I scan the party for any sign of Gage, my heart hammering against my ribs as I prepare to attempt the impossible—saving my future while pretending I don’t know what it looks like.
Nobody, not even my mother, gets to steal the family we’ve built.
It’s time to fix everything I’ve broken and take back what was always meant to be mine—starting with Gage.
36
Logan
The bass from Ellis’ sound system pounds through my chest like a second heartbeat as I weave through the crowd of drunk teenagers, scanning for Brielle’s bright red hair. Or is it blonde this go around? Honestly, I haven’t been paying attention. It might be green for all I know.
The scent of booze and far too many hormones hangs thick in the air, mixed with whatever questionable substances are being passed around behind the pool house.
I spot Bree near the edge of the property, sitting on a decorative rock with her arms wrapped around her knees as if she’s trying to hold herself together. But she’s not alone. Some guy I don’t recognize has his arm draped over her shoulders, leaning in way too close and talking in an aggressive whisper that screams bad intentions.
Perfect. This is exactly what I need right now—Brielle getting involved with some random idiot when I’m supposed to point her back in Drake’s direction.
I head over, trying not to look like I’m about to throw this guy into next week—which I absolutely am if he doesn’t back off in the next ten seconds.
“Hey, Bree,” I call out, giving the guy a look that saysget lost. “How’s it going?”
Brielle looks up, and I can see the relief flooding her face. “Logan! Oh my goodness, thank you.” She immediately scoots away from her unwanted guest, who shoots me a look that could slice my neck, and judging by the knife sticking out of his pocket, he just might.
“Who the hell are you?” the guy asks, standing up with that drunk-aggressive stance that means this is about to get stupid. He’s got at least three inches and thirty pounds on me, all muscle, and from the way he’s swaying, he’s running on enough of Ellis’ liquid courage to think starting a fight is a great idea.
“I’m Logan,” I say, sliding myself between him and Brielle like a wall. “And you are?”
“Having a private conversation,” he slurs, his breath reeking of expensive vodka and cheap beer—a classic Ellis liquor haul. The vodka comes from his parents’ reserve, and Ellis picks up the kegs from the liquor store downtown, which gives him a bulk discount. Ellis is already proving to be responsible with money. “So why don’t you mind your own business?” the ornery dude riots in my face.
Brielle stands and smooths her skirt with her hands. “Actually, Logan, I was just about to find you. We have that... um, thing to discuss. You know, about work.”
I nod, playing along. “Right. The work thing. Very important.”
Vodka Breath staggers closer, and I watch him try to work out if he’s drunk enough to take a swing. “What thing?”
“Nothing you need to worry about,” I say, keeping my tone somewhere between conversational and test me and find out. “Thanks for keeping Brielle company, but I’ve got it from here.”
“I don’t think so.” He reaches for Brielle’s arm, and that’s it—we’re done talking.
I close the distance between us until we’re nose-to-nose. “Touch her and I’ll break your arm. That clear enough for you?”
For a moment, I think he might actually take a swing at me. His face flushes red, and his hands clench into fists. But by some small miracle, he backs down. I glance to the left where his gaze has suddenly wandered and spot Carly Foster, a blonde from East, sauntering by with a wave. The wave may have been directed toward me, but Vodka Breath is taking it as an invite.
“Whatever,” he mutters, stumbling toward his next target. “Your loss, bitch.”
Brielle flinches at the word, and it takes everything I have not to grab him by the collar and introduce his face to the ground. But starting a fight that ends with me in jail won’t help anyone’s timeline.
“Thanks,” she says quietly. “In another five minutes, I would have ended up naked in the pool house with him.” She shrugs. “I’m a sucker for persistence.”
“Speaking of persistence,” I say, steering us back toward the mission. “Drake’s around here somewhere, probably wondering where you went. Last I saw, he was failing to look tough by the pool. He was looking pretty lost.” And that sums up nicely his newfound biker career.
Brielle makes a face. “Drake? The one who’s been acting as if I don’t exist lately? I flashed my boobs at him after second period, and he didn’t even wink at me. You have no idea what that level of rejection could do to a girl. Face it, he’s weird.”
“He’s not weird, he’s just... going through something.” I start heading toward the pool, hoping she’ll take the bait. “Trust me, underneath the leather jacket and the attitude, he’s still Drake.”
“I don’t know, Logan. After tonight, I’m kind of done with guys and their dumb drama.”
I stop and look at her. “That guy was a drunk asshole. Drake is just confused. There’s a difference. He’s actually one of the good ones, even if he’s going through a phase right now.”
