Chapter 4
Four
Logan
It takes me too long to breathe through the riot of emotions. Surprise, joy, and anger ricochet inside me, battling ruthlessly. I never thought I’d see Sierra again. Never.
Now she’s back, treating me like this.
I want to yell at her. Shake her. Tell her how worried sick I was. How worried my entire family was. I want to demand she tell me why she never let us know she was okay. Hold her in my arms and let myself relax for the first time since she disappeared seven years ago.
But Sierra already seems freaked out just seeing me again, and I barely convince her to stay at my house instead of walking along the dangerous highway with speed-demon tourists to that sketchy, crusty motel.
Did she not miss me at all? We weren’t officially together during those last few weeks before she ran off, but we were best friends for most of our childhood. For her not to even look happy to see an old friend cuts deep.
Worse, she looks surprised that I would help her. That she thinks so little of me hurts more than anything.
But when she hops into the passenger seat of my truck, all my rage and joy and hurt fizzle away. I feel like I’m seventeen again. I’m hyperaware of Sierra sitting next to me on the way home. Her presence fills the whole cab.
How is it possible for her to become even more beautiful?
She was always fit, but now her body is curvy and strong, her skin tanned and glowing.
Her arms and legs are so muscular, Cole will probably beg for her lifting routine when he sees her.
And her face—gorgeous. Her dark, expressive eyes nearly strike me dumb every time she makes eye contact with me.
I clear my throat. “How did you get stuck here?” How on earth did you leave last time?
“I was just passing through, trying to get to Sedona.”
“Why?” Why did you leave without telling me where you went? “For fun?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m meeting some friends.”
What about our friendship? “Nice,” I choke out.
“Whoa! This is your house? Look at this place!”
I glance at it with fresh eyes. A pueblo with a tidy landscape. Small, as only a 1920s home can be, but cute and well-maintained after our efforts to spruce it up.
A sense of déjà vu washes over me as I park and lead her toward the front door. How many times did I take her home with me over the years? Different home, but the same emotion rises regardless.
“Comfy,” she declares once she takes in the living room—a large couch, TV, and an overstuffed chair. Video game consoles and Seth’s guitar case are propped in the corner. She sets her bags down on the couch and stretches.
I quickly look away.
“I like a minimalist look,” she says. “You said you live with Seth?”
Just then, Seth’s SUV pulls into the driveway.
“Speak of the devil,” I say.
Seth bounds up the steps. “Honey, I’m—” He stops. “No fucking way.”
“Hi, Seth,” Sierra says. She twists her hair between her fingers, as she always used to do when she was feeling awkward. It’s so achingly familiar to see the same nervous quirks. It feels like her fingers are twisting my heart instead.
“What are you doing here?” His eyes ping back and forth between Sierra and me, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Her vehicle broke down,” I explain. “She needs a place to stay.”
“Does she?” Seth says, but it doesn’t sound like a question. After what she put you through? he silently communicates to me.
“It’s cool,” Sierra says. “I totally understand. If you could direct me to a motel—”
I silently beg him with my eyes. This is important to me, I tell my twin.
Seth gives me an irritated look. “No, it’s fine,” he lies convincingly to Sierra. “Mi casa es su casa and all that. I’m just…in shock. Where have you been hiding out, huh?”
“Around. Tucson.”
“That’s right, that’s what the private—”
“Well, we’re just going to order pizza and hang out,” I interrupt. Leave it to Seth to barrel into sensitive subjects like a bull in a china shop. “You’re welcome to join us,” I say, while my expression says, Please beat it.
Seth snorts and gives me a look that says, No way am I leaving you alone in the house with this girl. “Let’s go out for dinner.”
Sierra’s eyes widen. “Oh, I’m a mess—”
“Our bathroom’s right there. Take a shower, we’re not in a hurry.”
“I don’t want to impose.”
“Come on, Sierra. My treat.”
I have a feeling I understand her reluctance. Judging by her actions before we went to the mechanic, it’s clear she doesn’t want to see anyone she knows.
“We’ll go to Chaos Burger,” I say.
“Yes! Chaos Burger, here we come!” Seth pumps his fist, excited despite himself. “Oh man, they have this awesome peanut butter and jalapeno jelly burger that’s going to blow your mind.”
Sierra still looks hesitant.
“It’s a good choice, one of the touristy places locals avoid,” I explain. “All the servers are transplants too.”
She frowns, rearing back as if I’ve slapped her. “You can stay here. If that’s what you’re worried about.”
I’m struck speechless. Why would I be worried about that? “What? No, I meant—”
“It’s cool, I get it. Seth—”
“Yeah, we can leave Logan here,” Seth says with a smirk.
I scowl at him. Yeah, that isn’t going to happen.
“Great. Give me a few minutes.” She marches past us into the bathroom.
Seth turns to me, his face serious. “Are you okay? What is she doing here?”
“I told you—car trouble,” I say, which I know doesn’t answer his real question at all.
I glance down at my dusty, sweaty self, still in the dumb cowboy shirt Seth picked out for our visitor center uniforms. Of course I’m filthy, stinky, and dressed like a Bonanza extra on the day I run into Sierra again.
“Man, whose idea was it to get a single-bath?” I grumble.
I peel off my shirt and pants and toss them in the washer, then head to the hallway to grab a washcloth and a bar of soap from the linen closet. At least I can wipe myself down at the kitchen sink.
“Oh!” Sierra stands in the hallway. Her bags are in her hands—she must have gone back to the living room to grab them. I’m blocking her way to the bathroom, and she’s in front of the linen closet door.
And I’m in nothing but boxers.
There’s no room to pass. Damn these narrow 1920s hallways.
“Excuse me,” I say. I can’t help noticing the way her eyes flick down my body and back up. And then down again.
“Eyes up here,” I blurt out.
We both freeze. That used to be our running joke. Sierra always complained that I was too tall, that her neck got sore from looking up at me all the time. “My neck is going to start bulging like John Cena’s if I keep this up,” she’d say.
Instead, she’d talk to my chin, neck, or shoulder. “Eyes up here,” I’d tease whenever I caught her being lazy about eye contact.
I clear my throat. “Excuse me,” I repeat, gesturing toward the linen closet behind her. She backs up, not understanding what I mean. “Can I just—”
“God, I’m so sorry.” She backs into the closet and gestures for me to pass.
This is getting us nowhere. I wrap my hand around her upper arm and move her gently aside. Her gasp at the contact echoes my own. Her skin is warm and smooth. My thumb traces her bicep without thinking—her muscle definition is impressive.
What am I doing? I glance up, bracing for horror or disgust at my touch.
Instead, her eyes are locked on my chest. She seems to notice my excellent muscle definition too.
“I do a lot of climbing,” I find myself sheepishly answering the question I see in her head tilt as she studies me.
“You climb?”
Her hopeful, admiring gaze finally darts up to meet mine, and that’s all it takes.
A sharp zing like electricity, followed by the slow, heady feeling of drowning in sweet, syrupy molasses.
It’s so bittersweetly nostalgic and surprisingly lovely, like finding a forgotten birthday card from a long-gone loved one in the pocket of a coat I haven’t worn in years.
And that—more than the strange, unlikely serendipity of us reuniting—makes this feel like fate. Knowing our history, it’s probably the kind of fate that ends like a Greek tragedy, but still.
“Mostly in a cave, yeah,” I say, my voice low with unexpected emotion. “There’s this massive wall we rappel down for our trickier route. I like to climb it when I’m off the clock.”
“Wow! I’ve never attempted caving. But ever since I saw that one documentary about Mammoth Cave I’ve been—”
“You guys ready to go already—oh.” Seth pauses at the end of the hallway.
Sierra and I step away from each other. “Bathroom’s there,” I say pointlessly, since she’s already reaching for the doorknob. I open the linen closet and pretend to study my washcloth options until I hear the bathroom lock click.
Seth gives me a look before retreating to his room. Sometimes I hate how well my twin knows me.