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She let out a breath with whoosh. "How did you—I mean, how long have you—does she—have you spoken—is she okay?"
Jakes eyes narrowed as his head whipped to face her. "It doesn't matter if she's okay, Kayla."
Micky held his hand that rested on the table, I saw her squeeze it. "Jake..." she cautioned him.
What the hell?
"Have you?" she continued, facing me. "Seen her, I mean."
I shook my head, but my gaze was fixed on Jake. He had his fist balled and eyes shut tight. His jaw clenched shut from the effort of holding his breath.
Amanda broke the tension, "Have you seen her since...what? Prom, right?" she asked Micky.
Micky's eyes drifted shut; a silent sob took over her body. She sniffed once, nodding, but not speaking.
"Baby," Jake soothed, "you need to tell him."
So she did.
She told us all about seeing her at the cemetery on the anniversary of her families death. She told us about the baby she was carrying and the way she looked. And then she told us about what went down the night her family was killed. She cried the entire time. Her body molded to Jakes side as he stared into the distance, not moving, not speaking. It seemed as though she let out years worth of pent up anger, hurt, and sadness. But most of all, it felt like she was relieved. Relieved to get it out and share it with someone.
And then I understood it. I understood why Jake had acted like he did when Micky asked if she was okay. Because he was right. It didn't matter. It didn't matter to him. But for Micky—it did. And for me, too. I don't know why, but it did.
"I get that what she did was wrong," Micky stated.
I hadn't said a word. Amanda held on to my arm tightly, her own tears soaking through my shirt.
"But I've had almost a year to deal with it, and to think about it—and I don't know," she shrugged, "I can't see her as a murderer. At the end of the day—even if you take away the James factor—there was a reason we were best friends for so long." Her voice was strained from the knot in her throat.
"Fuck that," Jake sneered. "How can you be so Goddamn forgiving, Kayla? She helped murder your family."
"Jake!" It was my turn to warn him.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Look, I know you guys were friends," he looked at me, "and I know that she's your sister or whatever the fuck— but no. Just no." His eyes darted from me to Micky. "She has to be out of your life. She has to be done. The fact that she didn't mean for what happen to happen doesn't change the fact that she knew. She fucking knew who it was and she didn't say shit. She didn't turn him in. She didn't do anything."
Micky's voice rose. "She left the state and ended up pregnant by some guy who isn't around—"
"And that's not your fucking problem, Kayla. And you sure as shit aren't going to make it one!" His accent got thicker. He was pissed.
Amanda and I sat in silence as we watched them argue. It seemed like this was the first time either of them had discussed it.
"Jake. She didn't mean to." She was all out crying now.
"I don't fucking care, Kayla." He stood from his chair, causing her to leave his arms. "She knew he was out there. What happened if he did it again? What if he'd done it to one of our houses? What if it was Lucy's and all her brothers were home. What if he'd done it to mine?" Then he walked away and into their room, slamming the door behind him.
"I'm sorry," Micky managed to get out. She stood up and started for their room.
***
"So," Amanda said as we got into the car. She didn't make a move to turn it over. "That just happened."
"Yeah," is all I could get out.
I understood where they were both coming from; I really did, which made the whole situation even more confusing.
"It's your decision," she said quietly, pulling me from thoughts.
"What?" I faced her.
"It's your decision. It's your sister. It's your relationship. I get that what happened was fucked up, and I know that confused look on your face—I've seen it plenty of times. But whatever you decide—if you want to meet her—or if you don't—I'll support you no matter what."
Perfect.
She's fucking perfect.
I leaned across and kissed her slowly, softly, almost sickeningly sweet. "Thank you, pretty girl."
She smiled against my lips. "You're my person, Logan. It's what we do, right?"
THIRTY THREE
Logan
"The door," she said, her words muffled by my chest. She kicked my legs. We were in bed. The sun hadn't even come up yet.
I kicked her back.
"The door," she repeated, kicking me harder.
"Uhh," I moaned.
Then Ethan bellowed, "One of you asshole's get the fucking door."
"Uhh," I moaned.
"The door," she said again, kicking me harder again.
"Uhh." I kicked her back.
"Assholes, get the fucking door," Ethan yelled.
"Uhh."
And then my phone rang.
"Uhh," I answered.
"Dude." It was Jake. "Answer your fucking door."
"Uhh."
I opened the door to him standing there, shirt off, tucked into his sweatpants, sweating and smelling like ass. He'd been running.
