More Than Him (2 page)

"I have something to tell you." Ethan turned the TV off, and I faced him. He was home more often now, and I knew why. He was worried about me. He thought I’d turned into the girl from that summer. But I wasn’t. Not really. I was nowhere near as broken as I was then. Maybe it was because I was immune to the fucked up ways of Logan Matthews. Maybe it was because I’d come to accept the fact that maybe—just maybe it was my fault. That I never should have taken him back the first time. Or the second time. Or the third. Whatever it was, I didn’t care. I was over it.

"Dimmy." He tried to get my attention again.

"What? What do you have to tell me? If it’s about his room—not yet, okay? Just wait . . . another week. I’ve got to go in there and clear out my stuff."

Okay, so maybe I wasn’t over it yet. But I was close.

"No." He shook his head. "That’s not it. But, uh, it’s about him."

I looked away. "Then I don’t want to know."

"Dimmy, I think you
need
to know."

"I don’t think I need to know shit about him anymore, E. I’m done with him."

"He’s gone."

My head whipped to face his. "What do you mean he’s
gone?"

"Like, gone. Away. Out of the country. He’s traveling the world, or some shit. I don’t know." He shrugged.

"What? How? What about college? What about med school? Traveling where?"

"Dim, I don’t know. I bumped into James today and he asked how you felt about Logan experiencing the world indefinitely, or something."

"
Indefinitely?"

"
Seriously, I don’t know. I know as much as I just told you. Look, I’m just telling you so that you know it’s okay. You don’t have to worry about bumping into him on campus or anything. You can hang out with your friends again. He won’t be there.  I just wanted you to know. And honestly, Dim, you fucking deserve to know. He should have at least told you that much."

He was right. I at least deserved that.

"Don’t cry," he said, standing up. I didn’t know I was. "He doesn’t deserve any more of your tears. I won’t let it happen."

I couldn’t speak, and even if I could, I don’t think I’d have the words.

He left the room just before there was a knock on the door.

"Hey." It was Jake. He removed his cap and ran his hands through his messy dark hair. "Uh, how . . . how are you? Is that a stupid question? Stupid, right? Of course you’re not doing well. I mean, with the whole beating and . . . shit . . . I’m sorry . . . Um, can I do any—"

"Jake," I cut in. "What’s up? What are you doing here?" I told Micky and Lucy that I just needed some time to get over what had happened, and that I wanted to cut off all ties I had with Logan. This included Jake—so I had no idea what the hell he was doing standing at my front door. I raised my eyebrows.

"Oh." His eyes widened in surprise. Clearing his throat, he said, "Look, I know that you don’t want to see me or anyone that has—" A car pulled into the driveway interrupting his speech. Cameron stepped out, throwing the keys in the air and catching them.

What the hell?

"Hey," Jake said to Cam.

"'Sup?" Cam replied, walking toward us.

"You made good time," Jake spoke, looking at his watch.

"No traffic," Cam responded.

"That it?" Jake asked, jerking his head behind Cam.

"GUYS!" I snapped. "What are you doing here?"

They both turned to me.

Jake cleared his throat again, and then sighed. Cam spoke for him, "Logan gave us a task. Actually two tasks, well three if you include—"

"What are you talking about?" My arms crossed and my eyes thinned to slits. I was irritated, close to shutting the door in their damn faces.

Jake stepped forward. "Logan wanted us to take care of some stuff for him."

I waited.

"Shit," he mumbled.

Then Cam spoke, "He got us to trade in his car, and he got you this." He handed me the keys.

I threw them back at him like they were a ball of fire in my hands. "I don’t want anything from him."

"It’s kind of our mission you accept them," he stated, shrugging.

"His dad wrote out a check with the leftover money from the trade and paid some of your tuition," Jake said.

"What?" I didn’t know if I was angry or pissed, or hurt or grateful. I wiped my face and squared my shoulders. "I can’t accept this."

"You kind of—" Jake started, but Cam cut him off.

"Leave it, man," he told Jake, and asked him, "Could you give us a minute?"

Jake nodded and headed for his car. Then, it was just Cam and I.

Face to face.

Awkward.

"Logan’s an asshole," he said, breaking the tension.

"No shit."

"He really wanted to give you this." He jerked his head in the direction of the car behind him. It was a green hatchback of some kind.

"I’m not taking it." I was firm, probably harsher than I should be.

"Fine," he sighed. "Look, I know we didn’t really get to know each other that well, and we didn’t really run in the same circles or whatever, but um, Lucy—she kind of misses the shit out of you. So, I don't know. Maybe you could call her or something?"

I nodded.

"Don’t cry," he said.

"Shit," I spat. "I keep doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Nothing."

Silence.

Awkward.

"I might see you around, Amanda."

"Okay," I said.

He lifted his arm, threw the keys into the house behind me, and bolted for Jake’s truck.

My head spun to find where the keys had landed, and by the time I'd turned around, he was gone, and so was Jake, and so was Jake’s truck.

"Assholes," I said to myself. I closed the door and picked up the keys.

"What was that about?" Ethan asked. His hair was wet. His clothes fresh out of the laundry; he must’ve just gotten out of the shower.

"Logan traded in his car and got me one, and used the leftover money to pay my tuition," I said flatly.

"Good." He made himself comfortable on the sofa, picked up the remote and turned the TV back on. "At least he’s done one thing right by you."

1

"Are you actually going to drive it today, or just stare at it again?"

"Shut up," I told Ethan as he stepped out of the house and started making his way over to his own car.

"All I’m saying is, you may as well drive it. It’s been sitting there for two weeks. Who fucking cares where it came from? It’s yours, and you deserve it."

I looked down at the keys in my hand. "Okay," I said under my breath. I wrapped my fingers around the metal and nodded my head once. "Okay," I repeated, reassuringly.

I opened the car door and sat in the drivers seat.

And that’s all I did.

Then the passenger's door swung open, and Ethan slumped into the seat. "Drive," he said, facing forward.

"Huh?"

"Drive. Let’s go home. It’s Tristan’s birthday. Let’s hang out there, forget this space for a while." He waved his hand in a circular motion. He didn’t have to say the words; I knew what he was getting at. I hated this house, and all the memories that came with it. He faced me. "Okay?" he asked.

"I have to work."

He took the keys from my hand, stuck one in the ignition, and turned it over. "I’ll call them, tell them you’ve got lady cramps or whatever. They won’t question it. Come on, Amanda. Let’s just . . . I don't know . . ." He shrugged. "Let’s just find a way to bring you back, even for a little bit."

***

I drove the two and a half hours home in my new car. I couldn’t deny it. I liked having a car; it felt like I was gaining some freedom.

I pulled up to the curb and parked. Ethan and I got out at the same time. He wanted to go to the liquor store and get some beers for him and Tristan, and I wanted to stretch my legs. We were both underage, for the next few months, at least. Ethan had a fake I.D and we were in a different town. I knew this area only by the few times I’d come here with
him.

I must have been daydreaming while I was walking, because I didn’t see the store-door swing open, or the body that walked out of it.

Obviously.

Because I slammed right into it.

"Shit," I muttered, trying to regain my footing.

"Fuck." A deep rumble voice came from above my head.

Somehow, my hands had flattened against—what I assumed—was the person’s chest. I couldn’t be sure, because it felt like steel. People aren’t made of steel. I shut my eyes tight. The person’s hands grasped my elbows, trying to hold me up.

I finally settled, but my head was still down and my eyes were still closed. "You all good?" Man of steel asked.

I nodded.

He cleared his throat. "Amanda?"

My head whipped up. My eyes snapped open. "Hey, Dylan."

He let out all the air in his lungs and took a step back. And then he smiled—this huge, megawatt smile I’d never seen on him before. "How are you?"

I smiled back—genuinely—for the first time since
he’d
left. "I’m doing okay."

"Good."

Then it was quiet. I shuffled my feet. He crossed his arms over his wide chest.

"Are you doing anything right now?" he asked. His words were rushed, like it took all his energy to speak.

I shook my head. "Not really."

"Do you want to maybe go somewhere and talk? Look, I know that we didn’t really—or don’t really—know each other that well, but I think maybe I need to talk to someone I don’t know—about something that—"

"Sure," I cut in. If I didn’t, he’d never stop rambling.

"Yeah?" He raised his eyebrows. His hands went into the pockets of his jeans.

I looked away. The mannerism was too similar to someone else I know. Or knew. Whatever. "Uh-huh," I murmured, pulling out my phone to text Ethan.

We ended up sitting on the grass in the park on the other side of the road. I didn’t know what he wanted to talk about, so I stayed quiet, until finally, minutes later, he spoke. "You didn’t see where I was coming from when you ran into me like a linebacker, huh?"

My eyes narrowed at his question, then trailed to where we collided. "Oh," I said as understanding dawned.
Marine Corps Career Center.

"Yeah," he replied.

"You’re joining the Marines?"

He cleared his throat and leaned back on his outstretched arms. His legs kicked out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. "I think so."

"Huh."

He sat up and faced me, with one eye squinted to block out the sun. "Actually, I don’t
think
. I’m almost positive I’m going to enlist."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"No one knows?"

"No. I haven’t told anyone."

"Why?"

"Why haven’t I told anyone, or why am I doing it?"

"Both."

"I don’t know." He sighed. "Truthfully, I always planned on it after high school, you know? But then I met Heidi—" He paused, waiting for an emotion to settle before continuing, "I met Heidi, and I didn’t want to be without her. She wanted the college life—I wanted her. It wasn’t a hard decision. I’d have followed her anywhere."

"And now?"

He shrugged. "Now, she still wants the college life, and it’s not for me."

"I’m sorry," I told him. I didn’t know either of them well enough to give more support or advice. Maybe that’s why he’d thought it was okay to talk to me about it. Maybe he’d needed someone who wasn’t going to talk him out of it.

"Me too," he deadpanned.

"So, are you and Heidi done?"

He shook his head. "I don’t think that matters."

"How can it not? I’m sure she—"

"Amanda," he cut in. His tone was flat, serious. He turned his entire body to face me. "I’m sorry."

I reared back a little, surprised by his words. "You’re sorry?" I laughed once. "What? Why?"

He shrugged. "For Logan."

"I don’t want to talk—"

"I know," he said. "Micky and Lucy warned us . . . but I
am
sorry."

I swallowed my emotions. "You don’t need to be sorry."

It was quiet for a moment. The birds chirped above us. Their sounds seemed to be magnified by our silence. "I get why he did it—why he left."

I opened my mouth to speak, but he stopped me. "You were his girl, Amanda. He loved the shit out of you. And somehow, his life, merged with yours, caused a horrible outcome. Ask any decent guy; they’d tell you the same thing. It’s our job to protect our girls, to keep them safe, to make them happy. He thought he failed. If it were me, I’d do the same thing. I’d run. Hell, I’m probably doing it now—joining the marines. But it doesn’t even compare to what happened with you. And Logan, he’s a great guy, the best, but he doesn’t know how to handle that kind of hurt, you know?"

I blinked, and let the tears fall.

He kept talking, "I just—I know you hate him, or at least you want to. But don’t blame him for what he did. Maybe running away was the only way he thought to make it right."

I nodded. It was all I could do. Maybe he was right, or maybe I just wanted him to be. He stood up and offered me his hand. I took it. Then we stood in front of each other, my face to his chest—the guy was huge. I tilted my head so I could see his eyes. "Whatever Heidi is making you feel, she’s wrong. She has no idea what she’s about to lose."

Suddenly, his arms were around me. "Thank you for listening," he said, his voice rough.

"No, Dylan, thank you for speaking. It’s rare."

He laughed.

So did I.

I missed it—the laughing.

***

"Happy birthday, homo," Ethan sang. We were in Tristan’s yard, sitting at our usual spot of the dock on his private stretch of the lake. His parents were loaded, but the type of loaded that meant they were absent more than they were home. We’d spent way too many quiet nights here drinking.

"Thanks, baby," Tristan blew him a kiss.

Ethan belched.

I nudged Alexis next to me. "You think that’s hot?"