Linus joins me as I walk down the hallway and when he opens his mouth, I cut him off. “Say something smart-ass and I’ll fucking kick your ass in this hospital so badly that a ventilator won’t help you breathe again.”

This time, his lips do twitch up. “Welcome back, Abby. We’ve missed you over the last few months.”

Linus reaches the elevator first and pushes the down button. How fitting. I bet he has a key that leads straight to hell.

“That sad show mean you’re on board?” Linus asks.

“I’ve cut them off,” I answer. “I’ve cut them all off. Whatever part Ricky wants me to play, I’m in. That is as long as you kept your end of the deal.”

Linus studies the bunny like he’s never seen one before, which he probably hasn’t, along with joy, happiness, and laugher. “Last time I talked to Logan, he seemed dead set on protecting you.”

And I’m dead set on protecting him. “I kissed him before I was shot and a few hours ago I told him he could pick me up. Now I’m leaving with you. Know many guys who would be okay with that?”

“That’s mean.”

I know. “Isn’t that what you wanted from me? Mozart in the form of a seventeen-year-old girl?”

He raises his eyebrows in approval. “Yes.”

The elevator dings, the doors open, and he and I walk in. My bunny still clasped to my side. The doors close and as we begin our descent down, Linus speaks the words I long to hear. “I told Ricky I was the one who saw the shooter. Logan’s in the clear. As far as anyone else is concerned, your boy took you from my arms near the entrance to the alley. He never saw a thing.”

The breath I release is shaky. So this is how it feels to officially sell what’s left of my soul. “What did you tell Ricky? What did you tell him you saw?”

“Same thing your boy told you. I fingered the two that Logan saw running from the alley and then gave the same vague description of the shooter. Ricky’s buying that it was too dark for me to distinguish. Your boy wouldn’t have told you about the two guys if he knew you’d come running to me with that info.”

Linus is right, but I saw an opportunity to protect Logan and I grabbed onto it like a life raft after the Titanic sank.

“Problem with your plan is that I still don’t know who shot you.”

He’s right again and a part of me wishes that whoever attempted to take me out will try again and this time succeed. I never knew I could hurt so much. The type where your whole body pulsates with the pain. “Last I heard, your job with Ricky meant keeping him and his dealers safe. You have a job to do, do it, and I’ll continue to do mine.”

Whatever Ricky has planned for me is huge because as Linus explained to me last night, he was recently placed in charge of my protection. “Yes, ma’am.”

The numbers continue to go down. Three. Two. One.

Before the doors have a chance to open, I push the button to keep the doors closed. Linus says nothing as he regards me with bored curiosity.

I breathe in once then exhale, desperate for the uncaring cold that will help me exist in this new mode of dealing. That will help me be numb to walking away from all my friendships...from walking away from Logan.

Being around Logan was like a hot bath after a cold day, warm sunshine through a window, velvet and silk against skin. It was a strong hand over terrified fingers. A stuffed bunny being held during a restless night. It was wonderful and freeing and losing it is awful.

Another sharp exhale to mask the quick ache in my heart and I release the doors and leave the elevator to enter hell.

Logan

Practicing with a band is nowhere close to the high of being onstage. It’s a lot of playing the same chords repeatedly, listening to the lead singer argue with the bass player and drummer over what songs they should play or who was off beat.

It’s a lot of routine and control. Not what I craved.

The rest of the guys in the band aren’t arguing now. They’re messing with a cover we’re doing. Attempting to make a pop song heavy metal. It’s a cool idea. One they’re into and one I’ll play once they figure out the arrangement.

We’re in the basement of the singer’s house. The walls are paneled, making the acoustics horrible. A flash of sunlight as the door to the top of the stairs opens. Sly ducks so he doesn’t slam his head on the way down and then straightens when he steps onto the tiled floor.

The guys greet him with fist bumps and a quick hug. Sly used to play with them, when he was my age, when they were in high school together, but then his talents got better. He outperformed them, outgrew them, and in the end moved on to another band, but these guys are still his brothers.

He walks over to me and I set my guitar back in its case. “How was the tour?”

“Fucking awesome.” Sly grins from ear to ear. “Girls, beer, music, and the open road. Doesn’t get much better than that.”

He opens a small fridge on the other side of a short bar, pops open a longneck, and jacks his thumb to the open door. “Want anything? They got water in there.”

I shake my head no.

“How’s the band?”

When I don’t answer immediately, he chuckles. “They still suck?”

I crack a grin along with him. “No more than me. Thanks for setting me up with this.”

“No problem. This is a good group for you to see if playing really interests you.” From the other side of the bar, Sly leans over to me. “I talked to your mom last week. She filled me in.”