Free Last Summer by Rebecca A. Rogers Page A

head.
    “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he goes
on, “but I know if I become attached, you’ll be taken from me.
Like, this is too good to be true.” He takes a few ragged breaths,
and then presses his brow to mine. “Everything I’ve ever cared
about has disappeared from my life. I don’t want the same to happen
with you.”
    “It won’t,” I say, but I can’t make
promises. Truth: he’s right. In a couple of months, I’ll be
leaving, heading back home, and I’m not sure what will happen to
Logan, or us .
    He groans. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Chloe.
I’m serious. I don’t want to lose you. You’re the first good thing
to happen to me in a long, long time.”
    “I wouldn’t lie to you, Logan,” I say. “Not
about something like this.”
    A gleam sparks in his eyes at my response.
He murmurs, “What do we do now? Where do we go from here?”
    “Well, first, we can go back to my place,
where you’ll be staying until we can figure something out. Your
friend’s murderer is still out there, somewhere, and I don’t want
you all alone.”
    His thumb grazes my cheek. “I’m capable of
defending myself.”
    “I didn’t say you weren’t,” I reply, “but I
worry when you’re out here. You need food and a roof over your head
and . . . me.” I blatantly grin.
    “You, huh?”
    “Yes, me.”
    “Yes, you,” he agrees.
    “So it’s settled, then?” I raise my eyebrows
and cross my arms, challenging him to say he can’t stay at my
house.
    He takes the bait. “All right. I’ll sleep in
your closet.”
    After Logan gathers his backpack, we amble
to the lake house. I enter through the sliding glass doors at the
rear, and Logan climbs up to the second floor, to my bedroom
window.
    “I’m going to run to the grocery store
tomorrow. Is there anything you want?” Mom asks as I pass by the
living room on my way upstairs.
    “Uhhh,” I stammer, stepping back one stair,
“nothing I can think of right now. I’ll let you know?”
    She nods. “Oh, and Chloe,” she says,
stopping me again. “I’ve thought about it, and if you want to go to
the police station and file a restraining order, let me know.”
    “Restraining order? For what?”
    “For your father, of course.” She narrows
her eyes. “Why else?”
    I let my shoulders fall. “Mom, I understand
you’re looking out for me, but Dad was drunk. It was a one-time
thing in the eighteen years I’ve been alive, and I just don’t see
him as a threat.”
    She purses her lips. “Fine. But if you
change your mind . . .”
    “I know.”
    She returns to the TV, and I return to my
room, which I haven’t been more excited to see than now. If the
butterflies in my stomach are any indication, then Logan is the
only positive thing to come out of this summer. He may also be the
most destructive.
    I close the bedroom door behind me,
sprinting across my room to flip the latch and open my window.
“Sorry, got sidetracked by my mom.”
    “No worries,” he says, sliding one leg, then
another, through the opening.
    “I’m going to grab some extra sheets and
pillows so you can fix your bed.” I add, “I wish we had an air
mattress.”
    “That’s okay,” says Logan. “This is better
than rotted wooden boards, bugs crawling across my body, and
mustiness.” He smiles genuinely.
    Searching our linen closet in the hallway
upstairs, I find a couple of extra sets of sheets, as well as one
extra pillow—not two like I had hoped for, but it’s better than
nothing. Logan creates his spare bed, while I manage to sneak more
food from the kitchen.
    “I hope you don’t mind,” he says when I
return. He sits on the edge of my bed, flipping through channels on
my television. “It’s just . . . I don’t remember the last time I
watched TV.”
    “Of course I don’t mind. Watch whatever you
want to.”
    He settles down, with his back against the
wall, selecting an action flick. I double check that my bedroom
door is locked, and then curl up next to