Page 99 of It Should Have Been You

Logan

“You didn’t have to do that.” Beth leans against the counter as I rinse the plates and leave them to dry on the rack.

“You cooked, it’s the least I could do. The girl’s asleep?”

She leaves out a long sigh. “Finally. Hannah fought it until the bitter end, but I think that final game of Snap took her out.”

I laugh, still feeling the sting on the back of my hand. “She’s violent.”

“I like to call it healthy competition. Kim is coming to collect them in the morning. They’re staying with her for the weekend.”

She opens the fridge, pulls out a beer and hands it to me as I dry my hands on a towel.

“Beer?”

I was going to leave, but when she takes one for herself and clinks her bottle against mine, I know there’s no way in hell I’m leaving, because I don’t want to. At least I can admit that much.

She’s changed too. It’s only sweatpants and a top that falls loosely from one shoulder.

It’s a fucking shoulder, and yet my eyes drink in how it leads to her slender neck.

I clear my throat and focus on something else.

There are new pictures hanging on the wall.

Those are good. I can focus on those.

It’s a collage of the girls. They’re recent pictures, all taken here. Simple, but shot with all the taste I remember Beth having.

For someone who loves photography, there are surprisingly few photos in the house. From what I can tell, all of them are recent.

Noticing where my eyes have landed, she takes a large gulp of her beer. “I shot those on my phone. A crime.” She laughs, but it’s forced and her eyes drift into the bottle. “I haven’t got around to buying a new camera yet.”

“What happened your old one?”

By the way her eyes snap to mine, I think I’m supposed to know the answer.

Realization hits me a second after the words leave my mouth.

You’re a fucking idiot, Logan.

After she left her scumbag of a husband, her house was burned to the ground, no doubt with everything in it.

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

She smiles. It’s supposed to be reassuring. It’s anything but.

“Don’t worry about it. I lost all my photographs in the fire. Thank God for technology and clouds, hey?”

The mask falls for the briefest second. Like she’s tired of holding it in place. Her eyes close, shielding herself from the blow of memories while trying to hide it from the rest of the world even when they’re not looking.

But I’m looking.

And as fast as it fell, it’s back in place.

She puts the bottle on the counter before pulling her hair back from her face and securing it with the hair tie around her wrist.

“Want to sit outside?” she asks.

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