Twenty-Nine
Logan
May — Five Weeks Later
A sharp smack upside my skull has me wincing, pulling me from the stupor I must’ve fallen into while staring at the rec room flatscreen. My hand instantly raises to the side of my head, and I turn to glare at the source of the assault. I shouldn’t be surprised it’s Lexi, considering Willow should still be at the commencement ceremony right now. Doesn’t make me any less irritated, though. Or my head hurt any less.
“Fucking Christ, Lex,” I mutter, rubbing the tender spot. “You could have just said my name to get my attention. No need to karate chop my damn head off.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think to try that,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. She glares down at me as she snaps, “Oh, wait. I did. Five times in the past twenty seconds, and you’ve completely ignored me!”
“I didn’t—” A throw pillow whacks me on the cheek out of nowhere, only for her to backhand me with it again. “Ow! What the—”
“What the hell?” she asks, cutting me off. “Yeah, Logan. Whatthe hell is right. As in: What the hell is wrong withyou?”
She pushes the pillow in my face on the last word, shoving my head back against the couch cushion and damn near smothering me with her rage. After a few seconds, I’m able to wrestle it from her grip and toss it behind the sofa out of her reach.
“SweetfuckingJesus,” I hiss, glaring in her direction. “If you want me to know what you’re talking about, you’re gonna have to cite a more specific grievance.”
“I’m talking aboutCamden.”
My blood runs cold the second I register his name. It freezes in my veins, causing all irritation and frustration to leave my body instantly, replaced with an aching kind of longing. It’s the same reaction I’ve had every time she’s said it in the past month or so—since she found me staring at my bedroom wall after he ended things, and I joked with her about joining the breakup club. None of the sordid details, of course—I’ve kept those to myself.
Instead, I just gave her the lie. The one we’d prepared for everyone, but I can tell she still doesn’t believe it. It’s likely why she keeps pressing for more details, only to draw out this visceral reaction every time she forces me to think about him. Aboutus.
“What about him?” I ask, attempting to keep my voice steady.
She scoffs before stepping around me and dropping down on the sectional too.
“God, you’re just as bad as my brother was,” she mutters. The comment has me glancing over—as she likely knew it would—and she pins me with one of her knowing looks. “Be pissed at the comparison, but I’m not lying. Just like I’m not lying when I tell you, if you don’t get your head out of your ass and do something, you’re never gonna get him back.”
The hard, honest truth slices into me like a hot knife, andI grimace from the pain it causes. Because I know she’s right. I’ve known it for weeks, but I’ve been too scared and hurt to try broaching the subject with him. Granted, every time we’ve been in the same room, he either leaves or acts like I don’t exist. I haven’t seen himat allthe past couple days since finals ended.
Makes it a little difficult to have a conversation, even if I were to try.
“I don’t really think there’s much point. He seemed pretty firm in his decision to end it.”
“So you’re just giving up, then,” she states dryly. “I mean, for Christ’s sake, Logan. The two of you may have been tip-toeing around each other for weeks, but I still have eyes. I can see how miserable you are.Bothof you.”
I go to open my mouth to rebut, saying maybe she’s looking at this through her own lens, but she holds up her hand to stop me before I can say anything. “And yes, you are tip-toeing. Or rather, hiding. I mean, honestly, when was the last time you were down here?”
I guess I can’t really argue with that one…
“Maybe… Maybe it’s better this way, you know? I’m still stuck here for two more years, and when he gets drafted, there’s no telling where he’ll end up.”
“As if airplanes and long weekends and holiday breaks don’t exist,” she mutters with an eyeroll.
“None of that matters if he doesn’t want to try,” I snap, feeling my temper fraying. “Thought you’d know that better than anyone, all things considered.”
It’s a low blow, bringing her and Wyatt into this, and the way her face falls tells me as much. I wait for her to lash out or snap at me, knowing I deserve it, but it never comes. She just leans back against the couch cushion beside me, the picture of indifference.
“Fine. If you want to sit here and play the heartbroken sap, bemy guest. I won’t stop you. But I’m telling you right now, I think you’re making a big mistake. Huge. Massive, actually.”
“Thanks, I’ll take note of that,” I mutter.
“Except you clearly aren’t, because you’re letting your fake boyfriend, who youactuallylove, just walk away,” she chides, tossing out a hand in frustration.
So much for letting it go.
