“You’re staring.”
I turn fully now, arms crossed. “You’re not going to last.”
He frowns. “What does that mean?”
“This,” I say, gesturing vaguely at the house, his leg, the situation. “You never do.”
His jaw tightens. “You don’t get to rewrite me.”
I laugh again, sharp and ugly. “I’m not rewriting you. I’m remembering you.”
The truth sits heavy between us.
“I’m not here to mess anything up,” he says quietly.
“That’s what you said last time,” I fire back. “Ended real well for ya, didn’t it?”
Then I turn and walk away before he can respond, because if I don’t, I might say something worse—or admit that seeing him like this scares me in ways I don’t want to name.
In my room, I sit on the edge of my bed and press my palms to my eyes.
I don’t cry.
Crying doesn’t fix anything. All it does is allow the emotions I keep locked down tight to try to escape.
Two years ago, I went to a party I shouldn’t have gone to, trying to forget a week that felt like it was closing in on me. A guy leaned in too close. I let him. It didn’t mean anything.
Logan saw.
I liked the look that took over his face, so I let it go further than I intended. I pushed and didn’t like the bite that came after.
“No one wants a desperate girl.”
The words still burn.
Now he’s back. Injured. Vulnerable. Taking up space in the one place I don’t know how to share.
I lie back and stare at the ceiling, listening to the house settle around me. Pops hums downstairs while he cleans. Logan’s footsteps move carefully across the floor, like he’s afraid of breaking something.
I tell myself I don’t care.
I tell myself this changes nothing.
If I keep moving, nothing can catch me.
That’s the rule.
And I’m not breaking it now.
3
LOGAN
Rehab starts at eight.
I’m there at seven forty-two, sitting on a vinyl bench that’s cold through my sweats, my right leg stretched out in front of me because the brace doesn’t bend far enough to be comfortable. The place smells like disinfectant and burnt coffee, like every medical building I’ve spent too much time in over the last month.
It’s early January. The quiet part of the year where you don’t really know what day it is. Maybe it’s just me, since I went from having such a set routine with weights, conditioning, film, and class to now having just about nothing.
