36
Hayley
2018
Logan’s gaze burns holes into my back as I wash my hands and wipe them on my apron.
“So, you and Wyatt?”
“Yes,” I say, sighing, not wanting to get into an argument about all the reasons why I should not do this.
“I’m happy for you. You deserve to be happy.”
His words surprise me. It is not what I expected. “Are you all right, Logan?”
“Yeah, of course. You should be happy too, and besides, I’ve also met someone.”
Oh yeah, the mysterious woman he bought flowers for.
“That’s really supportive of you, Logan.” I can’t shake the feeling that this is the calm before the storm.
“I told you we can’t be together anymore, Logan. I’m . . . in love with someone else.”
I didn't lie to him, the night of prom. I was honest that I needed a break. And after that night with Wyatt. I was clear I wanted to break things off, but he was persistent. He kept coming over, which I didn't mind if he wasn’t trying to convince me that breaking things off with him was such a bad idea. Eventually, I confessed I was in love with Wyatt, that I’d been in love with him for as long as I could remember, and that we’d kissed that night of prom, and it was the reason I asked for a break. It wasn’t that he wasn’t a great guy, my heart just belonged to someone else. He took it calmly, but then I look outside my window to find Wyatt and Logan brawling, Wyatt’s father trying to break the two boys apart. I rush down the stairs.
“Wyatt, Logan, what the hell?” I yell, and Mr. Barnes shakes his head.
The two boys finally let go of each other, both red-faced and growling.
“What is this?”
“He’s an asshole, Hay. An asshole, and he’ll disappoint you over and over again, and you’ll never see it.”
“You fucking—” Wyatt lurches at him, and his father catches him.
“Sons.” Mr. Barnes voice is stern as he looks from Wyatt to Logan. “You boys stop this at once.”
Logan stalks over to him. “I am not your son, old man, and one day your son is going to get what’s his.”
He stops in front of me, his hands fisted at his side. “You deserve more.” And with that, he huffs off.
I want to talk to him, tell him I’m sorry I’d hurt him, but I know there are no words that could make it better.
Why did life have to be so complicated? I’m eighteen years old, for god's sake.
Logan left after we talked,and I walk into the living room to find Wyatt and London asleep, her head on his chest, his on her head. They were everything, everything that made sense in the world. London deserves to know her father; he deserves to have her call him Dad. And someday, Logan would come to see that too. I’d have to talk to him about that soon. Wyatt needs rights to his daughter, and at the moment, he didn't have that. I will never cut Logan off from my daughter. He has been there for the both of us, caring for us as if she were his own, caring for me as if he never knew my heart belonged to someone else.
