The Blood That Binds by Madeline Sheehan

 

Willow

Iawoke slowly, languidly stretching limbs still stiff with sleep. Skin brushed skin as I rolled into the wall of warm muscle nestled tightly beside me, nuzzling my face against it and sliding my fingers over it.

I froze suddenly, my eyes flying open, my breath catching and evaporating. Staring at Logan’s chest, recalling every single sordid detail of the night before, I wondered frantically how I was going to avoid having to deal with what we’d done, but more pressing was how to avoid having to deal with Logan.

While my thoughts spiraled into full-on panic mode and I contemplated making a screaming run for it, Logan sighed in his sleep, releasing me as he rolled away. I remained frozen for several seconds, making sure he was still asleep before rolling out of bed, grasping wildly for the clothing strewn all over my bed, and making a run for the bathroom, my footfalls softer and stealthier than ever before.

Closing the door softly behind me, I collapsed against it, staring at my wild-eyed reflection in the mirror. I looked…

Hand to my cheek, I pushed my heavy veil of hair away from my face and swallowed hard. My lids were heavy, my lips were swollen, and there was a small mark on my neck… and another one on my shoulder. Between my legs throbbed with the memory of the man who lay asleep just outside the door.

A man who’d left me looking… and feeling… very well fucked.

“Shit,” I spat softly, dropping my hand. Cursing, I dug through the clothing I’d gathered, relieved to find I’d grabbed everything I needed. Dressing quickly, I splashed some water over my face and turned to the door, my hand hovering over the knob as a fresh wave of panic gripped me. What if he was awake? What would I say? What could I say? I was fairly certain I was one thousand percent tongue-tied at the moment.

Making up my mind to grab my boots and make a run for it, I twisted the knob slowly, careful that it didn’t as much as creak. Heart in my throat, I pushed the door open, nearly crumpling in relief to find Logan still facing away from me, still sleeping soundly. Snatching my boots off the floor, I fumbled briefly with the lock on the door and then I was pushing into the early morning, flying barefoot across grass still wet with dew. Forgoing the dining hall—I absolutely couldn’t face a single soul in my current state—I ran straight to work.

Stab. Stab. Stab. Stabbing my trowel deep into the dirt, I worked furiously, breaking up a tightly compacted mound of mud and soil.

Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.My hand slowed, my eyes closing, each stab deeper and harder than the last.

I wanted to hate what had happened—at the very least, I wanted to forget it. But… there was no denying the growing throb between my legs, and the way my body kept flushing with heat. I hadn’t hated it—not even a little bit—and I definitely wouldn’t be forgetting it.

“Willow? You okay, hun?”

My eyes flew open. Cassie was working beside me, tending to the same mound of dirt. In the face of her scrutiny, I felt my flush deepen, wondering if she knew what I’d done last night—if she could tell just by looking at me.

“I’m fine,” I muttered as I resumed stabbing the earth. “Hungover, I think.”

It wasn’t too far from the truth—I’d definitely drank enough to still be feeling it this morning. At least, that’s what I was attempting to convince myself—that what had occurred between Logan and I had been the unfortunate result of too much whiskey and wine.

Cassie placed a gloved hand on my arm. “Why don’t you clock out early and go get washed up? You’ve been working your tail off all morning, and I’m sure you want to be refreshed for Hank’s celebration.”

During the breakfast I’d skipped, it had been announced that Hank had died yesterday morning, succumbing to injuries that had been too extensive for Doc to treat. He’d already been buried, taken to a small cemetery outside of camp, and a small celebration of his life would be held in the dining hall that evening for anyone who wished to attend.

I hadn’t planned on attending; I hadn’t known Hank. Not that I could tell Cassie that while she was wiping a tear from her cheek.

Sitting back on my heels, I swiped the sweat from my brow. “Yeah, okay, I could use a shower.” Maybe a shower would wash away the scent of Logan that still clung to my skin, and the memory of his hands on me.

His hands cupping my face, squeezing my ass, gripping my thighs tight. I swallowed hard, nearly choking as a wave of need rolled hotly through me. The distant drumming of the dresser against the wall echoed in my thoughts, my mouth both drying and watering at the memory.

Jumping up, I stormed from the garden, with every intention of heading to the Bath House, only… as I neared the heart of camp, I found myself walking in the opposite direction. Nervous anticipation shuddered through me as I approached the construction site. I spotted him immediately, fitting floorboards onto the base of a new addition. He was shirtless, his broad, tan back glistening beneath the hot sun.

EJ noticed me first, nudging Logan. Glancing over his shoulder, Logan rose from kneeling, his low-slung jeans falling even lower on his hips. I sucked in a breath at the full sun-kissed length of him, another potent burst of desire shooting through me. I’d never felt like this before. I’d never felt such intense need before—it was as if a tap had burst inside of me.

My heart pounding in my throat, I spun around and hurried down the path. Bursting inside the cabin, I pressed my back against the door and surveyed the room—surprised to find it clean. All that remained from the mess we’d made the night before was the lopsided dresser, one of its legs broken clean off.

Breath after heady breath filled my lungs. Warmth pooled low in my belly, my every nerve lighting up in response to my thoughts. Slipping my hand between my thighs, I squeezed my legs together, whimpering as my desire intensified.

There was a bang on the door; the wood pushed against my back. I jumped sideways, scrambling backward as Logan pushed inside, pausing in the threshold. Still shirtless, sweat shining from every rock-hard inch of him, intensity rolled off him in hot, heavy waves.

We came together in a frenzy of reckless lips. Tongues tangling, teeth clashing, I jumped up into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. While I roughly pawed at him and he fought to hold me, he stumbled sideways, crashing into the wall. Pinning me there, his hands explored my body, kneading my ass and groping my breasts. “Fuck,” he groaned against my mouth. “Fuck.”

“Willow, darlin’,” Britta called out as the cabin door flung open. “You comin’ to Hank’s—oh shit, my bad.” The door slammed shut with her hurried departure.

Like a burning branch plunged into ice water, my feet hit the floor with a gasp. “Stop,” I demanded, pushing at Logan. “Logan, stop!

Cursing, he backed quickly away, his hands going to his hair, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. I stared at him, breathing hard, guilt and desire fighting for supremacy.

“We can’t,” I breathed. “We can’t do this.”

“Too fucking late,” he ground out angrily. “We already did.”

My eyes went wide. “Fuck you,” I spat, fumbling blindly for the door. Flinging it open, I dashed outside. “Britta, wait!”

Racing down the path after Britta, my eyes were burning, my heart was pounding out of my chest. Oh god. What was I doing? And with Logan, of all people. Our relationship had always been shaky, volatile at best, held together only by our mutual love of Lucas—a love we’d both betrayed in the worst possible way. Again.

Up ahead, Britta glanced over her shoulder. “Done already?” she asked as I fell in step beside her. “Didn’t take Eddie for the wham-bam, thank you, ma’am type.”

“Don’t,” I whispered, grabbing her arm, pulling her to a stop. “Please don’t make jokes right now.”

Britta’s expression pulled into a frown. “Oh, sugar, what’s the matter? Ain’t this what you wanted?”

“No.” I shook my head vehemently. “Not with him. Never with him.”

“Somethin’ wrong with Eddie… other than that stick up his ass?”

He’s Luke’s brother,” I said hoarsely. “And I love Luke.”

“Sugar, Luke is gone,” she said with a sympathetic shrug. “He’s dead, and you and Eddie are still alive. We don’t stop livin’ when someone dies, do we?”

My mouth worked soundlessly while I fumbled for a reply I couldn’t find.

“What would Luke want?” she pressed. “Would he want y’all happy?”

I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. Not because I didn’t know the answer, but because I did.

Throwing her arm over my shoulders, Britta tugged me forward. “Look at it this way,” she said. “Life has gotten mighty short these days, and it sure ain’t sweet. Take Hank, for example.” She shrugged again. “If you’re lucky enough to find somethin’ or someone that makes you feel good, then I say take it.”

I stayed silent while we walked, wishing it were that simple. Of course, Luke would want me to be happy. He’d want Logan to be happy, too. But would he want us to be happy together? And what if it went wrong between Logan and me, which it undoubtedly would. What then?

“Stop overthinkin’ it,” Britta said. “There ain’t much good left in the world so you gotta take what you can, when you can, and damn the consequences. And speakin’ of Hank, we got a celebration to be gettin’ to.”

For the second time in two days, the occupants of Silver Lake gathered together at the dining hall in celebration. This time without fairy lights strung from the rafters, without music playing, or jugs of wine and elaborate platters of food passed around. This was a different sort of gathering; the somber celebration of a man’s life cut short.

Attendees sat in a makeshift circle at one end of the hall while, one by one, Hank’s friends took to the center of the circle to share funny stories involving Hank, and to express how much he would be missed.

“He’s with his wife and kids now,” Davey said, concluding his speech. “His grandkids, too. He’s home.”

As Davey stepped away, EJ took his place in the circle. “You remember that time the chickens escaped?” he said wistfully. “And Hank was chasing them through camp with his pants falling down?” As the group began to laugh, EJ started sniffling, quickly growing too choked up to continue.

“Lord, that man is softer than warm butter.” Britta shook her head. “Lemme go rescue him” Sliding off the bench we were sharing, she hurried to lead EJ from the circle, taking his place.

“Y’all recall when little Béla asked for a swing and Hank decided to take it upon himself to build one?”

“That’s my swing!” From his seat on his mother’s lap, Béla clapped happily.

“Yeah, darlin’, it’s your swing I’m talkin’ ‘bout,” Britta said. “But it weren’t always so great, ya know. Ol’ Hank had never built a swing before; he didn’t have a dang clue what he was doin’. Spent a full week puttin’ together some rickety lookin’ thing, actin’ all proud like he’d built himself a whole ass playground.”

“Then he went and broke it,” someone called out, as laughter tittered through the group.

“He sure did,” Britta agreed with a chuckle. “Hank thought he’d try it out, makin’ sure it was safe for Béla; only once he sat himself down the whole thing collapsed on him.

“And what did Hank do? Well, you know he got up off the ground, pulled the splinters from his ass, and started buildin’ that swing all over again. That’s what I liked about Hank—whatever happened, no matter how big or small, he always held steady. And I’m thinkin’ that’s just what he’d want us to do now—hold steady.”

While the crowd murmured in agreement, Jordy slid into the chair beside me. “Hey,” he whispered. “I missed you this morning. And last night. Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” I muttered.

“Are you sure?” he continued. “Logan seemed hella pissed. And then you ran out… ”

“I wasn’t feeling well,” I replied quickly.

“Feeling better now?”

I kept my eyes facing front. “Not really, no.”

“Anything I can do?”

More laughter rippled through the gathering while I shut my eyes with a sigh. “I think… I think I need to get some air.” Standing, I rubbed my clammy hands down the front of my jeans and turned to leave.

Jordy stood with me. “Do you want company?”

“No, thanks,” I whispered, my gaze freezing on the window. Logan stood just outside, his narrowed eyes meeting mine through the glass, his expression thunderous. Turning abruptly, he disappeared from sight.

“Shit,” I breathed, hurrying across the hall, pushing through the double doors and jogging down the stairs. I didn’t bother calling out to Logan, his long legs had already carried him halfway across camp.

By the time I’d reached the cabin, I found Logan seated at the table inside, his arms folded tightly over his chest, his thunderous expression unchanged.

“I think—I think we need to talk,” I stammered. “I-I think—”

Logan exploded up out of his seat and I jerked in surprise. “You think we should just pretend it never happened—just forget it entirely, right?”

“God, why are you like this?” I shouted. “Why does literally everything have to be a fight?”

“Why am I like this? Do you hear yourself? Why are you like this?” he demanded, glaring at me from behind the table. “I don’t understand you—I don’t fucking understand anything you do. You’re the most frustrating person I’ve ever met!”

“And you’re not?” I scoffed. “Logan, you’ve spent your entire life angry at everyone and everything. Don’t you ever get sick of being pissed off? I know I’m sick of it.”

Logan stepped around the table. “Yeah,” he said bitterly. “I should have been more like you and Luke, right? And then maybe we’d all be dead right now.

My nostrils flared. “Fuck you,” I gritted out, reaching for the door. “That’s always going to be your signature move, isn’t it—everything’s Willow’s fault.

The door slammed shut just as I’d yanked it open. Towering over me, Logan backed me into a wall. “This isn’t going to be like last time,” he growled. “You don’t get to walk away and pretend it never happened.”

“I’m not pretending anything,” I spat. “But I’m not going to act like it was okay, either.” Frustrated, I clenched my hands into fists. “Because it wasn’t okay.” Despite my anger, my chin quivered. “Don’t you care about that? Don’t you care that we hurt him again?”

“It’s not the same,” he ground out haltingly. “It’s not the fucking same.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” I muttered.

Logan barked out a humorless laugh. “Me? Because your way of dealing with things is so much better? I forgot how well adjusted you are. Must have missed that between all the stupid shit you’re always doing.”

I unwittingly stepped forward, my hands still balled into angry fists. Logan matched my step, leaving only inches between us

“What?” he growled. “Do you need to hit me again, or fuck me? Tell me, Willow, what do you need from me this time?” He spread his arms out wide and shouted, “Because that’s what I’m here for, right? Whatever the fuck you need!”

I stared at him for one long, horrible moment before dragging in a ragged breath. My chest felt cracked open, dissected even. “I hate you,” I breathed.

“Do you?” he challenged. “Or does telling yourself that make it easier?”

“No—I really do hate you right now!”

Closing the last remaining inch between us, he said mockingly, “Yeah, sure you do. You know what I think? I don’t think you hate me at all. I think this is you hating yourself.”

“I don’t remember anyone asking you what you thought.”

“What’s worse, Willow?” he continued, ignoring my snub. “That it happened again… or that you wanted it?”

I stared up at him, into his burning blue gaze, breathing in the intoxicating scent of him, feeling as equally disgusted by myself as I was turned on by his words. I shook my head, my chest heaving with dozens of vicious sentiments, yet all that came out was, “Both,” I hissed. “Happy now?”

“Not even close,” he snarled.

We remained that way, frozen in place, staring at one another, until his breathing grew noticeably deeper, his pupils dilating even as I watched. I was not unaffected; my own breaths grew shallow, tinged with a desperate tremble.

His head dropped with a heavy sigh, pressing our foreheads together, taking my face in his hands. “I want you,” he said simply, if not a little helplessly. “I can’t make it stop—I’ve tried to make it stop, but I fucking can’t.”

All the air rushed from my lungs; all the fight fled from my body. It wasn’t what he’d said, but the way he’d said it—utterly vulnerable, and so unlike any version of Logan I’d ever seen before.

“I want you, too,” I murmured, my painful truth spilling from my lips like a whispered curse.

He pulled back a fraction, surprise lifting his stormy expression, the corner of his mouth tugging into the barest of smiles. And even as I thought I might cry, I found myself drawn to his smile, lifting a finger to trace it, and then pushing up on my toes to kiss it.

Our kiss started out slowly, building until I was gasping into his mouth and pulling at his belt. Holding me close, still kissing me furiously, Logan maneuvered us across the room. As he fell backward onto his bed, I fell with him, sprawling over him.

He hurried to take my shirt off, tossing it away. I dragged his shirt up his chest, yanking it roughly over his head and sending it in the same direction. We kissed frantically while we undressed, until not a single stitch of clothing remained, and I grappled between our bodies, gripping him and guiding him inside me.

His hips pitched upward, mine canted forward, both of us groaning. Gripping his shoulders, I began rocking over him with rapidly growing urgency, clenching around him and crying out each time my body reached another pinnacle of sensation.

And when I could no longer keep pace, when my muscles had seized in the midst of an orgasm so intense there were tears in my eyes, Logan took over. Fingertips biting into the flesh at my hips, thrusting up into me, he began rocking my body over his at a breakneck pace, the dueling rhythms sending me spiraling into an abyss of purefuckingpleasure.

I collapsed on his chest, quivering from head to toe, crying softly through the aftershocks of my climax. Sex with Lucas had never felt like this. In fact, nothing with Lucas had felt like this.

And God help me, I wanted more.