Perfectly Damaged

Run.

Sweat coats my skin, trailing behind a sheet of goose bumps. My fingers grip the edge of the seat as I stare ahead. I stare and stare, waiting for him to jump out—the person watching me. I can’t see him, but I can feel his eyes penetrating through the trees, across miles of wildlife, through the windshield, and straight into me. He’s waiting for me to step out of the truck.

Run.

“All right, Jersey let’s do this—”

Logan stops midsentence. Shuddering, I slowly turn my head to him. He’s beside me with the door wide open. His eyes cautiously take in the fear in mine. “Are you all right?” he asks.

I’m not. Everything in my stomach is churning, my mind is racing, and my heart stammers in my chest. I’m not all right. I’m scared and though I don’t know the man that I’m afraid of, I can’t help that I am. I don’t want to be anywhere near him.

Logan’s hand finds its way to my cheek. The warmth from the contact instantly soothes me. I lean my face into him, wishing I could shrink and curl into a tiny ball and live in the safe haven that is Logan Reed’s palm for the rest of my life.

“Look at me,” he urges kindly. My eyes flutter open, mesmerized by stormy blues as they fill with concern for me. “We can leave,” he says, acknowledging my discomfort.

You always ruin everything.

Shut up, I tell the voice in my head.

You do! Just because you’ve ruined your own life, doesn’t mean you have to ruin it for everyone else, You’re pathetic…

Straightening my shoulders, I suck in a shaky breath and fight back the urge to burst into tears. As much as I hate the voice, it’s right. I ruin everything for everyone.

Slowly, I shake my head side-to-side. Logan’s brows draw in, “You sure?” I nod. He’s not convinced. “I don’t know, Jersey—”

“I’m fine!” I croak. Clearing my throat, I finally say, “Seriously, I just thought I saw something, that’s all. I’m fine now. I promise.”

Logan stares at me, hyperaware of every bit of my anxiety. He turns his head toward the evil woods. I focus on him, breathing a little heavier than normal. Finally his eyes are back on mine and everything is okay again, if only for a moment. My lips tremble into a shy grin.

“All right, then,” he says. “Let’s get to it.” He reaches his hand out for me. I grab it without hesitation and hop out of his truck.

Logan intertwines his fingers with mine, tightening his grip as he pulls me in closer to him, but our bodies remain inches apart. Using his free hand, he shuts the passenger door behind me.

I take in all of his actions. Even if they mean nothing to him, they mean everything to me. The way his body towers over mine—it makes me feel safe. The way he pulls me in close enough to breathe in the smell of Gain fabric softener lingering on his fresh T-shirt—it sets my senses whirling. The way our bodies touch without actually touching, my chest centimeters from the middle of his stomach—it only intensifies the magnetic pull between us, slowly luring me to him.

I’m falling deeper and deeper into an ocean filled with nothing but emotions for Logan Reed. I’m the anchor sinking to the bottom. Reality is the life vest thrown in to rescue me. But in my life, I don’t want to be rescued from reality. I want to drown in this small world created with Logan. I want to breathe it all in, let it fill me up, and drift away. I don’t care how much it’ll burn or the amount of time I have left before my lungs stop working. I want to just feel this way for as long as I can.

What is this feeling? I have no idea, but I know that it hurts and heals and nurtures all at the same time.

“You see over there?” Logan says, his tone low, almost a whisper, but the words sound loud in my head, pulling me out of this trance I’m in.

Fluttering my eyes open, fighting back the urge to cry—I have no idea why I have this urge, but I do—I lift my chin and meet his gaze. He looks down at me and his forehead wrinkles with worry. Quickly I force a smile, hoping to distract him. “You see over there?” he repeats, his head nudging behind me.

It takes me a moment to work up the courage to look over my shoulder. Farther down, a few feet away from his truck, is a huge wooden, worn-out sign that reads Coven Pocono Nature Trail in bold red, chipped paint.

“Is that where we’re going?” My question comes out soft. I’m not sure he’s heard me until I turn my head back to him.

Wetting his lips, he lets go of his grip on my hand. I’m upset at first because I need his touch. I need the contact. And he gives it to me by bringing both of his hands up to cradle my face.

I’m safe again.

“Jersey Girl,” he whispers and I shut my eyes. Now and forever, I will always love that name. I don’t care how much Charlie makes fun of it; it’s mine. All mine. Logan gave it to me and it will forever be only mine. “We don’t have to go in. I just… I don’t know. I wanted to show you how beautiful it can be. It may look scary and dark on the outside, but on the inside there’s so much more. So much potential, so much room to grow.”

Swallowing back a hiccup lodged in the center of my throat, I meet his gaze and nod.

He smiles.

Logan drops his hands from my face and takes ahold of my hand again. We step forward, side-by-side, toward the entrance of the trail. I lean in closer to him, and my eyes focus on our sneakers crunching against old fallen branches and leaves underfoot.

Logan stops abruptly just before we walk into the trail. “I almost forgot,” he says, slinging the backpack in front of him and catching it between his knees. With his left hand still tangled with mine, he struggles with the zipper using his other hand. Once it’s halfway open, he opens the flap. “Can you grab the camera in there?” he asks me.

Raising my brow in question, I do as he asked, digging my free hand in to remove an all-black, older Canon model camera with the extended lens perfectly intact. It’s sturdy and a bit heavy in my delicate hand, but I keep it secure while Logan zips up the book bag and swings it back into place behind him.

“What’s this for?” I ask.

“We’re going to take photos.”

“Photos?”

“Yep.” He nods. Then he wraps the strap from the camera around my neck. It drops heavily, dangling over my chest.

“Why?”

“You’ll see.” He moves forward, turning to see what’s keeping me in place when I don’t move. His features relax. “Do you trust me?”