“Yep.” He shook his head. “If you think your dad’s bad, you should meet Analise. That’s Samantha’s mom. She’s a piece of work.”
I frowned. He wasn’t angry with her; it was all directed at his dad. I wanted to ask more. I wanted to know more, what was hurting him, but I held my tongue. We weren’t—I didn’t know, but I didn’t think we were there. I hadn’t told him my own hauntings, so I had no place asking his.
“Good. The guy’s here.”
A car pulled up next to us. Logan opened his window and leaned over to talk, then a guy got out of the other car and went over to the gate. After a moment, it rattled open for us. He handed something to Logan through the window before getting back in his car. With a short wave, he drove off, and Logan pulled inside.
The buildings were all there, just like I remembered, but they had aged like the houses outside. Paint had peeled. Doors were rotted. Windows. Panels. The foliage had started to grow over things. The ticket booth was encased in a bunch of bushes. Trash blew over the ground.
I was entranced.
“My mom—” My voice hitched on the memory. “—she took me here a lot. Me and Claire. Jason came with us once in seventh grade, but that was it. It closed the summer after that.” I shook my head. “I never heard what happened to it. It’s been empty this whole time?”
Logan pocketed his keys as we got out. “I guess. My dad brought in some people. They cleaned up some of the graffiti.”
The old paintings were still there, but after he said that, I could see where white had been painted over parts of everything. “This is surreal, Logan. I can’t believe your dad owns this place now.”
He snorted. “He’ll build something, and then he’ll probably sell it. He won’t have it for too long.”
“Are the buildings safe to go into?” I started forward, moving past the bumper cars, the arcade, the kissing booth, the haunted house, the animal barn. I remembered everything. A large tiger had been painted on top of the building, but the middle of its face was whited out now.
Logan stopped beside me. “Some asshole painted a cock up there.” He was holding back a grin. I saw his mouth twitch.
“Don’t laugh. That tiger was gorgeous.”
“Sorry. I don’t get sentimental about places anymore.”
“This was part of my childhood.” I couldn’t stop taking everything in. The pink flamingo statue was covered with vines. “How can you not get sentimental about places like this?”
Logan shrugged. “I don’t get attached to places. I was always moving and living in different places in high school.”
“You were?”
He nodded, and suddenly he was the one looking around, and I couldn’t look anywhere but at him. “We were at the house in Fallen Crest when my mom left. I stayed with my aunt and cousins for that summer. Then Sam’s mom moved in, and everything changed. We lived in a hotel for a while, then Nate’s parent’s house. I think we lived somewhere after that too. My mom moved back to town—oh, I was in Paris with her for a month. When she moved back, I went to live with her. Sort of… I felt like I was half living with her and half living at Sam’s house our senior year. I guess that was the last place I lived before going to Cain. And we had a different house my freshman year.”
“That’s a lot of moving around.”
“Like I said…” He raked a hand through his hair, grinning at me. “I don’t get attached to places. I go the opposite.”
“What do you mean?”
“I get attached to people.”
He looked right at me as he said that, and my entire body warmed. I swallowed over a knot in my throat. “Who are you attached to?”
“Nope.” He laughed softly and grabbed my hand.
I held my breath at the touch.
He pulled me forward. “That’s enough reveal talk for now. Come on. I want to show you my favorite place.”
He led me through the rides until we came to the roller coaster. When he started through the gate toward the track, I stopped. “Nope. No way.” I shook my head.
“It’s safe.”
“Doesn’t matter. No way.” I held my hands up and took a step backward. “I escaped death once. I don’t want to revisit that feeling.” Logan’s eyes widened at my words, and I could’ve hit myself. I cringed. “I’m