Logan's silhouette rocks, I think he’s nodding but it’s hard to be sure in the dark. After a few more moments of awkward silence, I reach for the handle but like a shock to the heart his voice short circuits my brain. “I’m sorry. I thought if I made you afraid of me, I could intimidate you into keeping quiet.”
“Oh, Logan.” I exhale loudly, leaning back against the cushion of the seat. “I honestly have no clue what secret it is you think I know, but even if I did, I wouldn’t tell anyone. You should know me better than that.”
“Good. It was killing me being such a jerk to you.” Logan looks down at his hands and fidgets with his car keys. “What do you see in him?”
“Who?”
“Gunner,” he says, his voice rough and gravely. There’s pain in the way he says Gunner’s name, maybe even a little jealousy too but I don’t read into it. The last thing I need is to overanalyze our conversations and start fixating on every detail. Not gonna cross that crazy line.
“He’s cute I guess, and nice.”
Logan snorts. “That fucker is far from nice.”
“Says the man who has been nothing but a jerk to me all week.”
Silence fills the space until he says, “You could do better.”
“With who? You?” My heart’s beating so fast I can barely breathe. How did I get here? How am I in Logan’s car asking a hypothetical question I’m dying to know the answer to. What happens if he says yes? Do I end my thing with Gunner to be with Logan? Will he end his weird arrangement with Melody for me? My head’s spinning, coming up with more questions than I can feasibly answer.
I take a deep breath and exhale it slowly. I’m dancing on that crazy line again. I need to calm down. For all I know, Logan will laugh and play my question off like it’s a joke and we’ll be nothing more than friends, like we used to be. I try to swallow, but the knot in my throat won’t allow it and I choke on my saliva.
The flick of a flame from a lighter illuminates Logan's face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw. The man truly is beautiful. Something inside him is broken, that’s clear as day, but he’s beautiful, nonetheless. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, holding the smoke deep within his lungs. “Maybe, but I’m no good for you.”
10
Danika
I left my phone in Logan’s car. I keep telling myself it was an accident, but subconsciously I don’t think it was. I want to finish our conversation. After Logan’s declaration he bolted, practically running into the house. I stayed in the car for a solid minute, alone in the dark, mulling over one single word.
Maybe.
Standing on the porch of the Harris home, the white wooden door is open behind the screen. Don’t these guys know how dangerous it is to keep your home wide open this time of night? Then again, there are only two cars in the driveway. Maybe they are waiting for Mrs. Harris to get home.
“Logan!” Cooper yells from somewhere inside the house. The hair on the back of my neck stands. There are only so many reasons someone’s voice has that much fear and pain in it at the same time.
None of them are good.
I lean to the left, trying to see if I can peek a little deeper inside the house. Whatever is happening is a family matter. I should leave, but my feet are cemented in place.
Logan runs out of what I assume is his bedroom and stops in the hallway. I have a clear shot from where I stand and even from twenty feet away, I can see the color drain from his face.
“Call 911, Logan. Hurry!” his brother cries. “Don’t do this to me Piper. Come on, baby, stay with me.”
Logan’s still standing in the hallway, frozen. I watch for a solid three seconds, my heart beating so hard against my ribs they’re sure to be bruised, waiting for him to do something to help Cooper, but he’s a statue.
I yank the screen door o
pen and run to where Logan’s stuck, staring. “What’s the—” I can’t get the words out. My heart sinks to my feet. I’ve seen people shot. I’ve seen overdoses of all sorts, but I’ve never seen this. Not in person.
Cooper sits in a puddle of blood, cradling a limp Piper in his lap. Her head falls against his chest, eyes closed. Pajama shorts and a shirt cling to her body, the tips of her dark hair looking like snakes splayed against her fair skin, skin that’s paler than normal.
Cooper visibly shakes, holding onto Piper as if his life depends on it, not hers. A bloody handprint mars the wall from where he reached for the towel that’s pressed against her wrists. Crimson water has spilled onto the floor, staining the porcelain tub red, pooling around him on the ceramic tiles.
Cooper looks up at me with tear stained cheeks. “I don’t know what to do.” He glances down at Piper and kisses the crown of her head, then whispers. “Please don’t leave me.”
“Stay there. You’re doing great,” I assure him. My fight or flight instincts kick in, only I’m not fighting for my life. I’m fighting for Piper’s. My dad’s dinner chatter mixed with a million Grey’s Anatomy episodes come to mind. We can do this. We can save her. “Just keep pressure on the cuts.”
I scan the room, taking in every detail in a fraction of a second. There is a lot of blood. I know the bathtub water makes it look like Piper lost more than she actually did, but it’s such a deep red and there’s just as much on the floor. It’s hard to say if anyone will get here in time, but I keep this to myself. Cooper’s already panicking, whispering prayers of hope into Piper’s ear. Best not to add to his stress.