Chasing Impossible
Page 45
Logan’s eyes glitter and it’s the same spark as when he wins a dare. As if I just said the words back to him that he said to me that I’m still having a hard time digesting. Seeing all that happiness on him is amazing and terrifying and I change the subject
“Now that you’ve captured me in the chase,” I say, “will you tire of me?”
“Abby, can’t imagine one minute with you being boring.”
I grin and lean up so that my arm’s on his chest. “You said that once, remember? When I was turning eight and scared no one at school liked me and you promised to be my best friend for life.”
Logan beams as he combs his fingers through my hair again. “As I said, never a boring moment.”
Logan
The alarm on my cell goes off and I’m so dead to the world that my eyes won’t open and my muscles that I swear were filled with concrete overnight won’t budge. Every breath in is the scent of wild honeysuckle and underneath my arm is solid warmth. My hand is splayed across Abby’s tempting belly, and her back is tucked close to me. Sometime during the night, Abby laid her hand over mine.
We finished Chris’s grandfather’s land on the second day and we’ve moved around to neighboring farms, cashing in on their need for work. It’s been going faster with Chris helping us lift the hay and with Abby driving, but regardless, it’s work.
One more day—today—and we’re done. Only problem, my body may be done before our time commitment. My alarm continues to chime and cold feet kick at my shins. My arm tightens around Abby and my fingers slide to her side. It’s amazing what I can get Abby to do or not do while threatening to tickle her.
“Do it and I’ll cut your balls off,” she says in this sexy yet groggy voice. “And turn off the alarm.”
I chuckle and the air mattress underneath us squeaks. “You can turn it off.”
“It’s on your side and I was shot, remember? I’m healing and need my rest, not being your damn tractor slave.”
I crack my eyes open and her bandage stares me in the face. Regretfully, I remove my hand from her stomach, turn off the alarm, and then I’m careful as I peel back the tape. The wound that was raw and angry when we first arrived here is now healing.
It’s not just her outside that’s healing, the inside is, too. Abby’s laughed more in the past few days than we’ve heard the entire time we’ve known her. She smiles, not just with her lips, but with her eyes.
It’s been a fantastic week and I hate that tomorrow she has to return to all of her demons. I press my lips to her back like I’ve done every morning and begin the routine of cleaning it and bandaging it back up.
I toss her old bandage into my garbage container for medical supplies and spots appear in front of my eyes. I take a second before I try moving again because that was one hell of a head rush.
Abby shifts and delicate fingers touch my bicep. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I grab my bag and cooler, get what I need, then test my blood. There’s movement outside the small room Abby and I are in. West, Ryan, Noah, Chris, and Isaiah are getting their asses up for our last day of work. We were planning on leaving tonight, but after seeing Abby come alive, we decided to switch it up and leave in the morning.
Abby leans against my shoulder and when there’s the beep, I tilt my tester toward Abby so she can see that my number is in the higher end of normal. But it’s normal. At some point, I’m assuming she’ll get bored with all this, but for now she’s curious and I’m humoring her.
She’s like a damn hawk as I measure my insulin and after years of doing this in dark corners or bathrooms, it’s strange to have an audience. It’s also a bit irritating, like having someone read over my shoulder, but I promised to use this to explain everything to her and in exchange she hasn’t asked once to return home.
I rotate the injection site from my stomach to my bicep, and then clean up and dispose of everything.
“Is there any easier way?” Abby asks. “You’re always doing math, calculating, measuring, figuring out. Plus you said it’s better if you do a routine, but besides waking up in the morning, we’ve had no routine. Is this the best way?”
“You sound like my father and that’s not a compliment.”
“Tough and I’m serious.”
I stand and pull a shirt over my head. “My father’s been pushing me to get an insulin pump.”
“Will it do everything for you?”
I bob my head while slipping on my shoes. There’s still stuff I’ll have to do, but for what Abby is asking... “Yeah.”
Abby scrunches her face like she’s smelled something bad—like she doesn’t understand why I haven’t superglued the pump to my stomach already. “Then get one.”
“Stop selling drugs.”
Patented pissed-off Abby glare. “It’s not that simple.”
I throw out my arms to show that her answer is the same as mine.
“Get some clothes on and let’s get moving,” Chris demands as he pounds on the door. “I want food.”
Both Abby and I grin at how cranky Chris sounded. All of us will be bears today hence the last-day tradition of heading into the nearest town that has a diner and eating until we are close to collapsing.
Abby’s not shy as she kicks the unzipped sleeping bag we used as a blanket away to reveal her tank top and boy shorts. She’s also definitely not shy when she changes clothes in front of me. I press my back against the door to keep anyone from walking in and enjoy the show. Truth—my heart is pumping hard and I’m imagining all sorts of ways to cause Abby to make that soft sigh that drives me insane.
As if reading my thoughts, Abby glances at me from over my shoulder and blows a kiss. Damn this girl is the devil...or an angel with a mean streak.
“I think you should get the pump,” Abby says as she ties her sneakers.
Of course she does.
“Why don’t you want one?”
I rub at the stubble on my jaw. The pump isn’t massive, but it’s still something to contend with. It’s strapped to the outside of my body and will do this continuous flow of insulin for me and will even test my blood. Lots of benefits of having it, I can conceal it pretty easily, but if I take my shirt off, it’ll be obvious, and if I do anything too dangerous, I’ll have to take it off and that’s when it becomes a problem.
“I don’t want it to control me,” I say.
Abby’s head snaps up. “What?”
“I already have to think all the time about what I do—what I eat, when I eat, when to test, when to exercise, how much to exercise, how much insulin to give.”
Her forehead scrunches. “The pump would take some of that away.”
“Some.” Not all. Having to control and think about everything that goes in my mouth and the exercise—that’ll still be there. “If I have the pump, I’ve gotta think before I react. Am I going to do something that’s going to damage it? Should I take it off? Being diabetic—I don’t have much of a chance to not think about my condition. It’s there, in my face, all the time. Until I told everyone, being around the guys, being around you, taking on the dares, doing whatever I wanted to find the rush...that was the one time I didn’t have to think about the diabetes.”
Abby performs a slow blink as if she’s a cartoon character where the light bulb over her head shines to life. “I never thought of it that way.”
Most people wouldn’t.
“Isaiah’s threatening to leave without you.” Ryan pounds on the door this time. “Let’s go.”
“Boss man has spoken,” I say.
I offer my hand to Abby, she accepts and the two of us exit the room to applause from our friends for finally emerging.
Abby
“I think it was Tommy who shot me.” I cram the pancakes soaked in real maple syrup into my mouth and groan with how freaking good they taste. “Linus is his mentor so I’m sure Linus won’t act until he has proof and if I take Logan into town to prove that Tommy was the one that shot me, I’m putting a target on Logan’s back. But since I’ve already made the accusation, I’m pretty sure Tommy will slit my throat because what if Eric was playing me and I just made Tommy look bad? Either way, bad blood is now between us. Maybe, but maybe not. I sort of like breathing so I’d prefer to not bleed out. Do you think I can still get an additional side of bacon?”
We’re at this tiny diner about twenty minutes from the cabin. It’s like we stepped out of the 2000s and entered nineteen twentysomething and I like it because it reminds me of Grams’s house. There’s a long counter with old weathered men sitting on the old weathered stools.
Isaiah returned my cell under promise of death to not contact Linus and I had to admit that plan seemed like a winner. I check in with Nadia and Nate several times a day and I’ve even spoken with Grams on Skype at three every day, but I’m not sure she knew I was there. Both Nadia and Nate confirmed that her mental frame of mind was definitely shaky this week.
Not sure how I feel that I’m not missed. Good? Bad? A bit like throwing up?
I shove the thought away as I drizzle more syrup on my pancakes and then the nausea returns as I notice Logan’s plate: eggs, bacon, strawberries, water to drink. Not a carb in sight. My eyes widen and the fork I had lifted to my mouth starts to lower. I am the worst person ever.
“Now that you’ve captured me in the chase,” I say, “will you tire of me?”
“Abby, can’t imagine one minute with you being boring.”
I grin and lean up so that my arm’s on his chest. “You said that once, remember? When I was turning eight and scared no one at school liked me and you promised to be my best friend for life.”
Logan beams as he combs his fingers through my hair again. “As I said, never a boring moment.”
Logan
The alarm on my cell goes off and I’m so dead to the world that my eyes won’t open and my muscles that I swear were filled with concrete overnight won’t budge. Every breath in is the scent of wild honeysuckle and underneath my arm is solid warmth. My hand is splayed across Abby’s tempting belly, and her back is tucked close to me. Sometime during the night, Abby laid her hand over mine.
We finished Chris’s grandfather’s land on the second day and we’ve moved around to neighboring farms, cashing in on their need for work. It’s been going faster with Chris helping us lift the hay and with Abby driving, but regardless, it’s work.
One more day—today—and we’re done. Only problem, my body may be done before our time commitment. My alarm continues to chime and cold feet kick at my shins. My arm tightens around Abby and my fingers slide to her side. It’s amazing what I can get Abby to do or not do while threatening to tickle her.
“Do it and I’ll cut your balls off,” she says in this sexy yet groggy voice. “And turn off the alarm.”
I chuckle and the air mattress underneath us squeaks. “You can turn it off.”
“It’s on your side and I was shot, remember? I’m healing and need my rest, not being your damn tractor slave.”
I crack my eyes open and her bandage stares me in the face. Regretfully, I remove my hand from her stomach, turn off the alarm, and then I’m careful as I peel back the tape. The wound that was raw and angry when we first arrived here is now healing.
It’s not just her outside that’s healing, the inside is, too. Abby’s laughed more in the past few days than we’ve heard the entire time we’ve known her. She smiles, not just with her lips, but with her eyes.
It’s been a fantastic week and I hate that tomorrow she has to return to all of her demons. I press my lips to her back like I’ve done every morning and begin the routine of cleaning it and bandaging it back up.
I toss her old bandage into my garbage container for medical supplies and spots appear in front of my eyes. I take a second before I try moving again because that was one hell of a head rush.
Abby shifts and delicate fingers touch my bicep. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I grab my bag and cooler, get what I need, then test my blood. There’s movement outside the small room Abby and I are in. West, Ryan, Noah, Chris, and Isaiah are getting their asses up for our last day of work. We were planning on leaving tonight, but after seeing Abby come alive, we decided to switch it up and leave in the morning.
Abby leans against my shoulder and when there’s the beep, I tilt my tester toward Abby so she can see that my number is in the higher end of normal. But it’s normal. At some point, I’m assuming she’ll get bored with all this, but for now she’s curious and I’m humoring her.
She’s like a damn hawk as I measure my insulin and after years of doing this in dark corners or bathrooms, it’s strange to have an audience. It’s also a bit irritating, like having someone read over my shoulder, but I promised to use this to explain everything to her and in exchange she hasn’t asked once to return home.
I rotate the injection site from my stomach to my bicep, and then clean up and dispose of everything.
“Is there any easier way?” Abby asks. “You’re always doing math, calculating, measuring, figuring out. Plus you said it’s better if you do a routine, but besides waking up in the morning, we’ve had no routine. Is this the best way?”
“You sound like my father and that’s not a compliment.”
“Tough and I’m serious.”
I stand and pull a shirt over my head. “My father’s been pushing me to get an insulin pump.”
“Will it do everything for you?”
I bob my head while slipping on my shoes. There’s still stuff I’ll have to do, but for what Abby is asking... “Yeah.”
Abby scrunches her face like she’s smelled something bad—like she doesn’t understand why I haven’t superglued the pump to my stomach already. “Then get one.”
“Stop selling drugs.”
Patented pissed-off Abby glare. “It’s not that simple.”
I throw out my arms to show that her answer is the same as mine.
“Get some clothes on and let’s get moving,” Chris demands as he pounds on the door. “I want food.”
Both Abby and I grin at how cranky Chris sounded. All of us will be bears today hence the last-day tradition of heading into the nearest town that has a diner and eating until we are close to collapsing.
Abby’s not shy as she kicks the unzipped sleeping bag we used as a blanket away to reveal her tank top and boy shorts. She’s also definitely not shy when she changes clothes in front of me. I press my back against the door to keep anyone from walking in and enjoy the show. Truth—my heart is pumping hard and I’m imagining all sorts of ways to cause Abby to make that soft sigh that drives me insane.
As if reading my thoughts, Abby glances at me from over my shoulder and blows a kiss. Damn this girl is the devil...or an angel with a mean streak.
“I think you should get the pump,” Abby says as she ties her sneakers.
Of course she does.
“Why don’t you want one?”
I rub at the stubble on my jaw. The pump isn’t massive, but it’s still something to contend with. It’s strapped to the outside of my body and will do this continuous flow of insulin for me and will even test my blood. Lots of benefits of having it, I can conceal it pretty easily, but if I take my shirt off, it’ll be obvious, and if I do anything too dangerous, I’ll have to take it off and that’s when it becomes a problem.
“I don’t want it to control me,” I say.
Abby’s head snaps up. “What?”
“I already have to think all the time about what I do—what I eat, when I eat, when to test, when to exercise, how much to exercise, how much insulin to give.”
Her forehead scrunches. “The pump would take some of that away.”
“Some.” Not all. Having to control and think about everything that goes in my mouth and the exercise—that’ll still be there. “If I have the pump, I’ve gotta think before I react. Am I going to do something that’s going to damage it? Should I take it off? Being diabetic—I don’t have much of a chance to not think about my condition. It’s there, in my face, all the time. Until I told everyone, being around the guys, being around you, taking on the dares, doing whatever I wanted to find the rush...that was the one time I didn’t have to think about the diabetes.”
Abby performs a slow blink as if she’s a cartoon character where the light bulb over her head shines to life. “I never thought of it that way.”
Most people wouldn’t.
“Isaiah’s threatening to leave without you.” Ryan pounds on the door this time. “Let’s go.”
“Boss man has spoken,” I say.
I offer my hand to Abby, she accepts and the two of us exit the room to applause from our friends for finally emerging.
Abby
“I think it was Tommy who shot me.” I cram the pancakes soaked in real maple syrup into my mouth and groan with how freaking good they taste. “Linus is his mentor so I’m sure Linus won’t act until he has proof and if I take Logan into town to prove that Tommy was the one that shot me, I’m putting a target on Logan’s back. But since I’ve already made the accusation, I’m pretty sure Tommy will slit my throat because what if Eric was playing me and I just made Tommy look bad? Either way, bad blood is now between us. Maybe, but maybe not. I sort of like breathing so I’d prefer to not bleed out. Do you think I can still get an additional side of bacon?”
We’re at this tiny diner about twenty minutes from the cabin. It’s like we stepped out of the 2000s and entered nineteen twentysomething and I like it because it reminds me of Grams’s house. There’s a long counter with old weathered men sitting on the old weathered stools.
Isaiah returned my cell under promise of death to not contact Linus and I had to admit that plan seemed like a winner. I check in with Nadia and Nate several times a day and I’ve even spoken with Grams on Skype at three every day, but I’m not sure she knew I was there. Both Nadia and Nate confirmed that her mental frame of mind was definitely shaky this week.
Not sure how I feel that I’m not missed. Good? Bad? A bit like throwing up?
I shove the thought away as I drizzle more syrup on my pancakes and then the nausea returns as I notice Logan’s plate: eggs, bacon, strawberries, water to drink. Not a carb in sight. My eyes widen and the fork I had lifted to my mouth starts to lower. I am the worst person ever.
