Finding Me (The Bad Boy Series) (8 page)

Fuck.
 

I ran hard and fast, each pounding step I took only hurt my chest more. But I welcomed the pain, the burn. It was the only indication I had to tell me I had actually walked out of that hospital, leaving her behind. Leaving the one person who had been on my mind for the past ten years.
 

Every step I took was fucking torture. The image of Neva battered and bruised in the hospital bed broke me, but telling her I couldn't protect her anymore damn well shattered me. But then the memories seeped through, ones I swore I wouldn't think about again, ones that hurt like nothing I had ever felt.
 

I could feel her hair against my skin as if we right back in my bed, right back to the day when I finally told her how I felt. I could feel her lips against mine, hungry and bruising as she finally let go. The way her body curved in all of the right places, unlike nothing I had ever seen before. The way she whimpered against my mouth, the sound that could instantly bring me to my knees.
  

But then the memory of the words that fell from those beautiful lips winded me like a punch to the gut, pulling right back to where I was.
  

'I need to keep you safe, from me.'
 

My legs suddenly felt like lead, weighing me down on the spot and stopping the fierce run I had thrown myself into. I panted hard, my hands resting on my knees as I bent over, trying to suck in all the air that my lungs desperately craved.
 

"Fuck," I whispered with every hard breath passed my lips. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"
 

What have I done?
 

I just wanted the ground to swallow me up. I couldn’t believe I just walked out and left her there. Jesus, I can’t fucking breathe. I took every gulp of air that I could force down into my lungs as I stood up straight, noticing people staring.

“What?!” I spat.

No one said a word, they just turned around and carried on with their lives. Fuck, I needed to get out of here. I needed room to breathe. I forced myself into another run, it’s going to hurt like hell in the morning but I deserved the pain. I left the woman I love in a fucking hospital bed, battered and bruised after being attacked only twenty-four hours ago. What the fuck.

I ran hard, hard enough to make me sweat and my legs burn. I didn’t know where I was running to, but where ever it was I just hoped it helps me breathe. The lump permanently lodged in my throat was restricting the air I so desperately needed.

Three miles, six hundred and thirty-three steps, one broken fucking heart. I ran three miles to just try and breathe, and before I knew it, I’m at my mom’s house. It’s the same porch, the same white house, the same memories.

I registered opening the door with my key, walking in and falling to my knees in the hallway. And I still couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t I breathe? I suddenly hear footsteps running towards me, but I couldn't muster the energy to look up.

“Logan? Logan. Oh, baby boy, what’s wrong?”

“Mom?” I whispered.

She wasn't supposed to be here, she's been on a business trip for the last three months. Why is she here? Oh god, I can’t fucking breathe!

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” she asked softly, crouching down beside me and pulling me to her.

“I … I, left her,” I stuttered.

Only she would understand just how hard those three words were for me to speak. I made a promise a long time ago. To protect my family, my friends, my love. Just so they weren't torn apart the way my dad had done to my mother, like what that motherfucker did to Neva's family. I swore blind I would protect them. Now I was on my knees on the floor of my mom's hallway, not keeping my promise. But running away from it.

Her palms rested on my cheeks as she pulled my face up so I could see her. Her brown and green eyes held the resemblance to my own. There were tears in her eyes, but I didn’t have the energy to wipe away the tears that had already fallen onto her face.

“Oh, darlin’. Come on, let’s get you onto the sofa,” said softly.

“I don’t think I can move,” I whispered.

My muscles were starting to seize, I had thrown myself straight into a run and stopped without warming down. My heartbeat pounded so damn fast that I was sure my heart was going to jump out of my freaking throat.

“Come on, sweetie.”

She gently placed my arm over her shoulder and holds my weight as if I were a child again, walking me over to the sofa and gently laying me down. She lingered for a moment before draping an old blanket over my body. Giving me a small smile, she turned out the light and quietly left the room.

She didn't ask me if I was okay. I am glad she didn't. She knew as well as I did that I will never be okay when Neva is hurting.

Exhaustion took me quickly, my muscles screamed out in agony as I tried to let my weight fall into the sofa. I didn't remember falling asleep, but the memory of what I had done was forever imprinted into my mind.

The sun peered through the curtains, waking me from my restless sleep. I had tossed and turned all night, thinking about her and letting my subconscious drift back to the day I took her, in every way. The way she came apart in my hands. The soft moans that passed her bruised lips, lips I bruised with kisses. I loved every single inch of her that night, including the broken parts.

I wasn't a saint, I'd slept with half of the women on campus. It was mindless sex, another way for me to try and rid her from my mind. But nothing and no one compared to how I felt when she was in my arms. Dammit, I could still feel her. Everywhere. Her lips against my skin, her nails in my back, her thighs around my hips. But the place where I could feel her most was the place that had been filled with a mind-numbing ache ever since she left me the morning after. My heart.

The sound of plates clattering in the kitchen suddenly pulled me out of my self-induced misery. I winced as I sat up on the sofa. My muscles had completely seized from my own stupidity. I needed to move. I slowly stood up and made my way to the kitchen, stopping stock still when I saw my mom making pancakes.

"Mom?" I whispered from my spot just outside the kitchen door.

She quickly whipped her head around to me, flashing me a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She was putting on a brave face for me.

"Come on, sweetie. I made you breakfast," she said in a sing-song voice.

I tentatively walked into the large kitchen and took a seat at the table, the smell of pancakes made my mouth water. Mom silently placed a plate stacked full of pancakes in front of me and took the seat opposite. She sat quietly as I dove into my pancakes.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" she whispered, her eyes never leaving mine.

I studied her for a minute, taking in her beauty. It was no secret that my mom was striking. The guys used to make jokes how they would love to bone my mom. That was, until I broke the nose of another quarterback who said it with a little too much enthusiasm. My mom was elegant, her blonde curls giving her a look of innocence, while her brown and green eyes showed nothing but years of pain.

She was devastated when my dad left. He had completely crumbled her spirit and left her with a toddler. He had run off with a woman half his age. His secretary. Fucking vermin. At the age of five, I vowed never to hurt my mom the way he had. I promised I would protect her from anything. But right now, I couldn't protect her from the hurt she felt for me.

"I don't think I should," I murmured.

"Logan Marcus White. You will tell me what is going on right now, or so help me God, I
will
shove those pancakes right down your throat," she said determinedly.

My mouth dropped open at the mention of my full name and the threat of pancakes being shoved down my throat. I snapped my mouth closed, and for the first time in months, I laughed. I laughed until tears fell from my eyes and I had to hold my stomach.

"Did you really just threaten to shove pancakes down my throat?" I asked through my uncontrollable laughter.

"Yes, I did." She smiled.

"Mom, you're so badass." I chuckled.

"Watch that mouth, young man. Otherwise it will be soap I shove down that throat, not pancakes," she said with a smile.

"Mom! Really?" I laughed.

"Logan." She sighed.

She wanted to know what was going on, and why I all but collapsed on her hallway floor last night. I sighed and took a deep breath, trying to find the courage I needed to tell her what I did.

"I don't even know where to start," I said, putting my fork on the table, running my fingers through my hair.

"How about at the beginning?"

For the next hour, I poured my heart out to the one woman who would never hurt me. The one woman who understood everything when it came to my feelings for Neva.

"So, you left?" she asked. Her eyes filled with unshed tears.

"Yeah." I sighed, putting my head into my heads.

"Logan, I know how much you love her. Never, ever doubt that. But have you ever thought that, maybe, she is just too broken? She has been through hell, sweetie. I don't know whether she'll ever come back from that."

"No," I deadpanned. "I have never thought she was too broken. I have thought that maybe I can't give her what she wants, what she needs. But I have never once thought that maybe she was too broken."

"Oh, sweetie." She sighed. "Then maybe it's time for her to heal. You have been protecting her for the best part of ten years. It's time for her to learn how to deal with this on her own."

"I know. I just don't know how."

Chapter Nine

Neva

The tears flowed from my eyes for hours, they just wouldn't stop. The sobs never came, but the tears just poured out. It was as if the dam had been broken, flooding everything within its path. My chest hurt, my heart hurt, my head hurt. Everything was beyond painful; it wasn't the ache of the shit I went through in that house. It was a pain that was indescribable, as if everything inside me had shattered beyond repair.
  

I could see the looks of pity from my brother and my best friend, and for the first time it wasn't making me recoil back into a dark place. It was pissing me off. It was a look that said
'She's broken, again.' 
 

"Baby girl," Tate started, but I cut him off with a wave of my hand. I didn't want to hear it, I didn't need to know how much I had screwed up. I knew it, I felt it and I hated myself for it. I could see Tate wanted to say more, to try and 'help me' but right now I wanted to be alone.
 

"Tate, I'm exhausted. Please, just go home," I whispered.
 

I could see the indecision in his eyes, he didn't want to leave me after what had just happened. He had walked in just as Logan had walked out, finding his sister silent and unmoving. Then those damn tears started, and they hadn't stopped since.
 

"But..."
 Tate started. 

"Tate. Go home," I bit through clenched teeth. I didn't want sympathy, I didn't deserve it. I pushed Logan away. I broke him. I would not sit here while everyone looked at me like a lost damn dog, I was sick of it.
  

Low suddenly walked into my eye-line, her tired stare making me falter within my own thoughts. She looked like hell, her hair weren't the shiny and beautiful waves of blonde anymore and her makeup was streaked across her face. It was because of me, it was because of me why she looked like that.
  

"Low, I am fine. Please, I am just so tired," I mumbled, not wanting to look her in the eye.
 

I looked over at my brother, who was staring back at me with solemn eyes, but all I could see written on his face was the pity laced with sympathy. I didn't want it. I was angry, angry at myself for what I did, angry at Angel for deceiving me, angry at Jack for hurting me. I was angry at everyone and everything.
  

"Neva James?" A smooth voice I didn't recognize broke through the tension filled room.
 

Moving my gaze from my brother, I noticed a short portly man walk into the room, who looked to be in his fifties.
  

"Yes," I replied on a shaky breath. The tears had slowed their assault on the sensitive skin of my cheeks, but they hadn't stopped entirely.
 

"I'm Dr. West. Sorry I haven't been to see you sooner, it's been a little busy around here," he said while walking towards me. "I just need to check you over. That okay?"
  

I nodded slowly, careful not to move too much. The doctor checked my chest, my bruises and the ugly cut to my head. Everything he touched hurt, the pain prickled against my skin with a hum. I hadn’t even registered the cuff that had inflated around my arm.
 

"How do you feel? Any headaches ... nausea?" he asked while shining a light in both my eyes.
 

"No headaches, I feel a little sick though," I muttered. I quickly stole a glance through my lashes at my brother, who now stood in the corner of the room with his arms crossed in front of his chest. I hated seeing him upset but I was far too exhausted to deal with anyone right now.