stupid, or whatever, but you and me—us," she paused; a blush crept to her cheeks. She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. "We're a thing right? Like—exclusive or whatever. I just don't want to think one thing and you think something else." She was rushing her words now. "Because if it's not, that's fine. But I don't not want to be not that—if that makes sense. I mean—I hope that I'm the only gi—"

"Amanda," I interrupted her. "Honestly, I'm kind of pissed that you're second guessing what this is. Do you need a written contract? You know how I feel about you, and if you don't, then I obviously need to do more..."

She shook her head slowly, "No," she sighed, "you don't need to do more—but I know you—and your past—"

"Is my past," I cut in, "and you—you're my future."

***

Jake pulled three beers out of the fridge and handed one to Micky and one to me. Amanda took my keys from my hand and jerked her head in approval. We took a seat at the dining table. "So," I said, running my palm across my jaw. Amanda placed her hand on my leg under the table. "Uh...you know how I told you about my parents—my birth parents, I mean?"

Micky nodded with a confused look on her face.

"Well—it turns out my birth dad had another kid—a girl—uh..."

"Just tell her," Jake encouraged. "Like a Band-Aid."

I closed my eyes. "It's Megan. Your friend." It came out as a question.

Her eyes went huge, and instantly, tears were streaming down her face.

I looked to Jake. He shook his head and held a finger up to stop me from saying anything. Micky frantically wiped at her face. We all stayed silent.

"Her dad?" she finally croaked out. "Her dad is the same as your d-d..."

"Birth dad—yes."

She let out a breath with whoosh. "How did you—I mean, how long have you—does she—have you spoken—is she okay?"

Jakes eyes narrowed as his head whipped to face her. "It doesn't matter if she's okay, Kayla."

Micky held his hand that rested on the table, I saw her squeeze it. "Jake..." she cautioned him.

What the hell?

"Have you?" she continued, facing me. "Seen her, I mean."

I shook my head, but my gaze was fixed on Jake. He had his fist balled and eyes shut tight. His jaw clenched shut from the effort of holding his breath.

Amanda broke the tension, "Have you seen her since...what? Prom, right?" she asked Micky.

Micky's eyes drifted shut; a silent sob took over her body. She sniffed once, nodding, but not speaking.

"Baby," Jake soothed, "you need to tell him."

So she did.

She told us all about seeing her at the cemetery on the anniversary of her families death. She told us about the baby she was carrying and the way she looked. And then she told us about what went down the night her family was killed. She cried the entire time. Her body molded to Jakes side as he stared into the distance, not moving, not speaking. It seemed as though she let out years worth of pent up anger, hurt, and sadness. But most of all, it felt like she was relieved. Relieved to get it out and share it with someone.

And then I understood it. I understood why Jake had acted like he did when Micky asked if she was okay. Because he was right. It didn't matter. It didn't matter to him. But for Micky—it did. And for me, too. I don't know why, but it did.

"I get that what she did was wrong," Micky stated.

I hadn't said a word. Amanda held on to my arm tightly, her own tears soaking through my shirt.

"But I've had almost a year to deal with it, and to think about it—and I don't know," she shrugged, "I can't see her as a murderer. At the end of the day—even if you take away the James factor—there was a reason we were best friends for so long." Her voice was strained from the knot in her throat.

"Fuck that," Jake sneered. "How can you be so Goddamn forgiving, Kayla? She helped murder your family."

"Jake!" It was my turn to warn him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Look, I know you guys were friends," he looked at me, "and I know that she's your sister or whatever the fuck– but no. Just no." His eyes darted from me to Micky. "She has to be out of your life. She has to be done. The fact that she didn't mean for what happen to happen doesn't change the fact that she knew. She fucking knew who it was and she didn't say shit. She didn't turn him in. She didn't do anything."

Micky's voice rose. "She left the state and ended up pregnant by some guy who isn't around—"

"And that's not your fucking problem, Kayla. And you sure as shit aren't going to make it one!" His accent got thicker. He was pissed.

Amanda and I sat in silence as we watched them argue. It seemed like this was the first time either of them had discussed it.

"Jake. She didn't mean to." She was all out crying now.

"I don't fucking care, Kayla." He stood from his chair, causing her to leave his arms. "She knew he was out there. What happened if he did it again? What if he'd done it to one of our houses? What if it was Lucy's and all her brothers were home. What if he'd done it to mine?" Then he walked away and into their room, slamming the door behind him.

"I'm sorry," Micky managed to get out. She stood up and started for their room.

***

"So," Amanda said as we got into the car. She didn't make a move to turn it over. "That just happened."

"Yeah," is all I could get out.

I understood where they were both coming from; I really did, which made the whole situation even more confusing.

"It's your decision," she said quietly, pulling me from thoughts.

"What?" I faced her.

"It's your decision. It's your sister. It's your relationship. I get that what happened was fucked up, and I know that confused look on your face—I've seen it plenty of times. But whatever you decide—if you want to meet her—or if you don't—I'll support you no matter what."

Perfect.

She's fucking perfect.

I leaned across and kissed her slowly, softly, almost sickeningly sweet. "Thank you, pretty girl."

She smiled against my lips. "You're my person, Logan. It's what we do, right?"

THIRTY THREE

Logan

"The door," she said, her words muffled by my chest. She kicked my legs. We were in bed. The sun hadn't even come up yet.

I kicked her back.

"The door," she repeated, kicking me harder.

"Uhh," I moaned.

Then Ethan bellowed, "One of you asshole's get the fucking door."

"Uhh," I moaned.

"The door," she said again, kicking me harder again.

"Uhh." I kicked her back.

"Assholes, get the fucking door," Ethan yelled.

"Uhh."

And then my phone rang.

"Uhh," I answered.

"Dude." It was Jake. "Answer your fucking door."

"Uhh."

I opened the door to him standing there, shirt off, tucked into his sweatpants, sweating and smelling like ass. He'd been running.

"Shower," he panted. It was way too early for me to give a fuck so I opened the door, got some sweats for him to change into and showed him the bathroom.

I threw myself on the bed and tried to wake Amanda. "Babe," I whispered, flicking her ear.

She flinched.

"Babe." I did it again.

"Get off me, asshole." She buried her head deeper into the pillow.

I sighed, laying on my back and putting my arms behind my head. "Jake's here," I informed.

"So?"

And just to be an asshole, I thought I'd test her. "Yeah, he was out for a run. He's in the shower right now."

"And?" She still hadn't lifted her head.

"He was all shirtless and sweaty," I mocked in a girly tone.

She sat up then.

"What's your point?" she asked through a yawn, her eyes only half open, her hair smeared on one side. She reached blindly around the nightstand for her glasses.

"So." I grabbed her waist and positioned her to sit on my stomach with her legs on either side. My hand went under her top—my high school baseball jersey—and splayed open on her flat stomach. "Girls go crazy for a shirtless Jake Andrews."

Her nose scrunched, causing her glasses to lift slightly. "Really?" she sounded genuinely confused. "Huh—I just don't see it."

I rolled my eyes.

"Besides," she said, shifting her body to lay flush with mine. I moved my hand to her back. "I kind of have a thing for green eyed assholes and dimples." She kissed my neck.

I dragged my hands lower down her back until I could squeeze her bare ass.

"Mm," she hummed, her mouth opening wider on my neck.

I thrust up between her legs, she pushed down.

"Oh God," she moaned, her mouth moving lower, her tongue exploring further.

I squirmed underneath her. "You know," she said, removing her glasses and throwing them on the bed. She was at my abs now, her finger dragging lightly across the dips. "There's something I've never done before..."

A sound escaped from deep in my throat. I threw my head back against the pillow. "Never?" I croaked out, my eyes shut tight.

"Never," she assured.

Then I felt her hand rub against me through my shorts. I did everything I could to stop from jerking my hips further into it. Then her warm breath was there, as her teeth nibbled gently along the length of me.

My dick throbbed.

"Mm," she moaned again, palming the head.

It wasn't even skin on skin and it was driving me fucking crazy.

I need to hold off.

Think, Logan. Think.

Grandmas.

Grandmas smell like Band-Aids, mothballs and oranges.

Good.

Then her hand reached through the leg of my boxers and cupped my balls.

"Fucking shit," I grunted, jerking my hips back in surprise.

I glanced down at her—she was watching my face. My eyes rolled to the back of my head. I bit my lip as I felt her hand wrap around me.

The throbbing got worse.

Then her other hand reached in through the band of my shorts, her palm rubbing against my head, so fucking lightly.

Grandmas.

Mothballs.

Band-Aids.

Oranges.

"Fuck," I grunted when I felt her fingers curl around my shorts, pulling them down. My dick twitched. She must have seen it. Her eyes got huge before a smile pulled on her lips. Then she dipped her head—

"Dude, I need—Whoa! Fuck! Shit!" Jake stammered from the doorway.

Amanda squealed and rolled off the bed, falling to the floor with a thud. She hid her body from Jake's view.

"Shit!" Jake repeated, his eyes huge, but his head faced the ceiling. "Dude, I—I mean—I didn't know—uhh—the room, shit..."

Fuck.

I lazily put my dick back in my shorts.

"Uh." Jake again. "I'll be in the kitchen...you guys...finish? Shit." Then he closed the door behind him.

Amanda came to a stand. "What the hell?" she whispered, her eyes bugging out. She slapped me on the chest.

I laughed.

***

"I'm sorry." Jake ran his hands through his hair.

I shook my head. "It's fine. What's up?"

Amanda walked in, her face red. "Hi Jake," she greeted, her eyes trained on the floor.

"Hey," he responded, refusing to look at her.

Awkward.

"Kayla made me come. Not come—like you guys just—not—I mean, here. She made me come here."

"Oh God," Amanda groaned. Her hands covered her face.

I laughed and jumped to sit on the counter. I pulled her in between my legs; she plastered her face to my chest.

"Is she okay?" I asked Jake.

He nodded, leaning back against the counter opposite me. "Yeah. I um...she made me come here to apologize."

My eyebrows drew in. "What do you mean?"

"I was an asshole last night—about the whole Megan thing. We've never spoken about it, not like that. And I guess we just had different takes on it. Kayla said I was being insensitive to you—and your situation—so she made me come here and apologize. But I'm not gonna lie, you're my best friend, she's my girl...Megan—she's nobody to me. And I want it to stay that way."

I sighed. "I get that, dude. I honestly don't know what I want yet."

"She wants to be there," he rushed out.

"What?"

"If you decide to meet her or whatever. Kayla—she wants to be there."

***

We tried to get back to sleep after Jake left but we couldn't. We both skipped classes and opted to lie in bed and waste the morning away. I tried to get her to finish what she started, but she denied me, saying it was her form of punishment for not knowing that she gets horny when she's delusion-ally tired. I tried to convince her that I told her Jake was here, but she didn't believe me. She let me watch her while she showered—I guess that's something.

"Did you know her? Megan?" I asked, running my hands along her legs.

We lay opposite each other in bed. I convinced her on a no shirt—no pants rule.

She looked up from her e-reader, and shrugged. "Kind of," she said, but avoided my eyes.

I sat up and pulled on her arms until she was upright. I raised an eyebrow in question. She sighed, switching off the e-reader and throwing it next to her. "I don't want to say anything that's going to sway your decision. It's your decision, and like I said, I'll support you no matter what."

"Yeah, but your opinion counts," I told her.

"It shouldn't."

"How can it not? You're the most important person in my life, of course it counts."

She smiled, looking down at the sheets. Her cheeks turned a shade of pink. I rubbed them with the back of my fingers, she kissed my wrist and shifted until she was siting cross-legged in front of me. She opened her mouth to speak, but snapped it shut. She did that a few times before she finally spoke, "We didn't run in the same circles in high school. Apart from when she was trying to steal Tyson, or made an effort to let me know I wasn't good enough for him, she just flat out ignored me."

"What?"

She bit her thumb, her eyes cast downwards. Shrugging, she said, "Yeah, it happened a lot. I don't think I ever really got over it—hence why I was so insecure when he went to college." She tried to smile but it didn't reach her eyes.

"I wonder why Micky was friends with her."

"Yeah, I never got it. Micky was always so nice to everyone, she wasn't catty or bitchy, even when Megan was around. But one day my car broke down and Micky pulled over with Megan and she offered me a ride. She had to drop by her house to pick up her sister for some dance thing. We had half an hour to spare so we went in the house and hung out for a bit. Her whole family was there—and Megan—she was different with them. I don't know. It's hard to explain, like she could be herself around them or something. She joked and laughed with them. She even gave Micky's sister a Justin Beiber poster for her room. I don't know," she shrugged again, "I think maybe that was who she was, you know? But she just struggled with it, and I remember thinking even then that maybe she didn't have that at home. That family-ness..."

"Huh," is all I could say.

"But that's not—there's more."

"Okay," I said cautiously.

"So, Ethan dated this girl, that was kind of friends with her—or whatever—I'm not sure. Anyway—she told him that she was in L.A, the year after we graduated, and she bumped into Megan there. Only it wasn't really Megan. Not the one everyone knew. She said she tried to get her to have a meal with her because it looked like she hadn't eaten for days. She was so thin, and her eyes were hollow looking. She told Ethan that she looked and smelled homeless. So this girl takes Megan to a diner and she's completely out of it. Like, can't even finish sentences out-of-it. Then she took off her jacket and there were bruises all over her arms and chest and neck, and she had track marks."

"Bruises?" My voice cracked.

"Yeah," she said, holding my hands in hers. "Rumor has it that after Micky found out about her and James, she tried to make it work with him, but he didn't love her the way he loved Micky, and it was obvious, so she met some guy and moved to L.A with him. The guy ended up being an asshole drug dealer. Apparently when he was here, he wooed her off her feet, promised her the world. When they got there it all went to hell. They lived in this awful house with a bunch of junkies and she got involved in it, too, I guess. And then it got worse."

I shut my eyes, not wanting to hear what I thought she was about to say.

"Logan?" she said quietly. She released my hands and sat on my lap, her legs around me, where she knew I wanted her. "You want me to stop?"

I opened my eyes, and she was there, a concerned look on her face. I shook my head slowly. I needed to know.

"Apparently the guy started beating her."

I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat. My heart pounded against my chest. Blood rushed in my ears.

"According to the way she looked that day, he beat her pretty bad. She told Ethan that you could see an entire hand print, fingers and all, bruised on her neck."

I inhaled a huge breath.

She wrapped her arms around my neck and held me to her. "A few other people tried to visit her there and she always made excuses. Then one of the girls from her cheer squad went there and tried to force her to leave, and come home. Apparently Megan broke down, and told her about all of it, the drugs, the beatings..." She paused and swallowed, her voice strained. "And the sex. Apparently her boyfriend used to trade her for sex when he couldn't make payments to his dealers."

"What?" I pulled back to look at her face.

She was crying. "Yeah." She nodded, staring off into the distance.

Then it was quiet for a long moment as we both tried to comprehend what happened to her.

"I get it now," she said. "I thought that maybe she took it hard, losing her best friend or whatever. But I don't think that's it. I mean—after what Micky told us, I think it was her way of dealing with the guilt, you know? Like she let all that shit happen because she needed bad things to happen to her. Karma—kind of. I don't know."