More Than Him (19 page)

He smirked, and raised an eyebrow at me. "You've been doing your research."

I nodded, trying to keep the stern look on my face. "And research showed that you shouldn't be drinking."

His smile got wider. "Yes ma'am." He offered me the beer, but I declined. He placed it on the table and then pushed it away. "You don't like beer anymore?"

I shook my head. "No, I don't drink anymore."

"What?" His eyebrows bunched. "At all?"

"Yup." I waited for the questions I knew were coming.

"Why not?"

I had to choose my words carefully. The only person who knew the reason was Alexis, and she couldn't really understand it. She hadn’t been there. "I just think that maybe, if I was more clear-headed that night, things might have ended differently."

He sat up now, leaning forward and in between my legs. He still had the same confused look on his face. "What are you talking about?" The words came out low, slow, as if he couldn't comprehend what I was saying.

I shrugged. "I don't know. Sometimes I think if I wasn't so buzzed I'd have had better judgment that night. Maybe it—"

"
Amanda." His tone was harsh. Biting.
Final.

I reared back in surprise but his arms wrapped around my legs, stopping me from going far.

He apologized instantly. "I didn't mean for it to come out like that, but you can't think like that. You can't blame yourself for what happened."

"Why?" I lifted my chin, ready for a fight. "You did."

His eyes widened slightly, probably at my direct approach. We locked eyes for what seemed like forever, until he sighed, and his features relaxed. "Baby," he said quietly, causing my defenses to back off. He pulled me down off the table and onto his lap, straddling him, the way he always wanted me. Removing my hair away from my face, he kissed my nose once. "I want to talk about this stuff, I really do. But not now. Now, I just want to be with you. I just want to hold you. I just want
us
. Together. Can we just do that? Tomorrow I'll give you all the answers. I'll give you everything." He started playing with my hair, but paused mid-stroke, only for a second, before continuing. He remained silent, but I could sense something wasn't right. "What are you thinking?" I asked him.

"You can't even see me. How do you know I'm thinking?" he replied.

"I don't need to see you to feel you."

He kissed the side of my head, but waited a while to speak. "What did Ethan say when you told him you were here?"

I tensed.

He felt it. "You lied?"

I pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. Biting my lip, I nodded, once.

He shook his head. "I don't like that."

"I know," I whined. "But what do you want me to do? Don't you think it's better that we just have some time together, at least? I mean, how do I know you're not just going to lea—" My words died in the air when I saw the heartbreak on his face.

"I won't," he whispered. I could tell he was disappointed. With me—or himself—I wasn't sure. "Do you want me to talk to him?" he asked, his voice louder.

I shook my head frantically. "No. Not yet, okay?" I tried to calm the thumping against my chest. The knot in my stomach rose to my throat.  I tried to clear it. "Look," I started, "you don't want to talk about what happened that night, I don't want to tell Ethan. You have your reasons. I have mine. Let's just agree to leave it alone for now, okay?"

He held me tighter. "We got a lot of shit to work through."

"Yeah," I agreed. "But once we do, we're going to be amazing." I felt his smile against my face.

***

I floated down onto a soft surface.

"Shh," he said. "You fell asleep."

"Logan?" I whispered.

"Yeah, baby. I'm here."

"You're here," I repeated his words.

He was here, with me.

It wasn't a dream.

Not this time.

19

Logan

She's coming over today. It's the first day of summer break for her, which means she's all mine. Her words, not mine. I'm not really a caveman. Much.

We hadn't seen each other since the night she fell asleep in my arms up on the roof. I can't even count the amount of times I dreamt about that exact thing when I was away. And now—it was happening.

We were as honest as I think we could be. We knew there were situations to overcome, issues we had to deal with, things to talk about. We weren't dumb. We weren't naive. Sooner, rather than later, we'd have to face them. But right now, we just wanted each other. Maybe we needed each other, like air.

Logan
: Hurry up and get your ass over here.

Amanda:
I just pulled up.

I ran down the stairs so fast I almost twisted my ankle on the final landing. I slowed down just before I opened the door to outside. It wasn’t like I was some pathetic asshole who'd been waiting all day just to see her, or hold her hand, or kiss her. Nope. Not me.
At all.

Her smile widened when she saw me. She was a good twenty feet away, but the distance between us was too much, and she must've felt it too. Her pace picked up as she started towards me. It was just like in the fucking movies when she jumped up and wrapped her legs around me. I caught her and spun us around. "We're so lame," I told her, half laughing.

"Shut up. You're ruining the moment. Keep spinning," she demanded.

"You're going to get dizzy and throw up."

"Am not."

I spun twice more before she made me stop; she said she felt sick and dizzy.

I wanted to say, 'I told you so' but I left it alone. I was just happy to see her.

"Did you miss me?" she asked.

"You have no fucking idea."

I walked us to my shitty old truck and opened the door for her.

Her nose scrunched in disgust. "This is yours?"

I couldn't tell if she was serious or not. Squaring my shoulders, I said, "Yeah. So what?"

She lifted her shoulders dramatically with her nose up in the air. "Nothing, I guess." She was teasing me. "I'm just used to dating guys with expensive cars."

I picked her up and threw her on the bench seat of the truck. "Whoever you dated before is an asshole," I told her, getting into the driver’s seat. "You should tell him that."

***

Nine. Fucking. Hours.

That's how long it took to buy furniture at Ikea and set it up in the apartment. She made me buy a bed for the bedroom. I told her I probably wouldn't use it. She understood, but said I should have one anyway.

By the time it was all done, we were exhausted. "Let's order take-out and go to bed," she suggested.

"Sounds perfect."

It really did.

A half hour later, the food arrived, and we sat at my new dining table to eat. She placed her feet on my lap and pointed her fork at me. "Tell me more about Doctors Without Borders," she said.

I smiled at her. We hadn't talked about why I'd left yet, and she hadn't asked. It was almost as if she didn't want to know, or maybe she knew already and didn't want to bring it up. Maybe she'd moved on, and like me, just wanted to be together. I knew it was bad, living our lives like this, in our little bubble, far away from anyone that could take us away from each other. Soon enough, something would cause it to burst.

But it'd only been a week. Surely we had time.

I started telling her all about my time in Africa, then thought I'd do one better. I walked over and picked up my journal. I emptied the content from the pages. Dozens of pictures fell out. I started sorting them so I could show her, but her eyes were fixated on the book. I cleared my throat, her gaze lifted and focused on me. "It's my journal," I told her.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Oh."

I weighed up the options of my next words in my head, but nothing seemed to be able to stop the sentence forming. "You should read it, maybe—"

"Oh no," she interrupted. "It's personal. I can't do—"

"Nothing's personal. Not when it comes to you and me. I don't want to keep secrets from you. You want to know about my time away—it's all there. You read it, or you don't. It's up to you. But I want to lay it all out for you. Maybe it'll help you understand some of it."

She nodded, took the journal in her hands and slowly flipped through the pages. A single picture fell out. It was beyond worn, but still visible. She picked it up carefully, like it was an antique and might disintegrate it her fingers. "What's this? How?"

"That one phone call I made to Jake, I asked him to send it to me."

She inhaled deeply, her chest rising with the motion.

"It kind of saved me." Truth.

"What do you mean?"

"Read it." I got up and started clearing the table.

When I'd finished cleaning, she was still fixated on the picture.

"Babe." I tried to get her attention.

Her head lifted. "Huh?" she said, but her mind was elsewhere.

"You're staying, right?"

She nodded and got off the chair, placing the picture carefully on the table. I walked to the sofa to convert it to the bed, but she pulled on my hand to stop me. "What's up?" I asked, turning to face her.

She looked uneasy. "Um. Maybe you—or we—maybe we could try the bedroom. I mean you don't have to . . . but I just thought—if it doesn't work we can just come out here, right? Or not. We don't have to." Her words came out shaky. She was nervous. "I don't want to push you, Logan. I just . . ." She shrugged. "I want to help you."

My eyes shut tight. I wanted to rewind time and unhear her words. It was the last thing I wanted.

Maybe because it came from her. Maybe it was just my damn pride. I opened my eyes and stared her down. "You think I need help?" I yanked my hand out of her hold. "I don't fucking need help." I turned and started adjusting the sofa.

"Stop it!" she almost yelled. "I knew you'd get like this." She moved so she was in my way. I tried to ignore her, and the aching in my chest. "Logan!"

I straightened to full height. "What? What the fuck do you want from me? You think I need saving? Fine. You can save me from the comfort and safety of your own damn bed."

She pushed hard against my chest. "Quit it," she bit out. "Don't fucking talk to me like that. I don't fucking deserve it, and you know that. You want to treat me like shit? Go ahead. It's not like I expected anything more from you anyway!" She was crying. Fuck. She pushed me again to get me to move out of her way. The aching in my chest got worse. My heart pounded against my ribs. I was expecting it to explode out of there at any second.

"Move!" she yelled it so loudly, I swear the neighbors could hear.

I gripped her wrists and pulled her closer, then wrapped my arms around her. "I'm so fucking sorry, Amanda. Please," I said. "I'm fucking up, again. I can't lose you. Please." And then it hit me. "You're right," I told her. "I need you. I need your help. I'm sorry. Just please, please be patient. Please." I was begging, but it was all truth.

I felt her shake her head against my chest. "I know things are hard for you, and I shouldn't push it, but I'm not your enemy."

"I know. You didn't push anything. You didn't do anything. I'm just an asshole."

I walked us over to the front door, hand in hand, while I triple-checked the locks. She wiped her face on my arm; I felt the wetness from her tears. Sighing, I faced her. "I really am sorry, baby. I don't ever want to be like that with you. Swear it. I don't . . . I don't even know how to explain what just happened, but I hate that it did."

"I know. I forgive you."

"You shouldn't."

"I do."

"I got you something."

"A present?" Her eyes lit up and any sign that she was upset only minutes ago had disappeared.

"Yup."

"Gimme."

I laughed, and led her to the bathroom. Opening the cupboard under the counter, I handed her a toothbrush. She laughed the instant she saw it. "Hello Kitty?"

"Yup." I kissed her on the forehead. "Just for you."

"Aww," she cooed, holding the toothbrush to her chest and faking dreaminess in her voice. "You're the bestest boyfriend ever."

She left the bedroom and came back seconds later with the journal. She set it on her nightstand, walked to my dresser and started opening and closing all the drawers until she found what she was after. I watched her remove her jeans, then her shirt. I tried not to jump her when she stood in nothing but her bra and panties. She pulled out an old baseball jersey, and shrugged it on. I walked over to her, wanting to touch her, just a little. "I missed seeing you in this." I curled my arm around her waist and brought her as close as she could get.

"Not as much as I missed wearing it."

I grinned from ear to ear. "I love you."

Her eyes drifted shut. "Stop it. You're not supposed to say it until I do."

I shrugged. "Too bad. You deserved that one."

She pulled back and walked to the bed, undoing her bra at the same time.

I gazed at her, then at the bedroom door. Panic set in. She must've noticed because she said, "I always sleep with the door open. If that's okay with you?"

I turned off the lights and got into bed. She pressed her body against mine. Our limbs were a tangled mess. "Good night, pretty girl."

Amanda

He fell asleep almost instantly. I freed myself from his hold, turned on my night-light, picked up his journal and flipped to the first page.

Five weeks post Amanda.

There are no dates here. Only time passing with each moment.

Dear Diary—says the twelve-year-old girl in me.

Manny, one of the guys in the field with me, told me I was depressed . . .