Page 147 of Chase
This is why Logan was petrified of fame.
Why he always said he’d seen itkillpeople.
And it feels like my heart is cracking in two.
“I never knew how bad it was,” Logan says in a shaky, broken voice. “I never knew. I should haveknown.”
“It’s not your fault.”
His voice is just a whisper as he inhales. “I know.”
“It’s not your fault, in any way, for any reason. Andbeneath it all, I can fuckingguaranteeyou that Daniel still loved you. He was lashing out, but he was your lifelong friend. He had to have loved you. Through all of it, Logan.”
He exhales in my arms and I hold him tightly. I can feel a couple of his tears drop onto my shoulder, but I don’t move an inch.
A wave of emotion wells up in me, too.
I must have worried Logan so much last year, when I would toss back tequila like it was nothing and talk about all of the pills I used to try. I was tapping on an iceberg that I didn’t even realize Logan had inside him.
He deserves so much better.
There haven’t been a lot of times I’ve felt all that proud of being sober, but I’ve never felt it like I do right now.
This is a better reason than I’ve ever had.
I need Logan to see that I will continue to be stable. That I’m here. That no amount of notoriety or fame could ever make me cut him off like his best friend did.
“Let me paint you,” I murmur against him, holding him through all of it.
“You don’t even have your paints.”
“Yeah. I’ll just do it with my hands.”
I start to trace two of my fingers along his back, as if they were brushes, moving underneath his shirt so he can feel the warmth of my touch. I move slowly, laying on the strokes like I’m painting right onto his skin.
I help to guide him down until he’s lying on the couch, and I don’t force anything more out of him.
And I lose track of time as I continue on, using my fingers all over his body as if he were a piece of art. I stop occasionally to knead his muscles, massaging him. Grounding him in his body. He gently closes his eyes, but I can tell he isn’t close to falling asleep.
It must be at least thirty minutes before he speaks again, gently opening his eyes.
“I’m so worried about you,” Logan murmurs, looking up at me. “All the time.”
I nod down at him. “So is my brother. And my mom, I’m sure. Everyone around me always has to feel like they need to fix me, at least a little bit.”
“Don’t say it like that. You’re everything you need to be already.”
I lean over and kiss him, because he always says such perfect things. I’ve somehow fallen more in love with him just from him saying that to me, too, which makes my skin feel hot.
We stay up the whole night talking.
First, I start telling him about my own childhood friends, to try to get his mind off of his own past. I tell him about the girl I befriended at five years old, who would pretend she was a princess and I was her prince.
Then he tells me more about his childhood, too.
How it used to be, before everything went wrong with Daniel.
I learn that they used to collect stones from a park by their neighborhood, and Logan had a little rock polishing machine to make them gleam.
