But I’m only a kid, and I must be crazy or something because kids don’t know what they want. That’s what Mama tells me all the time, at least.
To commemorate our bad year—the year we both got branded with scars from our parents—Logan said we should get tattoos. He wanted us to re-brand ourselves with love instead of hate. Logan cried a little when we talked about his father. He turned away so I couldn’t see, but I did. I pretended I didn’t, though. Boys are funny that way. They hide their emotions, maybe because they’re scared.
I look back up at him. “I didn’t write your story in here. Just so you know. I didn’t feel like it was mine to tell.”
His eyes warm. “I appreciate that.”
“But that doesn’t mean that I don’t remember every single second of being in your barn and watching you take on your father to protect what was yours.” I touch his leg. “You were my hero that day. You kind of always have been.”
“Macey.” Logan chokes up, and his eyes—they’ve got this strange look in them. Like he’s keeping something from me.
I put down the diary. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”
He nods and points at the diary. “I’m fine. Keep reading.”
We walked into the new tattoo parlor on Main and decided on red raindrop tattoos. I got mine on my left breast, and Logan chose his right bicep. I felt so close to him.
“We’ll remember forever,” he said as he leaned in to give me a kiss.
Logan said he loved me for going under the needle with him. He claimed he didn’t know anyone else who would do that for him. Because no one else is as crazy as I am, I teased. I think he just said mushy things because he was emotional. But I loved him for it.
Okay. This is getting intense.
I dare to look up at Logan, whose eyes are on my face. We stare at each other for several heartbeats, with the only sound being the refrain of crickets and the occasional moo of one of his family’s cows in the background.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“That was easier,” I say in all honesty. “Reading it aloud like that. It was almost like we were back there again at the tattoo parlor. And that made the other part less painful.”
“The part at The Cowherd?” he asks me.
“Yeah.” I make a face. “You know I don’t like reminiscing too much.”
“Do you think this is necessary? To go back through all of it?”
“For some reason, I do.”
“You’re an incredible writer, you know.”
“You think so?” I smile at him. “Should I read you another one?”
He hesitates. And I know why.
Because parts of that entry felt like…foreplay.
And somehow, this moment feels different than our other times together. Maybe because in a short while, Logan will be married and all these nights will be in the past.
The ache in my chest grows bigger, but Logan breaks the silence.
“Sure. Read another one.”
“Okay.”
I’m still sixteen, but this year has been a lot of firsts, so I decided to write again even though it’s only May.
Mr. Torsen complimented me on my short story I wrote for English class. He said it showed character and a unique voice, and he specifically said that I’m not afraid to let go with my writing and he hopes to read more from me in the future. I think he’s bluffing for sure, but even bluffs feel good sometimes.
I went over to Logan’s to tell him the good news. He was painting, and I sat and waited for him to finish, and then he grabbed my hand and asked me to walk with him in the wildflower patch behind the ranch.
