Page 98 of Exposing Colorado

A wet laugh bursts out of me, and I wipe my cheeks on the back of my hand. “God, he's such a fucking nerd.”

We fall into silence again, but this time it feels softer. I keep my gaze on Logan’s chest, proof that he's still here with me, still breathing.

“Do you really think he's in there?” Taylor asks gently.

I nod, leaning down to brush my lips over Logan’s jaw. “Yeah. I do.”

And I’ll wait. However long it takes.

Because when he opens his eyes, I want mine to be the first thing he sees.

Chapter

Thirty-Eight

Devon

Someone put glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling.

They’re uneven. Crooked. Random, like whoever stuck them up there got bored halfway through and said,“Fuck it.”

Ironic, honestly.

No matter how hard I avoid those fuckers, the stars still find me. Every goddamn time.

My ribs ache like hell. The pills stopped working, but I chase them down with a swig of good ol’ Jack as I stare up at those cheap plastic constellations. The liquor burns my throat, settling heavy in my gut. A leaky faucet echoes from the motel bathroom. Something small scurries over my bare leg, but I don't even twitch. Nothing scares me anymore.

I've befriended the unwanted creatures of the world. I'm one of them, after all.

Thumping on the door interrupts my thoughts, but I ignore it and take another swig off the bottle. Probably just Arnie, the sleazy guy who owns this place, looking for his money. I'll have it tomorrow when I can sling another gram of coke for him.

The banging continues, louder this time, more insistent. My head swims from all the liquor. Jesus, when was the last time I ate something? Two, three days ago? The hours are blurring together.

I groan and throw an arm over my face, intending to tell the guy to fuck off. Before I can even open my mouth, the door bursts open with a violent crack of wood and metal.

“What the fuck⁠—”

“Pinche culero!” Christian storms in like a hurricane, launching at me with blazing hazel eyes. He yanks the bottle out of my hand and shatters it against the wall, amber liquid bleeding down the cracked plaster.

“Jesus, Christian⁠—”

“Don’t Jesus me!” he shouts, hauling me to my feet by my throat. “You disappear, don’t answer your fucking phone, and this is where I find you? Halfway dead in some roach motel?”

I attempt to weakly bat his hands away but my balance is shit. “Well, you found me. Congrats. Now get the fuck out.”

His nostrils flare as he shoves me back onto the bed. Those pretty eyes sweep over my room, observing the mess. Empty liquor bottles cover the dresser, empty packs of smokes and chip bags from the gas station litter the floor. And yeah, remnants of the last line I snorted dust the table. I'm in fucking pain, okay?

“So what, hot shot, you come to finish the job?” I sneer, pointing at my face. The last time we saw each other, he was pounding into me, and not the good kind. Ever fight off a chick's boyfriend with your dick out? Condom still wet from her pussy? Definitely a new low for me, and that's saying something.

Christian’s jaw clenches as he studies the bruises still fading on my body. “You really think I came here to kick your ass more? I came because I was worried, pendejo. No one’s heard from you in a month.”

Fuck, he looks good all pissed off. His inked arms are crossed over a tank top, hair tied up away from his face. Kinda wish I could drop to my knees and suck him off again.

A bitter laugh escapes my throbbing lungs. “Worried, huh? Thought maybe you were just pissed that your toy got too fucked up to play with.”

He towers over me and snarls. “You weren't a toy, motherfucker.”

“Oh, come on.” I push off the bed to get in his face. “Don’t lie to me. Not now. Just for the tour, remember?”