Chapter 69
SIXTY-NINE
Inside My Head - Until I Wake
When I wake up, I’m still groggy.
Someone kicks me again. I look around and realize that I’m on the couch with Ronan and Logan. At first, I panic and stiffen. Then, when nothing happens, slowly, I relax.
I’m okay. Nothing bad is happening. I let out a sigh, then realize how much I need to pee. I can just see the oven clock from here. It’s mid-morning.
I try to untangle myself from the limbs, causing some groans. But I need to pee. And shower. I’m fucking grimy.
I squeeze out of Ronan’s arms and go to the shower. I take my time getting fully clean and checking in on how I feel about last night.
Of course, I still feel fear, but I also feel… satisfaction. I feel relief. And fuck, if it isn’t the most addictive feeling ever. I want to keep feeling it.
When I come back out, both men are up, and I smell coffee. Ronan offers me a cup. I look at the rim suspiciously and decline. Ronan laughs, saying he’s going to the bathroom.
Logan’s on the couch on his phone. Then, I hear a ding. A familiar ding. My phone.
I pick it up, feeling odd. I haven’t used this in so long. I see I have a text. I’ve been added to some group chat with Ronan, Logan, and some guy named Vox. Vox, as in the friend of the person I shot.
Ronan: Return Buffalo’s head, or else! *three water gun emojis*
My mouth drops open. Oh fuck.
Logan sits up on the couch, muttering, “I told him to take it easy.”
Did they start a group chat with the guy who saved Callum?
Vox: *raised eyebrow emoji*
“Oh god,” Logan moans. “Here it goes.”
My phone dings.
Ronan: YOU THINK I’M JOKING!?
Logan slaps a hand over his eyes. “Oh yeah! Let him do it, you said. It would be fun, you said.”
“Uhhh…” I stare between my phone and Logan, who ignores me. He types on his own phone.
Logan: Relax, baby, we’re talking to the mute. He’s not going to be very forthcoming.
Vox: *checkmark emoji*
Logan goes back to typing.
Logan: Listen, we need the cow head back. We’re willing to call a truce if your buddy returns it.
Vox: *sick emoji* *blood emoji*
Logan gives a bitter laugh, then types.
Logan: Yeah, we know he’s hurt. We’re the ones who shot him.
My mouth drops open more. First of all, I’m the one who shot him. And Logan’s taking collective blame for that? Some fucked up part of me feels warm. Wait a minute, no. That’s fucked up. The tingling continues.
Ronan: LOL
“Uh,” I blink at the screen. “What are you doing?” They’re aggravating the people who put a target on our backs. Theirs first, and now mine.
“It’ll be okay. I’m letting him have control.” But Logan doesn’t look okay. In fact, he looks the furthest from okay. He looks like he’s going to have a stroke.
Vox doesn’t like the way the conversation is going and sends an angry emoji. I shoot out one of my own: the facepalm emoji. Because really? This is how they negotiate?
Logan: Once he’s better, let us know if he’s willing to meet up to return the cow’s head. No weapons. We just want the cow head back and to talk.
I stare at the screen, then at Logan. He’s sweating. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen bulls with more tact than these two.
“What was that?” I can’t keep the disbelief out of my voice.
“It was fine. I helped. Just helped, I let him do it.” Logan’s pacing tight laps in front of the couch, pulling his hat off and on.
“That was… oh my god.” I throw my hands up. “Next time, let me do the negotiating. Yeah?”
And then I realized what I offered. I offered to help. Not because I had to. Not because they were threatening me. But because I actually wanted to.
Oh fuck. I’m fucked.
Ding .
Vox: *thumbs up emoji*
Relief rushes through me. Against all odds, somehow, that didn’t end in threats. I can tell how much Buffalo means to Ronan. And I hate to see people in pain.
Ronan comes back into the room. “I do my best texting while I’m shitting.”
“That was not taking it easy.” Logan’s face is red.
Ronan just laughs.
Part of me feels relief seeing Ronan come back to life. The first few days after we got back, I wasn’t sure if he was going to be okay.
And it’s weird that I feel relief that my captor is going to be okay. Is it weird, or is it Stockholm?
Oh, for sure Stockholm.
When I glance at my phone again, I happen to notice the date. I feel like it should be something important for some reason. What is with that date?
Suddenly, panic rushes through me. The wedding . The wedding is today, and I’m supposed to be going. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I don’t realize I’ve made any sounds until both Ronan and Logan are looking at me.
“Everything okay?”
Fuck. I’ve been in a daze, but I remember I took the week off for the wedding so I could get drunk both before and after. My parents will be expecting me, and I’m supposed to bring a date.
“Dakota,” Logan’s voice is concerned.
“Uh, I have a w-w-wedding.”
Both men glance at each other. “Uh, okay?”
“I’m supposed to bring a date!” I’m panicked. I’ll have to cancel. I know my dad will yell at me. He’s always been one for punctuality and showing up when you say you’re going to show up.
“Okay…I can go with you.” Logan shrugs.
“No, I can!” Ronan sits up straighter. “Take me.”
“No way,” Logan’s voice is sharp.
“I’ve sucked his dick. That means I have first dibs.”
“Weddings are drowning in alcohol.”
Their words blend into the background as the idea of facing my dad hits me square in the chest.
He’ll hate me. He’ll hate the choices I’ve been making.
“Whoa.” Suddenly, Logan is beside me, steadying me. “What’d we miss?”
“I’m not…my dad doesn’t…he d-d-d-d,” Fuck, the words are getting tangled. “Doesn’t know!”
There’s the slightest flinch in Logan’s gaze, then it’s back to normal.
I suck in a breath. “I have to go with a date, and it has-s-s-s-s to be a woman.”