Free Last Summer by Rebecca A. Rogers

and over again.
    Reality check, Chloe. This is the real
deal . “You’re not getting it back, and I’m not telling you
where it is. And if you continue to act this way, I’m leaving.” I
stand up, but he grabs my arm, his fingernails digging into my
skin. I try to yank out of his grasp, but he squeezes tighter.
    “Take me to it,” he says, his eyes filling
with more tears, pooling against angry, red rims. “I made a
mistake. Can I please have it back?”
    “No,” I state with finality, then wrench my
arm free of him. I take off running out of the cottage, headed for
my house. I don’t know why I run, other than the fact that he’s
completely off his rocker right now and I’m uncertain what he’s
capable of.
    He catches up, though, snatching me around
my waist and pulling me to the ground. When he flips me over on my
back, I flail and kick, trying to push him off. We wrestle for a
matter of minutes, neither one of us truly gaining control over the
other, until my limbs become weak and strained. I slap him once
across the face and he growls in response, clasping my wrists and
pinning them above my head as he looms over me. This brings back
sore memories of my dad, which are all too recent. Of course, the
experience with my dad never went far, thanks to Mom, but this is
still pretty damn close.
    “Get off!” I scream.
    “Tell. Me. Where. You. Hid. It,” he
articulates through gritted teeth.
    I turn my head away and, pressing my eyes
shut, hold on to a tiny shard of hope that Logan will return to his
former self. “Please stop,” I whisper. “Don’t do this.”
    Logan doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything; he
freezes.
    I roll my head so I look up at him once
more. His eyes fume, like all the anger of the world is seething
behind them, unrestrained.
    “Please, please ,” I plea. “I’m doing
this for your own good, Logan. You have to trust me.”
    Something in him shifts, like he’s finally
aware of his surroundings, aware of me. The fury and wrath I
witnessed just a moment ago is now gone, and is replaced by fright.
“Jesus, Chloe. I’m sorry.” Freeing my wrists, he tugs me into his
arms, onto his lap. I rest my head on his shoulder, and he rubs my
back. “I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t . . . I wasn’t thinking. I’m not me .”
    “I know,” I choke out, letting a tear
descend. For the first time since the incident with my dad, I want
to talk to somebody about how it made me feel, about how it made me
irate. “My dad attacked me the other night, so I sort of . . .
froze up. I thought you might do the same.”
    Logan pushes me backward so he can look at
me. “He fucking attacked you? How?”
    Shaking my head, I glance away. “He was
drunk. I pissed him off. Luckily, my mom was there to stop him.” I
shrug. “And that’s that.”
    “Hell no it’s not. Is that how you got the
bruises on your knees?” His hands immediately slide to the bend in
my legs, lightly brushing his fingertips across my skin, searing my
flesh with his touch. I shiver and close my eyes, savoring the
sensation. “Tell me, damn it!” He literally shakes me out of my
musing.
    Hoarsely, I respond, “Yes.”
    Pressing his lips to my forehead, he makes a
gruff, throaty sound. “I’m sorry that happened to you. If I could
find a way to fix it, if I could knock some sense into him, I’d do
it.”
    I swallow back the burning lump in my
throat. “I’ll be fine. It was just . . . unexpected. He’s never
done something like that before.”
    “Well, he should’ve never crossed the line,
no matter how much he’d been drinking.”
    “If my mom hadn’t been there, I don’t know
what would’ve happened.”
    He pulls me to his chest. “I’m glad she
was.” Wrapping one arm around my waist, he resumes languorous loops
across my back with his fingers. “Do you know what you do to me?”
he whispers against my ear, catching me by surprise.
    My heart speeds up, and my mind isn’t within
reason. So, I shake my