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“My next book. You see, for a while now, I had this story in my head but it wasn’t right. Something wasn’t flowing. Then, I started to witness something. Something I’d never witnessed before. A bad romance. One I knew would end up with broken hearts.”
I still don’t quite get what she’s saying especially with my exhausted mind barely functioning.
“I knew long before it broke that you and Logan were in this bad romance. I watched, I observed, and it became my story.” She smiles, touching my hand. “Don’t worry, names and places have been changed. But I wrote this, for you. I wanted you to look back at this one day and remember a time in your life when love consumed you. When nothing else mattered besides this one man.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll read it?”
“Of course, I’ll read it, but how did you know?”
“How?” She raises her brow with a grin. “Because you’re my children. I know everything. Remember when you were seventeen and told me you went to the shop to buy Mrs. Cambridge a going-away present because it was her last day working in the library? I knew you went to the drugstore and bought rubbers for Ashley.”
“Mother!” I raise my voice in amusement.
“I was merely grateful your brother was being safe. Plus, I was glad he ran to you for advice on girls and not me.”
We both laugh, letting out a sigh as we finish.
“Thank you, Mom. For putting up with me. For writing this so I can see it from the eyes of the world rather than my own.”
“I love you, kid. No one can ever change that.”
“Ditto.” I smile.
***
It’s late. The darkness settling in with no lights surrounding us but the few street lamps and the moonlight. It’s eerily quiet, not even the sounds of the summer crickets pounding my eardrums. There’s only one sound dominating the space around us, the constant echo of a bouncing ball.
Logan’s standing in the middle of the field, dressed in a pair of white training shorts and a black tee, dribbling the ball with his feet. I watch on the sidelines for a while, admiring the way he concentrates on his footwork. His face scrunches up when he’s concentrating, repeatedly blinking until he aims the ball which lands straight in the net.
My footsteps feel like lead weights—heavy and dragging across the grass. I’m terrified he will tell me to leave him alone, exactly what I did to him in my apartment.
“You’re here.” My voice is barely above a whisper.
“You’re here.”
“Well, it’s my home.”
“It is your home,” he answers coldly.
“It’s your home, too. Always has been.”
He won’t make eye contact with me, staring at the goal with a hard glare on his face. I want to tell him I miss him. That I love him, and somehow need us to work out. But I’m terrified he’ll break me in a revenge attack for how I broke him, by telling him to leave me the fuck alone and never talk to me ag
ain.
“I was wrong,” I admit. “We were both wrong.”
“I did what I had to do.”
“Honestly Logan, you don’t make it easy to forgive you!” The anger comes out of nowhere, perhaps from the built up fear and the unknown. I hate that I want him so much.
“Why?” He turns around and faces me, eyes blazing and full of pain. “Because I fucking love you and you couldn’t see that. You were happy to continue tormenting me with your fictional relationship.”
“But I told you—”
“Yeah... yeah... heard it a million times. You’re contractually obliged to star in the show. I guess I’m the fool for thinking the smallest part of you felt the same.”
