The Blood That Binds by Madeline Sheehan

 

Logan

Icould hear Lucas yelling halfway across camp, the raging cadence of his shouts causing me to pick up my pace.All over, lights were turning on inside cabins and residents were sticking their heads out their doors to better hear the commotion.

“What the fuck, Willow! What the fuck! You and Logan? Really?”

“Please!” Willow sounded frantic and close to tears. “Please, just listen!”

“Listen? I don’t need to listen to you—I fucking saw you!”

There was a crash followed by a shriek as I was bursting through the door. Willow and Lucas stood on opposite ends of the room—Willow, with tears streaming down her face, Lucas, his face red from fury.The small lamp that had sat on the dresser lay shattered on the floor.

“Perfect,” Lucas growled in my direction. “Now you can both explain to me what it was that I fucking saw.” His hands were curled into fists, his body tight and straining. He didn’t look like my little brother anymore. Without the scruffy beard and long hair, with his easygoing expression replaced with one of barely restrained violence, unease fluttered through me. I knew that face; I’d grown up fearing it.

“Luke, please understand,” Willow cried. “We thought you were dead!”

“That’s your excuse—you thought I was dead so you fucked my brother?”

“It’s not an excuse—it’s the truth! We thought you were gone and we… we…”

“It was me,” I interrupted. “I started it—it was my fault.”

Lucas slapped his hands against his face, a flash of astonishment mixing with fury. “What the fuck—what the fuck, Logan! You hate her! You fucking hate her!”

“I don’t hate her,” I gritted out. “I’ve never hated her.”

Lucas choked over angry laughter, rife with disbelief. “Is this a joke? This is a joke, right? You’re trying to tell me that I haven’t spent half my life stopping you two from killing each other? So what was I doing then—stopping you from fucking each other?”

“Luke!” Willow screamed. “Please stop—please just listen!”

Lucas swung himself in Willow’s direction, snarling, poised as if he might charge her. I went still, ready to dart across the room and tackle him if he as much as flinched in her direction.

“You hated him! And you hated her! And the second I’m gone, you’re all over each other?”

“No, it wasn’t like that!”

“What was it like then? Have you been doing this behind my back the whole time? Was it all a fucking act?” His chest heaving, Lucas grabbed at his short hair, pulling frantically at it.

Willow stepped forward, her hands raised in supplication. “Please just listen. It wasn’t like that—I promise you it wasn’t like that.” Her voice cracked; her eyes filled with fresh tears. “Nothing was an act. Nothing.”

Bitter laughter bubbled past Lucas’s lips. “You used to say how unlucky we were—that, out of all the people in the world, we’d gotten stuck with Logan.” He laughed again, shaking his head in disbelief.

“And you.” Lucas pinned me with a vicious glare, even as he continued to laugh. “Do you remember how many times you’d told me to leave Willow behind? Saying I was better off without her?”

Shame flooded me; I couldn’t even look at Willow. “Luke,” I growled. “Listen to me—”

Lucas’s eyes flashed, his expression sharpening. “Don’t tell me what to do—you don’t get to tell me what to do ever again!”

“I’m not telling you what to do,” I continued through my teeth. “I’m just asking you to hear me out. Can you give me that? You’re my brother and I—”

“You what?” Lucas laughed coldly. “You love me?”

“Yeah,” I ground out. “I fucking do.”

Lucas only stared at me, a dark and sinister smile overtaking his face, a look that had me clenching my fists in response.

“How many times, Logan?” he demanded, his tone as cold as his expression.

I stared at him hard. “How many times… what?”

“How many times did you listen to me and Willow fucking, and wish it was you?”

“Luke!” Willow shouted. “What the fuck—stop it!”

“Did you watch us, too?” Lucas taunted. “Of course you did—you were always staring at her. You were always pissed at her, but you were always staring at her. I should have known—holy shit, I should have realized.”

Lucas stepped toward me, his hate-filled eyes boring holes through mine. “All those years of me having something you didn’t—that killed you. You couldn’t let that stand, could you? Not Lucky fucking Logan, the guy who always gets everything he wants. You had to take the only thing that was ever mine.”

Guilt and anger swarmed me like warring hornets. All these years, I’d kept us safe, clothed and fed, too. AndI’d never asked for a damn thing in return. I’d never even wanted anything for myself. At least, not until now.

“Don’t call me that,” I growled. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

“Oh-no.” Lucas laughed bitterly. “Lucky Logan doesn’t like his nickname anymore?”

“How the fuck was I lucky?” I exploded. “When I had to deal with Dad’s inability to finish a fucking job? When I had to stop him from slapping Mom around? When I had to clean up after him when he passed out drunk? When I had to go to school with black eyes and bruised ribs and play it off like it was no big deal?” I paused and took a breath.

“Or how about when I had to pick up all the pieces after Dad… blew everything to fucking hell?”

It was early evening, though the sky looked the same as it had since morning, the same as it had every day for the last few months—varying shades of gray, not a shred of sunlight to be found. The same went for the bed-and-breakfast itself; without electricity, the only source of light was from the fireplaces—a dull substitute inside these dingy, gaping rooms.

Standing in the entryway of the sitting room, I rubbed my gloved hands together in a vain attempt at keeping warm. The smell of burned plastic clung to the cold room, much like the way the stench of vomit clings to a carpet—bitter and unforgiving. One story up, Willow’s mother was having another coughing fit that echoed through the hallways and down the winding staircases. If I listened hard enough, I knew I’d hear the pitter-patter of Willow’s feet as she rushed to and fro, tending to her mother’s needs. Lucas, I assumed, was with her.

My mother, along with Mrs. Gleason—a soft-spoken elderly woman—sat side by side on the couch, each of them clutching a steaming mug of coffee, Mrs. Gleason muttering beneath her breath. She was always praying these days; as if the power of prayer would get us through the winter. As if the power of prayer could accomplish anything at all.

Just a few yards away, Mackenzie and her mother stood huddled by the fireplace, talking among themselves. Every so often, Mackenzie would glance in my direction, her pretty, pert features furrowing. She was always frowning at me these days; whatever her problem was, I found I didn’t care. The merciless reality of our situation had made not just mine and Mackenzie’s, but all the relationships inside the small bed-and-breakfast, dysfunctional at best. Freezing cold temperatures and not enough food seemed to bring out the worst in people.

As for the rest of our obligatory companions, two impromptu search parties had departed early that morning: one group seeking food while the other searched for medical supplies.

What they thought they’d find, I didn’t know. Willow’s mother had been sick since early fall, and we’d exhausted every option available and yet her health continued to decline. At first, it was thought that she might have a lingering case of pneumonia, although lately I’d heard the term “lung cancer” bandied about. Not that an exact diagnosis mattered at this point; in this world, a world where doctors were suddenly in short supply, I assumed either illness would kill her.

The front door opened; three men blew in alongside a frigid breeze. Willow’s father—the first to enter—tracked snow across the room as he came to stand by the fireplace. Gripping the brick overhang, he stared into the flames until his shivering had subsided. The utterly dejected look on his face told me everything I needed to know—the search for medicine had been a failure.

“Find any food?” Mackenzie’s mother asked, as her husband joined her at the fireplace. The man shook his head solemnly, snow falling from where it clung to his thick eyebrows and beard.

“I’m going to check on my girls,” Willow’s father muttered. Still wearing his heavy winter gear, he padded slowly across the room, tracking water in his wake. From the couch, my mother watched him ascend the stairs, a look of pity pinching her features.

“She’s not going to last the winter,” Mrs. Gleason whispered to her coffee.

“Neither are we,” Mr. Hart added miserably. “There’s nothing left here—we’ve got to move on.” The former art teacher at the local middle school had twisted his ankle early on and still had yet to get full mobility back. Doing nothing was making him bitter.

“Be quiet!” My mother hushed, gesturing at the staircase. “Don’t let the kids hear you talk like that.”

Lucas and Willow, shoulder to shoulder, were traipsing noisily down the stairs. At sixteen years old, they could hardly be considered kids, yet everyone continued to treat them as such.

“Come sit down, Luke. Willow, you too—sit down right here where it’s warm.” My mother got to her feet, gesturing for them to take her place on the couch. “I think I’ll head upstairs and lie down. The coffee hasn’t helped at all.” Tucking her blanket over Lucas and Willow’s laps, she disappeared quietly up the stairs.

Eventually, the door opened again, another cold blast of air whipping through the house as the second search party tumbled inside, my father at the helm. “We got lucky at the Five & Dime out in Friendship.” Jeffrey Gleason, Mrs. Gleason’s adult grandson, set down a heavy-looking pack. “Lots of canned goods—enough for everyone.”

Excitement spread through the group as everyone gathered to view the findings, while my father backed away from the others. Rummaging through his knapsack, he produced a half-empty bottle, its black and red label revealing its contents as vodka. Still dressed in heavy winter wear, he unscrewed the cap and took several healthy swigs before replacing the cap. As his stormy gaze raked the room, I took a quick step back, falling just out of sight.

“Where’s my wife?” he demanded.

No one answered him—everyone was busy sorting through the pilfered goods that now lay scattered across the floor. Scowling, my father stormed up behind Lucas, gripping the back of his neck, dragging him away from the others. “Did you hear me, boy? I said—where’s your mother?”

Willow stood up abruptly, watching with a worried expression. Meanwhile, Lucas had gone still.

“Hey, idiot—I asked you where your mother is.” He shook Lucas roughly. “All them goddamn holes in your face must be causin’ your brains to fall out.”

The others began to scatter. Throwing sympathetic glances in Lucas’s direction, some hurried toward the stairs, while others made their way to the kitchen. No one wanted to be around my father—especially when he was drinking.

“I-I don’t know, sir,” Lucas stammered.

He released Lucas with a shove, sending him scrambling to where Willow waited for him. Clasping hands, they backed away slowly.

“Logan!” he shouted, between more swigs of vodka. “Where the fuck you at, boy? You better get your ass over here ‘fore I—”

With a heavy breath, I stepped inside the room. Our eyes met—his narrowed into slits, mine carefully blank.

“Creepy little shit,” he snarled. “You’re gonna get yourself shot, you hear me? You keep sneakin’ up on people, you’re gonna wind up on the wrong end of a gun.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied coolly. There was no talking to him, no engaging with him, and definitely no arguing with him. Whatever he said, no matter how ridiculous, no matter how ignorant, I simply agreed.

“Where’s your mother?” he continued. “She sleepin’ again—off takin’ goddamn naps while I’m out huntin’ down food for us all?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“I don’t know—I don’t know,” he mimicked, the scent of alcohol on his breath washing over me and making me nauseous. “Neither of you know nothin’, huh? Two shit-for-brains for kids—how’d I get so fuckin’ lucky?”

“I’ll go look for her,” I offered, moving toward the stairs.

“You’ll stay fuckin’ put!” he thundered, knocking me back with a fist to my chest. “I’ll go get her—she’s my goddamn wife.” Shoving his bottle at me, he started shedding his winter gear.

“Clean this shit up,” he demanded, waving at the pile of wet clothing. Snatching his bottle back, he turned to the stairs.

One, two, three…

As his heavy steps ascended the old staircase, I began counting silently—knowing the fighting would start before I’d reach ten. It always started before ten.

Four, five, six…

And once the fighting began, it would be my responsibility to end it. No one else was going to willingly pry my father off my mother, and, in turn, get the shit kicked out of them for daring to interfere.

Seven, eight, nine…

“Logan?” Lucas whispered.

The sound of a door slamming echoed throughout the house. Heavy footsteps pounded the halls above us. Another door slammed, followed by muffled shouts.

“Do you think we should go up—” Willow began, her words cut off by the blast of a gun. Frightened, frantic screaming followed. Another gunshot, and more screaming, and then the screaming abruptly stopped.

Lucas and Willow’s gazes swung in my direction, wide-eyed and full of fear; I was already in motion, charging up the stairs. Mrs. Gleason, helped along by her grandson, nearly crashed into me as they hurried past me, their expressions stricken.

I paused at the top of the staircase; a hint of sulfur hung in the air, along with the acrid scent of burning. There was a muffled thump in the distance, growing louder as I raced toward the noise. Turning into the last room on the left, I stopped dead.

I saw the gun first—my father’s large caliber handgun, lying unattended in the center of the room. Mere inches from the gun was Willow’s dad, sprawled across the floor, his wide, unblinking eyes staring straight through me. There was a hole in the center of his forehead and another in his cheek, thin trails of blood dripping from each.

Across the room, my father was straddling my mother, his considerable weight dwarfing her small frame. His large hands were wrapped around her neck, shaking her violently, bashing her head into the floor, a pool of red growing beneath her.

“Cheating… whore…” he ground out. “Goddamn… whore…”

I charged him. Barreling into his side, I sent us crashing across the room. We rolled wildly, him grabbing at my face, me hooking my fist into his rib cage, each of us struggling to gain the upper hand.

His jagged fingernails scored my cheek, and as I flinched away, he gripped my throat. My air supply abruptly cut off, he flipped us, smashing my head into the floor, all the while squeezing my throat tighter. Everything went blurry and then black. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t see, and then—

A series of explosions punched through my quickly clouding thoughts. Pop-pop-pop—one after the other, their shrill echoes rang painfully between my ears. The grip on my neck loosened, the weight on my middle fell away; my hands went for my neck as I began to sputter and cough, gasping for air.

Blinking through blurry eyes, I found Willow standing over me. Frozen in place, her arms were outstretched, my father’s gun trembling in her grip, a trail of smoke rising from the barrel. Behind her, Lucas stood in the doorway, gripping the doorframe as if he might fall.

And behind me was my father.

He lay on his side, his eyes wide and bulging, blood dribbling past his lips and down his chin. Gripping his chest with one hand, he took one last wheezing breath before falling still.

“And here we are again,” Lucas seethed, nostrils flaring. “Like mother, like son, right?”

At the mention of our mother, my entire body revolted with rage. None of us knew what my father had walked in on. We could surmise all we wanted—maybe they’d been having an affair, or maybe they’d been friends, merely seeking comfort in each other. We would never know the truth—they’d taken that knowledge to the grave.

“And who are you in this supposed scenario, Luke?” I shouted, my voice cracking alongside the casket of memories being unearthed. “Are you Dad?”

“Do you want me to be? That’s what you need, huh—me to be the bad guy so you can justify what you’ve been doing?” Lucas’s angry gaze flicked to Willow. “What you’ve both been doing.”

Willow’s breath shuddered from her lungs. “I’m sorry,” she gasped through her tears. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Oh, you’re going to cry now?” Lucas sneered. “You were my girlfriend, my best friend, and then the second I’m gone, you’re fucking my brother—and now you’re gonna cry.”

“You were right about her, Logan,” he snarled in my direction. “She is a stupid bitch and I do deserve better.”

Once I’d recovered from the shock of hearing Lucas—good, kind, softhearted Lucas—speaking to Willow the same way our piece-of-shit father had spoken to our mother, I jumped between them. “Don’t you dare,” I growled at Lucas. “Don’t you fucking dare. You come at me all you want, but if you come at her—”

“You’ll what?” Lucas shouted, slamming his hands into my chest, shoving me back. I blinked in surprise, shocked by his strength. “You’ll leave me for dead and start fucking my girlfriend? Oh, wait a minute… ”

Gripping his shirt collar, I yanked him to me. “That’s not what fucking happened!”

“Fuck you!” Lucas spat, his fist slamming into my gut. I folded over, the air whistling from my lungs in a hard rush. I recovered fast, shooting upright, tackling him, trying to wrestle him to the ground. As we fought for control, we crashed around the room, knocking into furniture and nearly knocking over Willow. Lucas had grown stronger during our time apart, leaving us more evenly matched than we’d ever been.

While I struggled to subdue him, Lucas sent another heavy fist to my middle. Groaning, I staggered backward, Lucas rushing me before I could right myself, ramming his elbow into my ribs and sending me slamming into the wall. I watched in what felt like slow motion as his hand barreled toward my face. My head hit the wood, pain erupting in my cheek and jaw. Dazed, with warm blood pooling in my mouth, Lucas gripped my shirt, yanking me to him.

“Stop it!” Willow screamed. “Lucas, no!”

I saw glimpses of Willow as she rushed around Lucas, grabbing at his arms in a vain attempt to pull him off me. With a frustrated shout, Lucas released me and spun away, shoving Willow in the chest and sending her flying across the room. Arms pinwheeling, she tripped backward over the seat of a chair, falling into the table beyond; the hard thump of her head hitting wood echoing throughout the room.

For a moment, I could only stare in horror, a thousand similar memories paving the way to my rage. And then I was roaring at the top of my lungs, charging Lucas, tackling him to the floor. Scrambling over top of him, I grabbed his collar and sent my fist into his face.

“Don’t touch her!” I thundered. “Don’t you ever fucking touch her!”

“Logan.” Willow was on her knees, her hand pressed to her forehead, blood running down the side of her face. “I’m okay. Please… both of you… stop.”

Lucas was motionless beneath me. Staring up at me, his eyes wide, his skin pale, he began to tremble. “I didn’t—I wouldn’t,” he mumbled, stumbling over his words. His eyes filled with tears just as the cabin door flew open, Joshua and Joe bursting inside.

“Jesus Christ.” Joe kneeled beside Willow. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” she rasped. “Just make them stop… please.”

Joshua’s eyes met mine, dropping to where I still held Lucas in my grip. Releasing him, I staggered back, crashing against the wall. Lucas pushed himself up, his hand rubbing his jaw.

“Joe, get her out of here.” Joshua jerked his thumb toward the door. “I’ll deal with these two.”

I wanted to argue with him. I wanted to go to Willow and take her in my arms and see for myself that she was alright. But I couldn’t seem to move, let alone speak; frozen in place, I could only stare at the remnants of the colossal mess I’d made.