More Than Him (8 page)

Once he was on his feet again, he blew out a breath. "You don't need to tell me anything, just—"

"I'll just tell him that I'm leaving, okay?"

He shook his head again. "It's fine . . . you don't need—"

"Just wait out front for me?"

He nodded, then turned and headed for the front door.

I watched him. And finally, I let my body relax.

***

I walked out the front door and looked around for him. He was leaning against a car, one knee bent with his foot on the wheel. His head was down, looking at his hand. He shook it a couple of times, and then went back to examining it.

Weird.

I strolled over to him; he must not have heard me coming, because his eyes never lifted. I kicked his shoe with mine, and his gaze moved from his hand, to my shoe, up my legs, higher, over my body and finally, after what felt like a lifetime, my face. His eyes shut tight as he looked away from me.

"Are you okay?" He was acting strange, or maybe this was normal for him now.
Who knows? It's been a year.
He pulled a can of beer from both pockets of his sweater and silently offered one to me. I shook my head, declining.

"Walk?" he asked, kicking off the car and replacing one can back in his pocket. He pulled the tab off the beer, placed it to his mouth, tilted his head back and chugged. After his Adam's apple bobbed for the fourth time, his eyes shifted to mine. Pulling the can away, he straightened up, but his gaze remained on me. He licked his lips. I unconsciously did the same. He cursed under his breath and took a step towards me. Panic kicked in, but he just walked past me and started leading me away from the house. I followed, crossing my arms over my chest and hiding my hands under my armpits. I needed to hide my wrists. He couldn't see them.

Logan

She'd gotten even hotter, if at all possible. Her heels just helped show off her legs. Her goddamn legs. She didn't wear heels that often when we were together, but when she did, it drove me crazy. I wonder if I’d ever told her that. I should have told her a lot of things, and more often.

Like the fact that I loved her.

Or the fact that I still love her.

I stopped walking, turned to face her, and waited for her to catch up. "Sorry," I told her. "I shouldn't have turned my back on you." I watched as her steps faltered.

Fuck. Nice choice of words, asshole.

We walked half a block until we were at a baseball field. She led the way to a swing-set, and sat down. I did the same, sitting opposite, so we were face to face. She smiled at me, but it was off—it didn't reach her eyes. Her legs pushed off the ground only enough so that they straightened. Her eyes focused on the dirt underneath us.

Her arms were still crossed with her hands tucked under them. She must've been cold. I pulled the full can of beer out of my sweater pocket and shrugged out of it, stood up, and then placed it around her shoulders.

"Oh," she said surprised. "You don't have to do that."

I sat back on the swing. "It's fine."

She put her arms through the holes and zipped it up. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

8

Amanda

Being in his sweater was a bad idea. I could smell him all around me. I let it control me for a second, but only a second, before I got my bearings back.

I looked at our surroundings. It was so dark, the only light coming from the moon and the one street lamp lighting part of the field.

Of course we'd end up at a baseball field. I laughed under my breath. "Do you miss it?" I asked him, jerking my head towards the field

"Of course I do, Amanda. Every day." His words were rushed. It surprised me. It must've shown in my expression because his eyes went huge, and then looked towards the field. "Oh," he said. "You mean baseball? Um. Yes, I guess. Not really, no. I mean . . . I don't know," he rambled under his breath, and then shook his hand out a couple of times before he examined it again.

Something was wrong.

"Logan, are you okay?" I stopped swinging and faced him.

"Yes." His voice was hoarse.

"You keep looking at your hand."

He focused on it again. I followed his gaze. "It won't stop shaking," he said.

I watched as his fingers trembled. He flexed them a few times. "Why?"

He laughed once. "You make me nervous," he stated. "You've always made me nervous." He looked up, his gaze intense. "I guess nothing's changed."

I looked away. I felt myself coming undone, and I couldn't have that. "Everything's changed," I told him.

It was the truth.

Then we just sat there, in the deafening silence of our own thoughts.

After a while, I stood up. I didn't know why, but sitting there with him was too much. It was too hard. But it was also too easy—it shouldn't be easy.

He stood, too. "I wrote you."

I sucked in a breath. "I know. I got it."

He just nodded and looked away. I didn't think it was necessary to tell him I kept it in my handbag and carried it everywhere.

"Look . . ." he said, his hands going in his pockets. "Can we just talk for a bit? I know that I'm the last person on earth you wanna be seeing, but I don't want this to be awkward, and I know that I have no right to ask anything from you, at all, but I don't know . . ." He shrugged, "it would just mean a lot, if you could just talk to me . . . for a bit . . ."

He took my hand in his and placed it flat against his heart. I could feel it pounding against my palm. He ducked his head so he could look clearly into my eyes. "Please, Amanda," he pleaded.

He covered my hand with his and placed the other on the side of my face.

I stopped breathing. All I could hear was the blood pumping in my ears.

Thump, thump
, I felt against his chest.

His mouth parted, but he didn't move. His eyes stayed focused on mine. He rubbed his thumb against my cheek. "Please," he said again.

"Okay." I nodded.

"Yeah?" His features brightened.

I couldn't help the smile that formed. "Sure."

He led me onto the field and stopped in the middle, never once releasing my hand. Lying down, flat on his back, he tugged my hand until I was down on the ground. I sat next to him, and waited, but he just looked up at the stars and stayed silent. Then, finally, "You hate me, don't you?"

I tried to silence my gasp, but I don't know if it worked. "I want to," I told him truthfully. "I mean—how could I not, right?"

His eyes finally left the stars and focused on me.

He waited for me to continue, so I did. "There's so many reasons why I should hate you, but I can't, Logan." I swallowed the knot in my throat. "I can't hate you," I repeated. "But I can't feel anything else for you."

Lie.

He sniffed once and nodded, looking back at the stars. "So I take it you’re still at UNC?"

My body relaxed. I could do this. We could talk. "Yup."

"Still childcare?"

My eyebrows pinched. "No, um, I changed majors."

He sat up, a smile taking over his face. "Really? To what? Nursing?"

"You don't know?" He had to know.

He shook his head. "No," he laughed out. "Why would I know?"

"Your dad didn't tell you?"

"What? Why would my dad tell me?" He sat up straighter, and turned his entire body to face me.

I got more confused. "Wait. Your dad knows you're home, right?"

He laughed again. "Yes, of course he knows I'm home. What are you talking about?"

"Huh."

"Huh?" he asked. "What does 'huh' mean?" He bit his lip, but his smile still came through, causing his beautiful damn dimples to appear.

I sucked in a breath. "I don't know . . ." I started to mock, playing along with his amused tone. "If he didn't tell you . . ."

He threw his head back and made a frustrated sound. "Wait." All of a sudden he turned serious. "You haven't started dating my dad have you?"

"Ew!" I squealed, pushing on his chest. He fell back on the ground, laughing. "That's just wrong."

"I know." He actually sounded relieved. "You don't need to tell me that."

I couldn't help but laugh. "You're such an idiot."

"I know. You don't need to tell me that, either."

Then it was quiet for a beat.

"So?" He raised his eyebrows. "What's your major, and what does Dad have to do with it?"

I tried to pick my words carefully. It wasn't just about my major, or his dad. It was about him, too, but he didn't need to know that. "Your dad helped me decide, I guess. I've switched to psychology."

His lips turned up at the corners. His expression was one I knew well; pride. It made my heart hurt. I swallowed, wary of his reaction. "I want to focus on children's services. I want to work with neglected and um . . ." I paused to take a breath. ". . . abused kids."

He sat up, resting his weight on his arms behind him. "Huh." His eyes were unfocused, staring into the distance. He pulled his knees up and settled his elbows on them. "That's great, Amanda." He tilted his head to face me. "You're going to be amazing."

Yeah, I thought. We could've been amazing together.

"So." He nudged my side, trying to lighten the mood. "How did my dad help you decide?"

"I think I may have said too much already. Maybe you need to ask him that one."

He chuckled. "Okay then . . ."

We both started to speak at the same time, but he held his hand out towards me. "Ladies first," he said.

"How long have you been back?"

"A couple weeks."

"So everyone knows you're here?"

"Nope, just Dad, and now you."

"Why?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "You know Micky, she'd throw a party."

I laughed. She would.

"I just want to lay low for a bit, have time to get my shit together." He lay back down on the grass and linked his fingers behind his head.

And that's when I saw it—words tattooed on the inside of his bicep. My fingers moved on their own, lifting his sleeve so I could read it.

His entire body stiffened when my skin made contact with his. "Sorry," I whispered, but didn't remove my hand. Tilting my head to read the script easier, I said the words out loud, "Transit umbra, lux permanet . . ." I looked at him, confused.

He raised his hand to move my hair behind my ear.

Thump. Thump.

Logan

Her phone sounded, interrupting us. ‘Hey There Delilah’ played.

Tyson.

I watched her face light up. She excused herself and reached for her phone. "Tyson," she greeted. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

She waited for a response, and then a slow laugh built up. "I was just at a party, you know Twiggy . . . uh-huh . . . Yeah."

She paused, eyeing me with a seriousness I hadn't expected. "No, nothing exciting, I'm actually just heading home now." She got to her feet. "Skype me tomorrow, okay?"

I came to a stand. She fidgeted with the hem of my hoodie; it was longer than the dress she wore. "Yeah," she said quietly, looking away from me. "I love you, too."

For the second time that night, my stomach hit the floor.

She loved Tyson.

She placed the phone in her bag then looked up at me and smiled. "You'll never guess what Tyson's doing now."

Like I fucking gave a shit. "Oh yeah?" I faked. "What's he doing?" Apart from banging the girl I'm in love with?

"He's on a world tour." She sounded so proud; it kind of made me sick. "Guess who with?"

"Who?"

She started walking back to the party. "John Mayer."

I choked on air. "No way?"

She nodded enthusiastically.

"So, that must be hard, you guys dating, and him all over the place."

"What?" she huffed. "We're not dating."

"But you told him you loved him?"

"I do love him." She shrugged, and started walking faster.

Amanda

I don't know why I openly announced that I loved Tyson. Maybe it was because I wanted to see his reaction. Maybe deep down I wanted him to hurt.

The second the words were out of my mouth, it seemed like a light switched off inside him. His eyes dimmed, his features flattened.

I walked faster away from him. I couldn't stand to see it. His pain would still cause my heart to break, and I didn't need that.

I didn't deserve that.

The walk back to my car seemed to take forever. I made the mistake of moving closer to him when a bunch of guys started walking towards us. The self-defense classes had helped, not just my confidence in unknown situations, but also the immediate panic I would get when faced with the slightest of threats. I felt his body stiffen next to me, and then slowly, and carefully, he placed his arm around my shoulders, bringing me even closer to him. As soon as I felt
safe
, I shrugged out of his hold. I didn't want to mess with his head. I didn't want him to think it was okay to do stuff like that, to feel the need to protect me, or whatever.

"So, this is me." I unlocked the car, opened the door, and threw my handbag in.

He stood in front me, nodding slowly. "Is this—I mean—this is the one they picked?"

"Ha! You mean the one you bought me?" The words came out harsher than intended.

He must've noticed because he didn't respond, just moved around me, stuck his head in the car and looked around. "So, it's good?" he asked. "I mean, it doesn't break down and shit? It's safe, right?"

He pulled back and waited for my response.

At the word
safe,
something in me shifted. "Yeah, Logan."  I started to unzip his hoodie. "It's
safe
."