Read Online Last Summer by Rebecca A. Rogers - Free Book Online Page B

she’d lay them on my bed. I’ve never
forgotten their aroma—warm and clean, inviting me to put them on
and never take them off.
    It’s the same way now.
    Dressing in my T-shirt, boxers, and jeans, I
then throw the used towel in Chloe’s laundry hamper. “Well,” I say,
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”
    “If that’s what you want.”
    “It is.” For now, but you’ll be thinking
otherwise when you don’t have any H left in your system, my
mind adds.
    Climbing out the way I came in, I reach
ground level and glance back up at Chloe. She smiles and waves. Not
the same smile I want to see on her face, but it’s a smile. Walking
back to the cottage, past the overgrown brush and underneath the
sun’s heated gaze, I secretly wish I agreed to sleep in her
closet.

 
     
     
    Nine • Chloe
     
     
    O n my jog over to
the cottage, the sun already blazes on my face and arms, and the
tourists and locals are taking advantage of this fact by hanging
out on the river. Two people zip across the water on jet skis,
spraying anyone within range. A third person on a jet ski has an
inner tube attached, with a girl lounging in it.
    “Ready?” I hear the man call to the girl in
the oversized, black donut.
    “Ready!” she replies, followed by a screech
of anticipation.
    The man takes off slowly, but eventually
increases his speed, and the girl in the inner tube screams as they
whiz down the lake. I grin and shake my head. Must be nice, having
the luxury of spending all day on the water. I had hoped my parents
would take our boat out one last time, but that’s obviously not
going to happen. I’m sure Dad will sell it once their divorce is
finalized.
    As I enter the cottage, I notice Logan is
curled up in his usual corner, sweating profusely, hugging his
knees to his chest.
    “Oh, my God. Logan? Logan!” His eyes stare
past me, to nothing. Racing to him, and careful to avoid any holes
in the floor, I shove him a little, just to see if he responds. As
if he’s caught in slow motion, he lifts one fist, turns it palm up,
and unwraps his clenched fingers.
    “Take it,” he says in a gust. “Take it and
bury it somewhere so I’ll never find it.”
    I glance at the objects: two needles, a bag
of I-don’t-want-to-know-what’s-in-there, a spoon, and a pipe. All
items are protected with balled-up newspaper scraps, like a
cushion, and placed in a plastic sandwich bag.
    He’s handing over his stash! Step one
is complete. I snatch the bag from him and take off toward the
woods by the cottage. Without tools to dig a hole, I’ll have to use
my fingers. It’ll be worth it, though, especially if this means
Logan is forever freed from his drug addiction.
    I run and run and run until I’m completely
out of breath. Just in case he changes his mind and decides to
follow me, I need to hurry. There are so many trees that I don’t
know if I’ll ever find my way back; they all look the same. I pick
one, squatting down at its base and raking the soil with my
fingertips. The further I tunnel into the ground, the harder and
more compact the dirt becomes, which slows me down. I need Logan’s
stuff to be buried forever, not someplace where hikers or a
passerby will stumble across it.
    Finishing up, I pack the dirt, throw a few
twigs and leaves on top, and begin walking back to the cottage. I’m
worried about Logan. I’ve never seen him look like that; it must be
a side effect, or he’s beginning withdrawal.
    He’s crying when I return. So much so, his
cheeks are shiny from the amount of tears staining them.
    “Oh, sweetie.” I sit down, pressing my hand
to his forehead. He’s burning up with a fever.
    “Why’d you take it, Chloe? Why?” he begs and
scorns simultaneously. “You shouldn’t have taken it; you should’ve
left it alone.”
    “What good would that have done?”
    “I want it baaaaaack!” he screams.
Violently, he shakes his head, his shaggy hair slinging back and
forth. “Back, back, back,” he repeats over