The Blood That Binds by Madeline Sheehan
Willow
Sitting up in bed, I scrubbed the sleep from my eyes, gazing across the room at Logan’s empty bed, the cyclone in my belly picking up speed and doubling in size.
He’d staggered in here in the middle of the night, reeking of booze and looking several shades of miserable, running out before I’d had a chance to explain myself. I knew what it looked like—Lucas and I snuggled in bed together. Yet, we’d only spent the evening talking—catching each other up on our last several months apart… minus one very important detail on my part.
Careful not to disturb Lucas, I climbed quietly out of bed and tiptoed across the room. Pulling one of Logan’s flannels from his top bunk, I slipped into it, wrapping it tightly around me and burying my nose in the collar. As his scent engulfed me, and I continued staring at his neatly made bed, wave after wave of crippling guilt and worry continued to wash over me.
“‘Morning,” Lucas whispered against my ear. Shrieking, I spun around, shrieking again as he lifted me straight off my feet and planted a kiss on my lips. I froze against his mouth, quickly turning away as his tongue touched mine.
The cabin door swung open, crashing into the wall. Logan stood on the threshold, his clothes covered in mud, dark circles ringing his eyes. Taking in the sight of Lucas and me clutching one another, his nostrils flared.
“Bro,” Lucas said, setting me down. “Where were you last night?”
Logan, his stormy gaze meeting mine for only one brief, horrible second, headed to his dresser. Stripping out of his mud-streaked shirt, he tossed it away. “I had stuff to do.”
Lucas chuckled. “You had stuff to do? That’s code for a girl, right?”
Pulling on a clean shirt, Logan muttered, “There’s no girl.”
“Is it the girl with short brown hair?” Lucas teased.
“There’s no fucking girl,” Logan growled, shoving past Lucas. The bathroom door slammed shut behind him.
Lucas looked at me, grinning. “There’s definitely a girl, right? Why else would he be out all night?”
I only stared and shrugged, my stomach still swirling with dread. I couldn’t even dream up a lie like that. Just thinking about Logan with someone else, my entire body vehemently rejected the very notion.
“Come on, bro.” Lucas knocked lightly on the bathroom door. “Tell me who it is. It’s the blonde, right? It’s gotta be the blonde.”
The door flew open; Logan, his jaw locked and ticcing, glared at Lucas. “I said, there’s no fucking girl. So would you please shut the fuck up about it?”
The smile slipped from Lucas’s face. “It was just a joke,” he spat, his tone rising with anger. Straightening, he stepped closer to Logan, bringing them nose to nose, his light, chiseled features shrouded in dark discontent, his body simmering with rage. “So why the fuck are you getting so bent out of shape?”
Logan looked just as startled as I felt. Lucas didn’t curse, and he definitely didn’t stand up to his big brother. For several seconds, I could only stare dumbly at the two men until Logan’s stunned expression shifted into a sneer.
“All grown up now, huh?” Logan bit out.
Lucas responded with a lift of his chin and a squaring of his shoulders.
“Hey,” I said, shoving between them, grabbing hold of Lucas’s hand. “Remember how I wanted to introduce you to Britta today? We should get going before I have to be at work.”
As I pulled Lucas from the cabin, he continued to glare over his shoulder. “Did you see him?” he demanded. “I thought he was going to fucking hit me.”
No, I thought you were going to hit him, I wanted to say. Instead, I muttered, “He was a mess after you… disappeared. He was really angry at me. At the world. I think he’s still angry at… everything.” It wasn’t exactly a lie; although it could hardly be considered the truth, either. Not the whole truth, anyway.
Lucas remained tense, his expression tight. Looking up at him, I couldn’t help but feel that the differences in my childhood friend went far deeper than a haircut and a shave and a couple of curse words. Who he’d been when he’d dropped out of sight many months ago wasn’t the same person that reemerged.
We had all changed, though, hadn’t we? In the blink of an eye our trio had become a duo, and in Lucas’s case, he’d been forced to forge an entirely new way of living. It only made sense that he would change alongside his circumstances, and I certainly had no right to hold those changes against him—especially not after I’d developed such intense feelings for Logan in his absence.
But, I wondered dismally, where did all these changes leave us?
“Lucas,” Britta drawled. “So it’s true? The dead boyfriend returns—and here I thought Doc was just yankin’ my chain.”
Britta, who lay in her hospital bed flipping through an old magazine, looked Lucas over with a grin. Each day she looked better than the last; in terms of healing, she still had a long road ahead of her, but her color had returned, as had the mischievous glint in her eye.
“Not quite so dead after all,” Lucas replied dryly. “Britta, right? Willow told me all about you.”
Britta looked at me, her brows peaked. “Did she now? A good an’ glowin’ review, I hope?”
“Five stars,” Lucas replied with a chuckle, some of the earlier tension easing from his expression.
“Only five? Did she mention I used to have two feet? Maybe you can tack on an extra star for all my troubles?” Britta made a face at me. “You didn’t bring me any breakfast, did ya now? What’s a girl gotta do to get some grub around here!” Britta shouted the last half of her sentence toward the door.
“I swear to all that is holy and good in this world, Britta, you are the worst patient I have ever had!” Even from two rooms away, Doc’s irritation rang through loud and clear.
“You’re driving her insane, aren’t you?” Shaking my head, I turned to leave. “I’ll go grab you something.”
“No, wait.” Lucas stayed me with his hand on my arm. “I’ll go. I need to get the lay of the land if I’m going to live here, right? You stay with your friend.”
“Are ya sure, sugar?” Britta purred, smiling coyly, and my gaze shot to hers, narrowing.
“Yeah, it’s no problem,” Lucas said, bending down to give my forehead a quick kiss. “See you in a few.”
Britta and I lapsed into silence, merely staring at one another until Lucas’s footsteps had faded, and the telltale click of the cabin door echoed, signaling his departure.
“Lord Almighty, Willow!” Britta gaped at me. “Two good lookin’ brothers—both of ‘em hotter than a two-dollar pistol! How much hot can there be in one family? Couldn’t ya have left one for the rest of us, ya goddang greedy little man hog?”
“Britta!” My laughter was sharp and abrupt as I clutched my stomach—laughter that quickly tapered into a sob. Sitting down hard in the chair beside the bed, I buried my face in my hands. “Oh my god, what am I going to do? Britta, I don’t know what the fuck to do.”
“Oh-no, nu-uh. No way, Jose. There’ll be no more cryin’ at my bedside, sugar. If anyone’s gonna be gettin’ misty-eyed, it’s gonna be the woman without the foot. Definitely not the woman with two hot brothers and all her limbs.”
My hands dropped from my face. “Did you really just say that to me?” I demanded. “I don’t have two of anything—I don’t even want two of anything! None of this was what I wanted!”
Britta tilted her head to one side, studying me. “So what do ya want? Or, better yet, who do ya want… an’, more importantly, can I have the other one?”
“Britta.”
“Alright, alright, I’ll stop now. Time to be serious.”
“Thank you.”
A moment of silence passed before Britta cleared her throat and said, “But, seriously—sharin’ is carin’. Throw a girl a bone! Get it? A bone! Ya know, ‘cause I’m missin’ a few?”
I made a concerted effort to avoid being alone with Lucas for the rest of the day, worried that he might try to kiss me again—a task that was easy enough when there was no shortage of work to be done in camp.
We spent the first half of the morning at the store, helping Stuart sort through several boxes of books that had been recently scavenged from the Elkin’s Point library. The remainder of our morning was spent in the gardens, helping Cassie with the fall harvest, who was grateful to have Lucas’s help after Ella showed up for work several hours late and ended up falling asleep under an apple tree.
“I’m going to be speaking to Leisel about her,” Cassie muttered, stepping over Ella’s legs. “Poor thing is going to drink herself to death one of these days.”
By late afternoon, Cassie was shooing us from the potato beds, urging us to take showers before dinner. I showed Lucas to the bathhouse, introducing him to Jordy, and giving him a brief overview of the shower system.
“You’re not gonna join me?” Lucas asked, the corner of his mouth quirking into a shy smile. My heart began to hammer—this was my Lucas, the sweet and gentle boy I’d grown up with. And even as I ached for Logan… I found myself recalling how much I’d loved this side of Lucas.
A nervous smile trembled on my lips. “The water is really cold—you’ll see. I’m going to go home and get cleaned up—I’ll meet you at the dining hall, okay?”
Without waiting for his reply, I hurried from the building, feeling awful. Whatever this was—whatever we were doing—it couldn’t continue. I couldn’t live like this; I couldn’t keep another secret from Lucas, especially not one as monumental as this. If the three of us were going to move forward, Logan and I would have to come clean.
But first, I needed to summon the courage to do so.
Dinner was brief and quiet. Logan remained noticeably absent while Lucas and I sat alone, and I avoided looking directly at the others in the dining hall, afraid of what I might find reflected in their gazes. With every breath, I felt the fist of condemnation beating on my chest. I didn’t need to see it on the faces of my friends as well.
“It’s getting cold,” Lucas murmured, sliding his hand into mine. I gazed up at the dark sky, the days growing shorter as winter crept closer, and shivered inside my hoodie.
“Hopefully Logan will stay gone tonight,” Lucas continued, tugging me closer. “And we can warm each other up without having to deal with his shit.” Lucas’s tone grew progressively sharper. “You’d think he’d be happy to see me, but he’s been a dick the whole time.”
“He is happy to see you, he’s just… Logan,” I replied helplessly. “You know how he is.”
“Yeah,” Lucas bit out. “And he’s even worse than he was before. And since when do you defend Logan?”
“Since when do you curse?” I snapped suddenly. “And why are you so angry?”
We both stopped in the middle of the path, looking at one another. I stared into the eyes I’d stared into a million times before, yet not really recognizing them anymore.
“I’m sorry,” I hurried to say. “I don’t know why I said that.”
“No, I’m sorry,” Lucas said. “Losing you guys really fucked me up. And I don’t know—I think seeing this place, seeing your house—I guess it kinda feels like you guys moved on without me.”
Tears pricked my eyes. “Luke, we thought… we thought you were dead.”
“I know. Fuck, I know.” Lucas scrubbed his hands down the sides of his face, sighing hard. “Look, forget it. It doesn’t matter. It is what it is, right?” He stepped closer, one of his hands coming to rest on my hip while the other cupped my face. “By the way, have I told you how amazing you look? Civilization really suits you, Willowby.”
“Shut up, Lucky Charms,” I mumbled, turning away.
Not to be dissuaded, Lucas cupped my face with both hands and bent his head to mine. I went stiff at first and then attempted relaxing into the kiss—into Lucas. Moving my lips over his, I attempted channeling the feelings I felt for him, searching for what we had once had, only… those feelings felt far away now. Breaking the kiss, I turned away, swallowing back tears.
“Willow,” Lucas growled. “Why won’t you kiss me?”
I covered my mouth, stifling the sob that threatened. Because I’m in love with your brother.
“Are you going to say something?” Lucas demanded. “Or are you just going to stand there looking like you’re going to cry? Goddammit.” His fists clenched. “What the fuck is wrong with everyone? I’m back from the dead but everyone’s acting like it’s a fucking funeral!”
With a disgusted shake of his head, Lucas took off down the path, leaving me staring after him, still trying not to cry.
That evening, long after Lucas had gone to bed, I sat awake, staring across the dark room, my fingertips trembling fretfully across the tabletop.
Lucas and I had spoken very little after returning to the cabin. The growing silence between us made worse by our close quarters. Our once effortless camaraderie and easygoing banter had become painfully strained and downright uncomfortable. And I felt physically sick over it.
Sick over Lucas, worried about Logan, unable to sit and stare at Logan’s empty bed for another agonizing second, I jumped to my feet. With one last look at Lucas’s sleeping form, I slipped quietly into the night.
Camp was silent, the ground cool and hard beneath my bare feet. Looping around dark, quiet cabins, and finding no sign of Logan, I checked the construction site next, hoping to discover him hiding out in one of the unfinished buildings, only to find them all empty.
Approaching the main gate, I called up to the guard tower, finding Xavier and Joshua playing cards within. Neither had seen Logan, though they assured me he hadn’t left camp.
Circling back through the cabins, the lake was the last place I looked. As I tiptoed down the weathered, water-worn dock, the boards creaking softly beneath my feet, a figure emerged from behind the boathouse. Shoulders slumped, hands shoved into his pockets, Logan froze when he saw me.
We stood there staring at one another, me wishing desperately to touch him. I swallowed. If things had gone differently, if he’d come home without Lucas, we’d have gone straight to bed. And after, picking back up where we’d left off, bickering and arguing. I was even aching for that—to be fighting with him again.
“You’ve lost weight,” Logan eventually said, his tone flat and lacking his usual gruff condemnation, reminiscent of the cold, detached way he used to speak to me. Speaking in a way that made me want to grab him and shake him and demand that he stop avoiding and ignoring me, treating me as if the months we’d shared together hadn’t happened. As if we hadn’t happened.
“I tried to eat,” I stammered. Everything that I’d wanted to say to him since the day he’d left had fled in the face of his indifference. Indifference I was dying to scrub from his infuriating face and replace it with the hungry look I’d come to crave—the look he wore when he was buried deep inside of me and it still wasn’t enough. Part of me thought that he must have realized this—that he absolutely must sense the desperation bubbling within me, ready to erupt like molten lava and burn us both to dust—because how could he not? How could he not see how my lips trembled, the way my fingers twitched, the way my body bowed toward his?
I took a deep breath and tried again. “I tried to eat, but I was so worried about you. And Britta wouldn’t wake up, and… Logan, why didn’t you warn me about Luke?”
His gaze flicked away. “I should have said something on the radio,” he muttered. “I wanted to, but Luke wanted to surprise you and I couldn’t… I couldn’t—” Logan abruptly cut off, his jaw locked, his nostrils flaring as he tried to compose himself. And there it was—a breathtakingly beautiful flash of anguish across his formidable features and the green light I needed to propel me the remaining distance between us, to send my hands flying to his face and my body crushing against his.
I kissed him carelessly, biting his lips, dragging my teeth down his tongue. Logan growled, a deep guttural rumbling in his chest that echoed in my own, sending shivers up my spine.
“I need you,” I demanded, roughly pulling at his shirt. The buttons popped free, the worn flannel ripping beneath my hands. And then I was tearing at his bare skin, digging my nails into his hard, muscular body. The feel of him, the smell of him, the taste of his skin on my tongue leaving me begging for more.
My back slammed into the boathouse wall, my breath leaving me in a hard rush. Logan unzipped my hoodie, freeing my breasts and tore down my jeans, tossing them away. Then we were kissing again, our mouths fused with heavy, heated breaths, while Logan fought to free himself from the last shred of clothing between us.
My back still flush with the wall, I wound my legs around his hips. Our naked chests pressed together, the hot pulse of him was heavy between my thighs, pushing at my entrance.
“Logan.”
He slammed inside of me. My eyes locked with his, my muscles tensing as breathless, incoherent demands burst past my lips. Harder and faster, he moved until my head rocked loudly against the wall, and my back dragged painfully across the broken wood.
He continued to batter my body with his, each jarring thrust sending me hurtling further into euphoria, soon turning my tense muscles to little more than jelly, until it was all I could do just to hold on to him. My head lolled back, my fluttering gaze blinking languidly to where the moon hung low over the lake, looking fat and full and so beautifully close to bursting—a mirror image of how I was feeling.
My body tensed, my pleasure building. Burying my face in his neck, I let out a muffled cry. I was still whimpering, still flooded with the aftershock of sensation as his thrusts continued to pick up speed, until finally, with a teeth-clenching groan, he slumped against me.
Still breathing hard, Logan slowly lowered me to my feet. I clung to his neck, gazing up at him through hooded eyes. My legs shook, my arms trembled. We kissed slowly, his hands dropping to my hips, his fingertips biting possessively.
The dock creaked loudly. Jerking, Logan and I faced the walkway. Illuminated by the light of the full moon, Lucas stood at the rise, his wide eyes glowing white. “Holy shit,” he rasped, backing slowly away. “Holy fucking shit.”
“Luke.” His name slipped from my lips and his eyes locked with mine, hurt and anger flashing across his frozen features. Then he turned, breaking into a run.
“Luke,” I cried out, shoving Logan back even as he tried to hold me. Clutching my hoodie closed, I grabbed my discarded jeans and took off down the dock. “Luke, wait!”