Chasing Impossible
Page 22

I inhale deeply and when I turn to look at him the smirk fails as the corners of my mouth tremble. “Who says this is about you?”
Isaiah angles toward me, his hand rubbing at the compass tattooed on his forearm. “Then you’re saying I’ll see you tomorrow? At the garage?”
Swooping in like I normally do. Pissing off his boss as I play with tools that cost more than Grams’s house? No, he won’t and I bite the inside of my mouth to keep the pain from seeping out. “Logan could have died. I can’t do this, Isaiah. I can’t care for them...for you.”
Isaiah’s shaking his head, over and over again. “You’re my family, Abby.”
“And you’re mine and you need to let me take care of you and you need to take care of the rest of them. Don’t come near me again and don’t let them come near me, either. You were right to fear my friendship with them.”
I make it one step before Isaiah grabs my wrist. “Don’t.”
The bunny’s fur is soft against my skin. Isaiah’s hold tough. He’s been my best friend since I handed him his first Pizza Pocket. He’s been my brother since the first time he willingly walked down the street with me, uncaring who my father was, uncaring what being beside me might mean on the streets.
“Linus is taking me to Ricky. Eric is losing his power on the streets and it’s creating a vacuum. Ricky is looking to fill that vacuum and he’s chosen me to be part of the way up. I can’t afford friends and I can’t afford to walk away.”
Isaiah twitches like I stabbed him with my knife. “Leave with me. Is it money you need? Then we’ll figure it out.”
He means it. Isaiah means it more than I could ever comprehend. “Whatever you have, it won’t be enough.”
“So it is money?” he spits. “Then leave with me. Right now. We’ll find another way.”
“And it still won’t be enough. I’m okay with my choices.” I’m dying. This pain of leaving the one person who has loved me the longest even at my worst may truly kill what’s left of the Abby I wish I could be, but no matter how much I care for Isaiah, how much I yearn to be with Logan, I love my grandmother more.
Rising to my tiptoes, I press my hand to Isaiah’s cheek, and kiss the other one. Isaiah crushes his hands on either side of my face and kisses my forehead and then stares into my eyes. “I will always owe you. I don’t care what it is, if you need me, you call.”
I nod, because speaking would cause the already floating wetness in my eyes to fall and crying isn’t a luxury for people like me. As I walk away, Isaiah knows I won’t call. He knows that the choices I’m making are set in stone forever.
Linus joins me as I walk down the hallway and when he opens his mouth, I cut him off. “Say something smart-ass and I’ll fucking kick your ass in this hospital so badly that a ventilator won’t help you breathe again.”
This time, his lips do twitch up. “Welcome back, Abby. We’ve missed you over the last few months.”
Linus reaches the elevator first and pushes the down button. How fitting. I bet he has a key that leads straight to hell.
“That sad show mean you’re on board?” Linus asks.
“I’ve cut them off,” I answer. “I’ve cut them all off. Whatever part Ricky wants me to play, I’m in. That is as long as you kept your end of the deal.”
Linus studies the bunny like he’s never seen one before, which he probably hasn’t, along with joy, happiness, and laugher. “Last time I talked to Logan, he seemed dead set on protecting you.”
And I’m dead set on protecting him. “I kissed him before I was shot and a few hours ago I told him he could pick me up. Now I’m leaving with you. Know many guys who would be okay with that?”
“That’s mean.”
I know. “Isn’t that what you wanted from me? Mozart in the form of a seventeen-year-old girl?”
He raises his eyebrows in approval. “Yes.”
The elevator dings, the doors open, and he and I walk in. My bunny still clasped to my side. The doors close and as we begin our descent down, Linus speaks the words I long to hear. “I told Ricky I was the one who saw the shooter. Logan’s in the clear. As far as anyone else is concerned, your boy took you from my arms near the entrance to the alley. He never saw a thing.”
The breath I release is shaky. So this is how it feels to officially sell what’s left of my soul. “What did you tell Ricky? What did you tell him you saw?”
“Same thing your boy told you. I fingered the two that Logan saw running from the alley and then gave the same vague description of the shooter. Ricky’s buying that it was too dark for me to distinguish. Your boy wouldn’t have told you about the two guys if he knew you’d come running to me with that info.”
Linus is right, but I saw an opportunity to protect Logan and I grabbed onto it like a life raft after the Titanic sank.
“Problem with your plan is that I still don’t know who shot you.”
He’s right again and a part of me wishes that whoever attempted to take me out will try again and this time succeed. I never knew I could hurt so much. The type where your whole body pulsates with the pain. “Last I heard, your job with Ricky meant keeping him and his dealers safe. You have a job to do, do it, and I’ll continue to do mine.”
Whatever Ricky has planned for me is huge because as Linus explained to me last night, he was recently placed in charge of my protection. “Yes, ma’am.”
The numbers continue to go down. Three. Two. One.
Before the doors have a chance to open, I push the button to keep the doors closed. Linus says nothing as he regards me with bored curiosity.
I breathe in once then exhale, desperate for the uncaring cold that will help me exist in this new mode of dealing. That will help me be numb to walking away from all my friendships...from walking away from Logan.
Being around Logan was like a hot bath after a cold day, warm sunshine through a window, velvet and silk against skin. It was a strong hand over terrified fingers. A stuffed bunny being held during a restless night. It was wonderful and freeing and losing it is awful.
Another sharp exhale to mask the quick ache in my heart and I release the doors and leave the elevator to enter hell.
Logan
Practicing with a band is nowhere close to the high of being onstage. It’s a lot of playing the same chords repeatedly, listening to the lead singer argue with the bass player and drummer over what songs they should play or who was off beat.
It’s a lot of routine and control. Not what I craved.
The rest of the guys in the band aren’t arguing now. They’re messing with a cover we’re doing. Attempting to make a pop song heavy metal. It’s a cool idea. One they’re into and one I’ll play once they figure out the arrangement.
We’re in the basement of the singer’s house. The walls are paneled, making the acoustics horrible. A flash of sunlight as the door to the top of the stairs opens. Sly ducks so he doesn’t slam his head on the way down and then straightens when he steps onto the tiled floor.
The guys greet him with fist bumps and a quick hug. Sly used to play with them, when he was my age, when they were in high school together, but then his talents got better. He outperformed them, outgrew them, and in the end moved on to another band, but these guys are still his brothers.
He walks over to me and I set my guitar back in its case. “How was the tour?”
“Fucking awesome.” Sly grins from ear to ear. “Girls, beer, music, and the open road. Doesn’t get much better than that.”
He opens a small fridge on the other side of a short bar, pops open a longneck, and jacks his thumb to the open door. “Want anything? They got water in there.”
I shake my head no.
“How’s the band?”
When I don’t answer immediately, he chuckles. “They still suck?”
I crack a grin along with him. “No more than me. Thanks for setting me up with this.”
“No problem. This is a good group for you to see if playing really interests you.” From the other side of the bar, Sly leans over to me. “I talked to your mom last week. She filled me in.”
Which means he knows about Abby and the shooting. Sly was Mom’s first serious boyfriend after the divorce. He’s younger than her—by a lot—but they lived together for over two years until she met soul mate number three. Not sure how Mom does it, but she finds a way to force these guys to stay friends with her, even after she crushes them when she leaves.
“You doing okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. Abby gets out of the hospital today.” I check my cell. She told me to pick her up by two thirty, that way I can get her home by three to see her grandmother.
With the beer dangling between two of his fingers he eyeballs me. “Good to know, but I was asking about your diabetes. Your mom said your numbers have been hanging high. Said they’ve been high long enough that your dad wants you to see a specialist.”
I immediately look over at the other guys in the band. They’re still wrapped up in their discussion of the arrangement for the song.
Sly drinks from the beer. “You’re still keeping the diabetes a secret?”