Sidelines (Wounded Hearts #1) (25 page)

“Okay, consider the birthday card played.”

Logan smirks and pushes off the counter, taking the few steps between us so quickly and getting so up in my business that it takes my breath away. His smirk grows when he reaches for the plate on the counter in front of me. “We’ll see.”

***

Logan’s too good at being a tease. And I’m ashamed to say I’m sulking. He didn’t give me free reign of the ATV. At least not like I had expected. He did let me drive, but because of the free range the cows have and the harm it would cause them to get spooked by the blaring of the vehicle, my worries chase me around the property like a mediocre defensive back. By the time Logan guides me around the ranch, he needs to help Joe and Travis finish moving a herd from one section of the pasture to another. Watching them direct cattle traffic is pretty amusing to watch, especially when a calf and Travis go head to head and Travis goes sliding onto his butt. My laughing did little to entertain Logan though, who just seemed to want to get the drive over with. When the last stubborn calf was locked into the new pasture, Logan turns a tired but grateful look my way. 

“You ready to head back?” I ask, expecting him to be ready to call it a night.

“Nah, I have to help Travis with a few more things before I’m done. You can head back to the house, though if you’ve got things to do.” He rubs the back of his neck and judging by the darkening under his eyes, I think it’s safe to say he hasn’t been getting much sleep lately either. Despite my reservations about our heavy conversation last night, I feel the need to stick around for a bit longer.

“Anything I can help with?” He looks up at me through his lashes and smiles timidly.

“You want to help out with work in the stables?”

I shrug. “Why not?”

Logan takes a minute to think this through, but must decide that my assistance is worth more than arguing with me. He climbs onto the back of the four-wheeler, his warm legs brushing up against my thighs and sending flutters to the pit of my stomach. He points in the direction of the stables and leans back to hold onto the cargo railings while we cross the field.  He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t move the entire trip back, but I can feel his body tensing up as we inch our way toward the stable. The tension that has lingered between us since the dance stretches like a worn rubber band and at some point it’s going to break. And without a doubt, I know the backlash from it will more than just bruise me.

The second we reach the stables, Logan hops off the back and holds a hand out to help me climb off the ATV. He doesn’t say much as we make our way inside. Grabbing a couple of work brooms, he hands one to me and shows me the stables that need swept out. We start in different stalls, working in the thickening silence, and I’m sad to say I start taking some of my stress out on the poor broom and stable floor. Before I know it, I’ve swept through three stalls before Logan can get his second one done.

“Can I ask you a question?” His sobering tone causes all my muscles to stiffen.

“Depends.”

He stops moving, too, and leans on the handle of his broom. He glances at the floor, clearly unsure if he should ask or not. “I can’t get the other day out of my head. Sunday.”

At first, my mind drifts to the dance and being wrapped up in our own moments, but then the church services pokes at those somewhat pleasant memories. Judging by the rigidity of his features, I’m guessing that’s the part that has been consuming his thoughts. For some reason that hurts.

“And?”

“Well, I would completely understand if you didn’t want to talk about it, but…”

“You want to know what upset me Sunday morning.”

His eyes pin me but immediately soften.

“You have to understand, I—of all people—get it. I just…I watched you all but writhe in pain and it…it broke my heart, Allie.”

The pain he speaks of creeps toward the surface and I feel my defenses spiking up, erecting walls in a heartbeat.

“It’s nothing that you need to be worried about, Logan. The past is in the past, where it needs to be.”

“But I don’t think it really is in the past. It clearly is still affecting you—”

“Stop. Just stop. This is not something I am or ever will be comfortable sharing with you. Just let it go.”

“But—”

“You know what, why don’t you worry about your own ghosts instead of trying to fight mine.”

His chin juts back as if I just slapped him. “I’m sorry.”

“Never mind. Just—”

“Oh, no. My business is obviously bothering you, too, so why don’t we clear the air now and you just tell me how I should be dealing with my own past hurts.” He stares at me, waiting me out. My pressure valve pops a gasket and before I can stop myself, my words rush out of me like Old Faithful.

“Drew. You can’t be within a hundred yards of him before you become all bothered and brooding. What happened with Cassady is in the past and she’s long gone, out of your life for all intents and purposes. But are you ever going to let your own brother off the hook? He made a mistake, Logan.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” The venom in his voice strikes me like a nail to the heart.

“You’re probably right.” I toss the handle of my own broom against the wall a little too hard. Ignoring it when it crashes to the floor, I turn and step over the pile of horse hair and hay. Logan’s gaze burns into the back of my skull but I keep moving. I refuse to let him see me shed the tears that are moments from spilling over my face.

“Don’t walk away from me, Allie.”

“Why not? You’re allowed to walk away whenever it suits you. You can refuse to talk to anyone who pisses you off. How does it feel, taking a dose of your own medicine?” I barely make it to the barn door when his hand, solid and firm, catches my arm and spins me around to face the fire in his gorgeous eyes. The moment he sees the tears every component of his face thaws, replacing anger with pain and grief.

“Don’t cry, Allie. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”

“You’re right, you shouldn’t have.” He lets my arm go, sighing as he runs his hands over his face and through his hair. Those broad shoulders of his, the ones he seems to carry the world around on, fall, effectively making me feel horrible.

“Listen, Logan. We all have our own demons to face some day. I’ve faced mine and am lucky to be standing here today. Every once in a while they try to reappear, but I fight them the best I can and it takes everything within me to keep them at bay. I’m fine now, and I don’t need anyone trying to dredge them back up, okay?”

He reaches both palms, rough from the all the hard work today, and cups my chin. His thumbs reach up and glide over my cheeks, wiping away the tears I couldn’t hold back.

“I am sorry. I won’t bring them back up again.”

“Good.” My throat dries up like the Sahara thanks to the words on the tip of my tongue. But the tug to let them out is so much greater than my will to keep them in my head. “And some day, it will come time for you to look your demons in the face and you’ll have a choice to make. Either hold onto the bitterness and resentment and let his mistakes keep holding you down, or let it all go, forgive him and be free. The choice is yours.”

Desperation radiates off him in tsunami-like waves. The wind bristles the back of my neck, sending a shiver through my body and his grip tightens just the slightest. I sense his need to pull me to him but we can’t have a repeat of Sunday night, so I step back and run the backs of my hands across my cheeks. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes.

“I hope you choose to be free, Logan. I really do.”

I turn and exit the barn, grasping at anything that will hold me together long enough to get back to the house and into the room. I could be mistaken, but just as I hit the fence, I feel like I hear a voice in the wind. A gentle call, whispering to my heart, “I hope you do, too.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

I wake to slobbery kisses. I think I might have been dreaming of them coming from a particularly handsome wide receiver, but when I finally lift one eyelid, I find the second cutest boy I know eying me instead.

"I'm getting up." 

Hank huffs, his slimy drool splattering my hand, but he doesn't look away. Not even to see the source of giggles coming from my bedroom door. Flipping over, I push the mass of hair off my forehead and find the youngest Lassiters peeking through a thin crack of the door. 

"What time is it?" I croak, sounding more like a ninety-year-old chain smoker and less like the spritely twenty-something I am as of this morning. 

"Time to rise and shine, and give God the glory, glory!" Lucy belts as she throws the door open and rushes the bed. She cannonballs my bed, barely giving me enough time to pull my knees to my own chest to avoid having my legs broken. Emma gives her a chastising look before turning her sneaky eyes to me. 

"So we have a full day planned to prepare you for our little party tonight. Lo—"

"Um, I'm sorry. What party?"

Lucy starts bouncing, clapping her hands like an excited seal, her eyes growing by the second. "Your birthday party, of course! You didn't think you were going to get off that easy, did you?" 

I was hoping. My birthday only serves as a dreaded reminder of the sad truth my life has become. I'm all alone. Except Walt, but could he really count? 

"We're going to head into the city—" 

"I thought the main road was closed?" I cut the ever exuberant Lucy off, grasping for some ray of hope. 

Emma smirks. "I know a few back roads. As my baby sister was stating, we're going to go primp and spend the day shopping—" 

"I have an article to write." 

Two jaws drop at the same time two sets of eyes nearly pop out of their beautiful heads. While they continue to gape, a soft knock comes at the door and to my relief—or horror, I mean I haven't even brushed my hair yet this morning—Logan appears in the doorway with a cup full of the sustenance of life. He holds it up as an offering. Of what is yet to be determined, but if I have to continue sitting here and even listen to whatever exorbitant plans these girls have cooked up to "celebrate," then I'll take it regardless.

"Coffee in bed. Now this is the kind of birthday treatment I can get behind."

A hint of a smile plays at Logan's lips and when our fingers brush against each other’s, I try my hardest to keep the heat in my cheeks from spreading.

"I told them not to wake you." If our slight physical contact is affecting him, he's doing a good job of distracting me from it. 

"We didn't wake her. Hank did." Lucy flashes her pearly whites at her big brother but he just rolls his eyes.

"Blame the dog. Real big of you, Luce." 

"What?" She scoffs. "He's the one who made out with her hand like he's an inexperienced freshman." 

Logan's eyes sharpen and Emma stifles a chuckle as she stands and pulls her little sister up with her. She grips Lucy's arm but turns her amusement to me. 

"Shower and be ready in 15. Don't worry about hair and makeup. Breakfast will be waiting." She pushes Lucy out the door, leaving Logan to stand at my bedside like a centurion, all muscular and protective and—

"I'm sorry. I really did tell them to let you sleep."

The weight of the world as we left it the night before sits between us. I may or may not have been staring, wondering how we are going to move on from everything when his words pull me from my mental stupor.

"It's fine." 

He raises a brow questioningly.

"Ok, not so fine. What time is it, seriously?" A yawn threatens to release my morning breath into the atmosphere, but I force it back.

He does smile at me this time, giving me a fantastic birthday present first thing in the morning.

"Eight-thirty." 

"Oh."

I pull the mug to my lips to hide my embarrassment. He watches me for a moment before starting to back away toward the door. 

"I'll, um...I'll let you get ready then."

His eyes, full of questions, don't leave mine until his back hits the door jamb, jostling him back to reality. 

“I didn't mean to just barge in, by the way. I'm...I'm sorry I—"

"It's fine, Logan." 

"No, it's not. I shouldn't—"

"Logan," I cut him off sounding more grouchy than I intended. 

"Right. I'll just go." He whirls around just before he steps through the door. "Oh, and Allie." 

Gripping the coffee mug, I try to remind myself that we’re mad at each other and I should probably stop enjoying the sight of him walking away. "Yes." My breathy voice is going to get me in big trouble.

Something inside him relaxes and his solid body softens. "Happy birthday."

***

A little over an hour later, with my hair loosely braided and not a smidgen of makeup on my face, I find myself actually enjoying the impromptu karaoke jam session. Much to my relief, both Emma and Lucy are well-versed in the greatest boy bands of all time and the hour-long drive seems to take no time at all as we belt out some ‘NSYNC on our way toward the city. Much to my surprise, just as we start to leave the last bits of country and hints of the city start to speckle the horizon, Emma takes an exit and starts winding the poorly paved roads. The minute she turns down the radio and pulls into the parking lot of a nondescript building, the excitement in Lucy’s naturally delightful manner kicks up a notch. Taking a second look at the plain building, I notice a worn sign of a pair of scissors.

“Um, ladies. I don’t think—”

“Come on!” Lucy squeals as she opens her door and jumps out of the back seat before I can finish my protest. Emma gives me look that begs me to just trust her and so, taking a deep breath, I get out of the car, too.

The moment we step inside the heavy glass door, the scent of chemically infused hair products assaults my nose. Trying to mask the dread filling the pits of my stomach, I plaster on the smile I force whenever I have to stand too close to a particularly stinky player after a game. A middle-aged woman with perfect makeup and a bleach blonde bob gives us a half-hearted greeting as we step inside.

“Mornin’, ladies. What can we do for y’all this mornin’?” Her thick southern accent sounds sweeter than she looks. Her dark, beady eyes barely leave mine as she pats the halo of hair around her head with a freshly painted, neon pink manicured hand before nervously tugging on the back of her shirt. The matching neon pink print of her t-shirt stretches across her well-endowed chest, drawing my attention to the logo.

Lucy lays her purse on the counter and gives the woman some of her signature sweetness. “Hey, Frannie. We’re here to see Fallon. I should have a ten o’clock appointment.”

Frannie pulls her eyes away from my pale face—complete with a set of dark circles under my eyes—and finally looks at Lucy.

“Oh, hey honey. Fallon is running a bit late this mornin’.” The woman sneers and all but rolls her eyes, giving me the impression that this is a common issue with this Fallon. “But you ladies can take a seat and I’ll have her call you back when she gets here.”

Frannie pops a piece of gum I hadn’t realized she was chewing as she steps away from her counter and blatantly stares at me with a disdainful look while she makes her way around a corner. I shoot questioning eyes to Lucy who just shrugs it off and picks up a magazine from a stack next to her plastic chair.

“So what do you think, Em? Freshen up the highlights, for sure, but how much should she take off?”

Glancing at Lucy’s gorgeously rich mahogany hair, I notice that it hasn’t been touched with a highlight, maybe ever, so I whip around and see Emma’s deep copper top is the same. When Emma tilts her head and narrows her eyes, I realize she’s assessing my hair.

“Wait. What?”

Lucy flips through a couple of pages of the magazine before stopping on a page and holds it up so she can compare it to my face. “You’re taking my appointment with Fallon. You’re getting the works. Whatever you want.” She squints and presses her lips together as if contemplating something for me.

“Um, I don’t need—”

Cutting me off, a vision in silvery purple hair and porcelain skin steps into the doorway, arms spread wide and welcoming eyes beaming at the three of us.

“Oh. My. Good Lord above! Who did you girls bring me? It’s not even my birthday.” She practically squeals as Lucy jumps up and rushes to hug the beautiful girl.

Dressed in solid black leggings, her shirt seems to swallow her slender frame and the classic black Chucks on her feet look so uncomfortable considering I assume she cuts hair for a living, but everything else about this girl screams energy and peace. Her wild hair curls out in every direction and a metal ring curls around one of her nostrils, but the cherry red lipstick on her perfectly shaped lips somehow softens the grunge punk look she is definitely rocking.

“No, but it is our girl, Allie’s.” Emma nudges me with her shoulder, a suspiciously knowing look in her eyes.

“No. Way. First you bring me a football goddess and then you tell me it’s her birthday. If you tell me I get the honor of pampering her today, I just might swoon.”

“I’ll catch you.” Lucy winks and the girl just about flips out, causing what I now assume is her boss to return with her sneer of death.

“Fallon, can we please lose the theatrics. You’re already behind as it is.”

Barely acknowledging her boss, Fallon rushes in front of me and grabs my hands, gently squeezing them and enthusiastically tugging on my arms. “Frannie! Do you know who just so happens to be sitting in your lobby waiting for me to do her hair and makeup?” She stares with flawlessly sculpted eyebrows perched high on her forehead before some thought troubles her. She turns to Emma and speaks out of the side of her mouth, “I do get to do her makeup, too, right?”

Emma laughs loudly and nods. “She’s the birthday girl. She gets whatever she wants.”

“Hear that, Frannie? It’s even her birthday!”

Frannie rolls her and sighs. “That’s great. Just get on with it, will ya?”

I can’t help it; I wonder if Frannie is a basketball fan.

Fallon clearly is not through because the second Frannie’s attention is elsewhere, Fallon tugs my arms and starts talking ninety miles an hour.

“So you’re doing that piece on big brother Lassiter. How’s that going? He giving you a hard time? That interview—ugh! He’s lucky it wasn’t me sitting across the table from him because he’d have left with a bruised jaw and cried all the way home to his momma.” She pauses at a chair and pats the back of it, biting on her bottom lip as she stares at my head like it’s a juicy steak.

I steal a glance at Emma and Lucy who both take a seat in the chairs on either side of us with highly amused looks on their faces.

“Um. He’s…”

She eyes me expectantly. “A yummy little thing, isn’t he?”

I feel the blush flood my face but Emma barks out a laugh. “I thought you were team Drew?”

Fallon sighs and places a hand full of black polished nails to her chest. “Oh, sister, don’t even get me started. Those muscles and tats. And man, oh man, can the boy rock some facial hair!” She fans herself and I can’t help but look at her like she’s from a foreign country.

“Yeah, but Logan has a heart of gold. He gives the shirt off his back to anyone who needs it. And man, can he...” I look to each of his sisters finding them hanging on every word coming out of my mouth. When I look back at Fallon, her lips twist in an insightful grin.

“And can he?” she encourages.

Pressure builds up in my chest as I realize what I’ve just done. The fire in my face has heated my whole body. I consider all the ways I can back out of this conversation gracefully.

“And I think I’ll just take a couple of inches off, you know to cut off the dead—”

“Oh, no you don’t!” All three girls sing in harmony.

“You can’t just start singing a Lassiter boy’s praise and leave the rest of us hangin’. Come on, spill it, sister!” Fallon wiggles her eyebrows and I see her ideas starting to boil into unrealistic proportions. Sighing, I dip my chin and grin at the memories rushing through my mind.

“Dance.” The word rolls of my lips like a plea for air. When I finally pull my eyes up to meet Fallon’s, I feel like she can see right through me and thoroughly relate. A sad smile tugs at her lips before her spunk resurfaces.

“I bet he can.” She reaches out and tugs at my braid, looping the conversation back to the whole reason we’re here. “So what exactly does the birthday girl want?”

Emma and Lucy jump into shooting off instructions while Fallon eyes all my features and takes in their input. She tilts her head from side to side, her eyes darting from the crown of my head to my chin and then my shoulders. Her eyes dart up and connect with mine, and for a brief moment I feel a connection with her that I can’t quite explain. As if we’re both roaming around, looking for the same thing and feel like it couldn’t be further out of our reach.