by Jay McLean
She'd gotten even hotter, if at all possible. Her heels just helped show off her legs. Her goddamn legs. She didn't wear heels that often when we were together, but when she did, it drove me crazy. I wonder if I’d ever told her that. I should have told her a lot of things, and more often.
Like the fact that I loved her.
Or the fact that I still love her.
I stopped walking, turned to face her, and waited for her to catch up. "Sorry," I told her. "I shouldn't have turned my back on you." I watched as her steps faltered.
Fuck. Nice choice of words, asshole.
We walked half a block until we were at a baseball field. She led the way to a swing-set, and sat down. I did the same, sitting opposite, so we were face to face. She smiled at me, but it was off—it didn't reach her eyes. Her legs pushed off the ground only enough so that they straightened. Her eyes focused on the dirt underneath us.
Her arms were still crossed with her hands tucked under them. She must've been cold. I pulled the full can of beer out of my sweater pocket and shrugged out of it, stood up, and then placed it around her shoulders.
"Oh," she said surprised. "You don't have to do that."
I sat back on the swing. "It's fine."
She put her arms through the holes and zipped it up. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
8
Amanda
Being in his sweater was a bad idea. I could smell him all around me. I let it control me for a second, but only a second, before I got my bearings back.
I looked at our surroundings. It was so dark, the only light coming from the moon and the one street lamp lighting part of the field.
Of course we'd end up at a baseball field. I laughed under my breath. "Do you miss it?" I asked him, jerking my head towards the field
"Of course I do, Amanda. Every day." His words were rushed. It surprised me. It must've shown in my expression because his eyes went huge, and then looked towards the field. "Oh," he said. "You mean baseball? Um. Yes, I guess. Not really, no. I mean . . . I don't know," he rambled under his breath, and then shook his hand out a couple of times before he examined it again.
Something was wrong.
"Logan, are you okay?" I stopped swinging and faced him.
"Yes." His voice was hoarse.
"You keep looking at your hand."
He focused on it again. I followed his gaze. "It won't stop shaking," he said.
I watched as his fingers trembled. He flexed them a few times. "Why?"
He laughed once. "You make me nervous," he stated. "You've always made me nervous." He looked up, his gaze intense. "I guess nothing's changed."
I looked away. I felt myself coming undone, and I couldn't have that. "Everything's changed," I told him.
It was the truth.
Then we just sat there, in the deafening silence of our own thoughts.
After a while, I stood up. I didn't know why, but sitting there with him was too much. It was too hard. But it was also too easy—it shouldn't be easy.
He stood, too. "I wrote you."
I sucked in a breath. "I know. I got it."
He just nodded and looked away. I didn't think it was necessary to tell him I kept it in my handbag and carried it everywhere.
"Look . . ." he said, his hands going in his pockets. "Can we just talk for a bit? I know that I'm the last person on earth you wanna be seeing, but I don't want this to be awkward, and I know that I have no right to ask anything from you, at all, but I don't know . . ." He shrugged, "it would just mean a lot, if you could just talk to me . . . for a bit . . ."
He took my hand in his and placed it flat against his heart. I could feel it pounding against my palm. He ducked his head so he could look clearly into my eyes. "Please, Amanda," he pleaded.
He covered my hand with his and placed the other on the side of my face.
I stopped breathing. All I could hear was the blood pumping in my ears.
Thump, thump, I felt against his chest.
His mouth parted, but he didn't move. His eyes stayed focused on mine. He rubbed his thumb against my cheek. "Please," he said again.
"Okay." I nodded.
"Yeah?" His features brightened.
I couldn't help the smile that formed. "Sure."
He led me onto the field and stopped in the middle, never once releasing my hand. Lying down, flat on his back, he tugged my hand until I was down on the ground. I sat next to him, and waited, but he just looked up at the stars and stayed silent. Then, finally, "You hate me, don't you?"
I tried to silence my gasp, but I don't know if it worked. "I want to," I told him truthfully. "I mean—how could I not, right?"
His eyes finally left the stars and focused on me.
He waited for me to continue, so I did. "There's so many reasons why I should hate you, but I can't, Logan." I swallowed the knot in my throat. "I can't hate you," I repeated. "But I can't feel anything else for you."
Lie.
He sniffed once and nodded, looking back at the stars. "So I take it you’re still at UNC?"
My body relaxed. I could do this. We could talk. "Yup."
"Still childcare?"
My eyebrows pinched. "No, um, I changed majors."
He sat up, a smile taking over his face. "Really? To what? Nursing?"
"You don't know?" He had to know.
He shook his head. "No," he laughed out. "Why would I know?"
"Your dad didn't tell you?"
"What? Why would my dad tell me?" He sat up straighter, and turned his entire body to face me.
I got more confused. "Wait. Your dad knows you're home, right?"
He laughed again. "Yes, of course he knows I'm home. What are you talking about?"
"Huh."
"Huh?" he asked. "What does 'huh' mean?" He bit his lip, but his smile still came through, causing his beautiful damn dimples to appear.
I sucked in a breath. "I don't know . . ." I started to mock, playing along with his amused tone. "If he didn't tell you . . ."
He threw his head back and made a frustrated sound. "Wait." All of a sudden he turned serious. "You haven't started dating my dad have you?"
"Ew!" I squealed, pushing on his chest. He fell back on the ground, laughing. "That's just wrong."
"I know." He actually sounded relieved. "You don't need to tell me that."
I couldn't help but laugh. "You're such an idiot."
"I know. You don't need to tell me that, either."
Then it was quiet for a beat.
"So?" He raised his eyebrows. "What's your major, and what does Dad have to do with it?"
I tried to pick my words carefully. It wasn't just about my major, or his dad. It was about him, too, but he didn't need to know that. "Your dad helped me decide, I guess. I've switched to psychology."
His lips turned up at the corners. His expression was one I knew well; pride. It made my heart hurt. I swallowed, wary of his reaction. "I want to focus on children's services. I want to work with neglected and um . . ." I paused to take a breath. ". . . abused kids."
He sat up, resting his weight on his arms behind him. "Huh." His eyes were unfocused, staring into the distance. He pulled his knees up and settled his elbows on them. "That's great, Amanda." He tilted his head to face me. "You're going to be amazing."
Yeah, I thought. We could've been amazing together.
"So." He nudged my side, trying to lighten the mood. "How did my dad help you decide?"
"I think I may have said too much already. Maybe you need to ask him that one."
He chuckled. "Okay then . . ."
We both started to speak at the same time, but he held his hand out towards me. "Ladies first," he said.
"How long have you been back?"
"A couple weeks."
"So everyone knows you're here?"
"Nope, just Dad, and now you."
"Why?"
"I don't know." He shrugged. "You know Micky, she'd throw a party."
I laughed. She would.
"I just want to lay low for a bit, have time to get my shit together." He lay back down on the grass and linked his fingers behind his head.
And that's when I saw it—words tattooed on the inside of his bicep. My fingers moved on their own, lifting his sleeve so I could read it.
His entire body stiffened when my skin made contact with his. "Sorry," I whispered, but didn't remove my hand. Tilting my head to read the script easier, I said the words out loud, "Transit umbra, lux permanet . . ." I looked at him, confused.
He raised his hand to move my hair behind my ear.
Thump. Thump.
Logan
Her phone sounded, interrupting us. ‘Hey There Delilah’ played.
Tyson.
I watched her face light up. She excused herself and reached for her phone. "Tyson," she greeted. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"
She waited for a response, and then a slow laugh built up. "I was just at a party, you know Twiggy . . . uh-huh . . . Yeah."
She paused, eyeing me with a seriousness I hadn't expected. "No, nothing exciting, I'm actually just heading home now." She got to her feet. "Skype me tomorrow, okay?"
I came to a stand. She fidgeted with the hem of my hoodie; it was longer than the dress she wore. "Yeah," she said quietly, looking away from me. "I love you, too."
For the second time that night, my stomach hit the floor.
She loved Tyson.
She placed the phone in her bag then looked up at me and smiled. "You'll never guess what Tyson's doing now."
Like I fucking gave a shit. "Oh yeah?" I faked. "What's he doing?" Apart from banging the girl I'm in love with?
"He's on a world tour." She sounded so proud; it kind of made me sick. "Guess who with?"
"Who?"
She started walking back to the party. "John Mayer."
I choked on air. "No way?"
She nodded enthusiastically.
"So, that must be hard, you guys dating, and him all over the place."
"What?" she huffed. "We're not dating."
"But you told him you loved him?"
"I do love him." She shrugged, and started walking faster.
Amanda
I don't know why I openly announced that I loved Tyson. Maybe it was because I wanted to see his reaction. Maybe deep down I wanted him to hurt.
The second the words were out of my mouth, it seemed like a light switched off inside him. His eyes dimmed, his features flattened.
I walked faster away from him. I couldn't stand to see it. His pain would still cause my heart to break, and I didn't need that.
I didn't deserve that.
The walk back to my car seemed to take forever. I made the mistake of moving closer to him when a bunch of guys started walking towards us. The self-defense classes had helped, not just my confidence in unknown situations, but also the immediate panic I would get when faced with the slightest of threats. I felt his body stiffen next to me, and then slowly, and carefully, he placed his arm around my shoulders, bringing me even closer to him. As soon as I felt safe, I shrugged out of his hold. I didn't want to mess with his head. I didn't want him to think it was okay to do stuff like that, to feel the need to protect me, or whatever.
"So, this is me." I unlocked the car, opened the door, and threw my handbag in.
He stood in front me, nodding slowly. "Is this—I mean—this is the one they picked?"
"Ha! You mean the one you bought me?" The words came out harsher than intended.
He must've noticed because he didn't respond, just moved around me, stuck his head in the car and looked around. "So, it's good?" he asked. "I mean, it doesn't break down and shit? It's safe, right?"
He pulled back and waited for my response.
At the word safe, something in me shifted. "Yeah, Logan." I started to unzip his hoodie. "It's safe."
He raised his hands as if to stop me. "Keep it," he said. His single dimple half-smile appeared. "Give it back the next time I see you." It came out as a question.
I continued to shrug out of it and handed it to him.
His expression changed immediately, and sadness washed over him. He took it from my hands, cleared his throat and nodded, as if understanding an unspoken word that lingered between us.
"It was really good seeing you, Logan. I'm glad we did this. I'm glad you're . . . safe."
His lips thinned to a line. He didn't speak, just nodded.
I turned to get in my car, but his hand on my arm stopped me. He spun me to face him and before I knew it, his arms were around me and our bodies were locked.
His hard chest was against mine, one hand on my back, the other in my hair. I could feel the heat of his breath against my shoulder.
"Amanda," he whispered, and then he slowly sucked in a breath.
Without realizing, my hands came up to rest flat on his back. I felt his fingers curl into me, holding me tighter. I shut my eyes and let myself have this moment, this last moment with me in his arms. I wanted to remember this, savor it, drown in it. I swallowed the lump in my throat and pushed back the tears.
And that's how we stayed.
It could've been hours, it could've been seconds—it didn't matter. Time didn't exist.
We pulled back simultaneously. He sniffed once, and wiped his eyes quickly. Then his red-stained eyes met mine with an intensity that knocked me back a step. He leaned forward, wet his lips and placed them on my forehead. It was warm, and soft, and everything I remembered from the past. He cupped my cheek and pulled back slightly, but not enough that I could see him. Then I heard him speak, his voice low, but clear, "Goodbye, pretty girl."
He stepped back, turned around and walked away.
And I watched him.
I got in my car, put it into gear, pulled away from the curb, turned a corner, parked on the side of the road, and let it out.
All of it.
I love him.
I still fucking love him.
I couldn't control the sobs that shook my body. I'd cried for Logan in the past, but I didn't cry for Logan in the present, or in the future. And now he was here.
I would not let him break me.
After a few minutes, I tried to regain control of myself. I pulled out my phone to message Ethan, and let him know I was fine. He was okay with me having more freedom, as long as he knew where I was. I think it helped that he'd started officially dating Alexis a few months earlier and wanted to spend some alone time with her. I also think she’d helped persuade him to give me a little space. She was over most weekends, or he was there with her. It worked, and I couldn't be happier for them. I'm glad they finally found each other. She was exactly what he needed to stop whoring around. I laughed to myself, wondering if Logan's friends had ever thought that about me.
Fucking Logan.
I started crying again. My head hit the steering wheel, and the horn sounded. I jerked up in surprise. Then a knocking on my window made me squeal. I reached in my bag for the mace before turning around to find the person responsible.
Logan.
He was wearing his sweater again with the hood over his head. I wound down my window, a little suspicious of why he was here. "Are you following me?"
His eyes narrowed. "I could ask you the same thing."
"What?"
He jerked his head to the building behind him, but his eyes never left mine. "I live here."
"You all good, man?" a guy behind him asked. He had a girl under his arm. The girl had bleached blonde hair, dreadlocks and piercings. They were the type of people you'd expect to see at Twiggy's party. I guess that's how Logan ended up at a place like that. "I'm good," he told them. "You guys head in." He turned to me and spoke, concern dripping from his words, "Are you okay? I mean—have you been crying?"
I sighed. "Yeah. I mean no. I'm not okay, and yes, I have been crying." I didn't see the point in lying.
He straightened to full height. "Because of me?"
"Yes."<
br />
He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, his eyes cast downwards. "Do you—I mean—do you want to talk about it? About what happened to us?"
I shook my head out of habit, but then I calmed down enough to think about it. Maybe I needed to speak to him. Maybe I needed some form of closure. "Okay," I whispered.
"What?" he asked. His head jerked up in surprise.
"I think that might be a good idea, you know . . . closure and all."
"Closure." He repeated my words as if tossing the idea around in his head. "Okay."
I grabbed a sweater from the back seat and put it on, making sure to cover my wrists. He opened my door and helped me step out.
"Closure," I heard him whisper.
9
Amanda
"The elevator’s broken, we're gonna have to hoof it five floors." He smirked at me. "Are you going to be okay, or do you want me to carry you?"
"Ha ha," I said, pulling the sleeves of my sweater past my fingers. "I'll have you know I've started working out." I raised my eyebrows at him.
"Aaah." He had a knowing look on his face.
"What?"
"Nothing." He shook his head slightly and motioned for me to go ahead of him on the stairs.
I took five steps up before I turned to him. "What do—" My words cut off when I noticed his gaze lift to mine. His eyes were wide, as if he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't be. Then it hit me. I glared at him. "Were you just looking at my ass?"
He chuckled, low at first, and then it turned in to an all out laugh. "I'm sorry," he managed to get out. "I'm still a guy, and you—you're still smokin' hot." I don't know what emotion showed on my face, but his smile disappeared. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I won't say stuff like that again." He swallowed and took two steps forward, until we were on the same step. "See, I won't perv. Promise."
We made the rest of the way to the fifth floor in silence. The building was old, not what I'd expect Logan to live in, not with the money I knew he had. We stopped in the middle of the hallway when we saw the same couple from outside making out in front of a door, the guy was trying to get his key in the hole while he pressed the girl into it. Logan laughed under his breath and walked over to the couple. I stayed close behind him. "Yo, Eli." Logan tried to get his attention. They didn't break apart; they didn't even notice he was there. He put his hands on the guy's shoulders and moved him across the hall. "Wrong door, guys," he told them, before moving back to where the couple had just been. He pulled keys out of his pocket, unlocked and pushed the door open, and then motioned for me to enter.
