Some Kind of Hell by London Casey Read Free Book Online Page A

Logan,” I said. “Were you okay?”
    “I’m here right now,” Logan said. “So you obviously know the ending to the story.”
    I smiled. “Keep going then.”
    “If things couldn’t get worse, I sort of slipped into a coma.”
    “A coma?”
    “Well, not really a coma... but something like it. I wouldn’t respond. I wouldn’t eat. I was moved to ICU and doctors just said I had to wait it out. Whatever the fuck that meant. But that’s when music took over my life, Annie.”
    “While you were sleeping?”
    “My grandfather,” Logan said.
    Logan sat on the bed and turned the top half of his body to face me. I tried so hard to keep my eyes on his eyes and not his amazing muscles. It occurred to me that Logan may have been one of those guys that didn’t actually realize how hot he was.
    Talk about driving me wild.
    “He came to my room to see me every single day,” Logan said. “My parents worked and never stopped working. My mother was a nurse and my father a lawyer. Kind of sad because it was like a storybook life for me. You know? Nice house. Nice neighborhood. That kind of stuff. But behind the big house and big bedroom and all that shit, it was terrible inside my house. My father drank, my mother took pills, they fought each other - sometimes literally - and sometimes they fought about me. I was... well, I was a mistake...”
    “No,” Annie. “No. Never think that.”
    “Oh, I don’t need to think it,” Logan said. “I was told that my whole life. My parents planned on having kids later but I came and fucked up their plan. And later when they tried to have more kids, they couldn’t. Turned into a big mess and my father ended up leaving and having three kids with another woman.”
    My stomach turned and it had nothing to do with the vodka.
    Logan got it. He understood what I went through. To watch someone walk away and start a new life with the snap of fingers. Just how Jared had.
    “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what else to say.”
    “Nobody said you had to say anything,” Logan said. “That’s long after my hospital stay. Back at the hospital... my grandfather came everyday to be with me. He would tell me stories, read me comics, watch cartoons. I don’t remember the cartoons but I remember him laughing. He had a little whistle in his laugh. Sometimes when he’d really get into it, laughing hard I mean, we would joke and yell, “The tea’s done!”.   He started bringing his guitar to the hospital. He would play for hours, strumming chords, plucking notes, singing songs to me. Granted, he wasn’t the greatest guitar player in the world, but he just kept going and going. I swear to you, Annie, that’s what brought me out of it all. I woke up and slowly started to get better. Two weeks later when I was sent home, my parents asked me if I needed anything.
    I told them a guitar.
    They rushed out and got me one, and that’s where it started. It didn’t take long for them to hate the guitar. They hated the noise. They hated the reminder of my existence. So for Christmas that year I told them - well, I told Santa - that I wanted an electric guitar with an amp... and headphone to plug into the amp so the guitar wouldn’t make noise. It was there Christmas morning for me.”
    “But you play bass for DownCrash,” I said.
    “I play anything I want,” Logan said with a sexy confidence.
    “How did that happen?”
    “I saw an instrument and I picked it up,” he said. “There was a time when my parents would buy me anything to keep me out of their hair. Then I got a few jobs and when I graduated high school, I went to the first college that accepted me. And the rest is sort of history, right?”
    I nodded and reached for Logan. I touched his bare skin. My fingers slid down, feeling the gentle bumps of muscle, down to his wrist, and finally to his hand. His fingers slowly opened and I put my open hand on top of his.
    “There’s more, isn’t there?” I