2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Logan
I saw her in my dreams again—the girl I’ve known for most of my life. She was laughing, running barefoot through the meadow behind her house, her braid adorned with the daisy I’d picked for her that day. The sun bathed her golden hair in its light, and I just stood there, watching her spin in slow circles, like the world had no end. I wanted to freeze time, let the moment stretch until the fireflies filled the air, the sun scorched the cerulean sky, and the air cooled. I wanted to be caught in that blissful moment, filled with peals of laughter—not the gut wrenching sobs and stifled sniffles that always followed.
?Dios Mio! I wake slowly. Dawn is a hard mistress, touch pulling apart my dream like blindly stumbling through a cobweb of memory.
A soft hand slid across my thigh, grazing higher until it brushed my cock. I sift through memories of the night before—drinks, music, and debauchery. It was unfulfilling, like cheap fast food. I crack one eye open to find a redhead hovering above me, her breasts hovering inches from my face, her smile dripping with seductive intent.
“Morning, baby.” She purred, fingers trailing over my chest.
My head throbs, the kind that comes from whiskey, not desire. The hangover drives nails into my skull, relentless. I rub my temples, trying to ignore her touch. I don’t want her. Not this morning. All I can taste is stale liquor and a hint of rose perfume. I offer a weak, apologetic smile, searching for her name, but it slips through my grasp, just like my lost dream.
“What’s wrong?” Her voice cuts though the haze, sugary sweet but laced with irritation.
What’s wrong? Everything .
I shift away, lifting her off me and onto the other side of the bed. Her smudged makeup hints at the night we shared, but whatever connection we had is already forgotten. As I rise, another hand, another touch, slides up my arm. Too many limbs. My head pounds, my stomach clenches.
What the actual fuck?
Another red head, her twin, identical in every way—grins at me from the other side of the bed.
Jesus .
I stare at them, my brain scrambling for answers that won’t come. The room tilts slightly as realization slams into me like a freight train. I had twins last night. And I don’t even remember.
They giggle, cooing at me like I’m some prize they’ve won. Their baby talk grates on my nerves. I scratch the itch, and now, I’m left with nothing but regret. Or is it shame? Whatever it is, I don’t have the patience for it.
“I apologize, ladies, but I have no time for this.” I bolt out of the room, completely naked and half blind from the sunlight streaming through the windows.
“Dude, put some fucking clothes on!”
Sam’s voice came from the kitchen, where he sits with a glass of his usual green sludge. He shields his eyes dramatically. “The last thing I need is your junk ruining my cereal.”
“Quiet, baldy. What the fuck did I get into last night.” I mutter, heading back to the bedroom. Sam snorts, shoveling another spoonful of Captain Crunch into his mouth.
The twins protest as I flip on the light and grab my jeans from the floor.
“What the fuck, Logey.” One of them snaps. I barely suppress a groan.
“Listen, girls. Last night was…fun. But I have important things on my mind.”
“You promised we could go on tour with you!” Twin A accuses.
“Yeah, that’s why—” Twin B starts before pausing.
“It’s why we did, you know what.” Twin A finishes.
Sam snorts into his cereal. “ Logey … you fucked sisters?” His voice is full of amusement. “Wait, hang on girls. We have to vote on roadies tagging along.”
“Sam, do not tease them, we do not have time.”
“Tease? I see real potential here Logey.”
“Do. Not. Call me that.”
“Sorry, girlies. Maybe next time.” Sam winks.
Their smiles vanish, replaced by sharp, indignant stares.
“What? You’re just gonna kick us out?” One of them spits, her voice venomous.
?Dios Mio! I can’t even tell which one’s speaking.
“Yes Senora. I’ll call you both a taxi,” I reach for a sock, bending down too fast, sending a wave of nausea through me. My head pounds harder. Sam watches, smirking as I grab a bottle of water and press it to my forehead for relief. I eye my phone on the counter, a flicker of hope stirring, but when I check the notifications, there’s nothing from the one person I ache to hear from.
Mac.
I can’t stop thinking about her.
“You hear from her?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intended.
Sam’s smirk falters. He hesitates for a second before forcing a grin. “Right, you heard Logey—” he corrects himself at my glare. “We’re busy ladies. Time to get dressed.”
There’s some more back and forth but Sam is relentless. I pace to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door.
I need a shower. I need to clear my head.
Steam clings to the bathroom mirror, swirling in ghostly patterns. My skin is red, glowing from the heat, as motes rise from my body before disappearing into nothing. I run a hand through my damp hair, pushing the black strands back from my face as I brace my arms on the sink. My cobalt blue eyes stare back at me, shadowed by exhaustion, frustration, and something deeper that I don’t want to name.
It’s been weeks.
Calls.
Messages.
Silence.
I swallow back the dull ache. What did I do wrong? Did I even do anything at all? The last time I saw her, she was in my arms. We clung to each other, anchoring ourselves after Braden’s funeral. But as the day ended, words felt hollow, meaningless. I let her go. What else could I have done?
I turn away from the mirror, and grab a towel, draping it over my shoulders, before stepping closer to the full-length mirror on the back of the door. My back is still healing, the fresh ink standing stark against my tan skin.
I twist, inspecting the tattoo in the reflection. An angel, arms spread wide. Wings draping down my spine like a heavy weight I’ll carry forever. Beneath it in elegant Spanish script.
Mi hermano en esta vida y la siguiente.
My brother in this life and the next.
Braden.
My throat tightens, a sharp ache lodging itself deep in my chest. I trace the outline of a wing with my fingertip, the skin still tender. It’s been months, but it still feels like yesterday, like he could walk through the door, cracking some smart-ass joke, shoving my shoulder like we were still those dumb ass kids sneaking out to raise hell.
I flex my hands, my eyes drawn to my knuckles. My fingers curl into fists, the ink across them stark against my skin. LOVE. HATE. The two things I feel the most, constantly waring inside me.
I shake my head, rolling my shoulders. The rose inked on the back of my hand, delicate but etched in deep black lines—a symbol of love, of loss, of something beautiful and painful all at once.
Mac would get it.
Or, at least, she used to.
I reach for a T-shirt but pause, my eyes catching on the silver ring piercing my nipple. A ghost of a smirk tugs at my lips, a rare thing these days. Braden had dared me, bet I wouldn’t go through with it. And here I am, years later, still wearing the damn thing like a badge of honor.
With a sigh, I yank the shirt over my head, shoving away the heaviness pressing against my ribs. I need a distraction. Anything to stop me checking my phone again, from waiting for a reply that might never come.
Mac, where the hell are you?
I walk out to find Sam perched on the sofa.
“Anything of note?” I ask.
Sam shrugs. “No. Just give her time, man. She lost her brother.”“No shit.” I fume.
He sighs, “Look, she’ll call when she’s ready. And if she doesn’t… we’ll go to her.”
I nod, though his words offer little comfort. Mac has always been the strongest person I know. But losing Braden—her twin, her other half, it left her shattered. I’d seen it in her eyes the last time we spoke. The fire that always burned in her…was gone.