Page 32 of Love Rewritten

“Okay. I’ll keep in touch if I learn more. But for now, there’s not much we can do until the first court date.”

I nod even though she can’t see me. “All right. Love you. Bye.”

I set my phone down a little too hard, the thud echoing in the quiet and run my hands down my face. It can never be easy, can it? Now, to tell Abby. But how? She’ll handle it. I know she will. But watching her break every time something new comes up kills me. And there’s not much I can do to help, other than be there for her. I wish I could do more, but everything else I want to do would probably send me to jail. And that certainly won’t help anything. So, for now, I’ll keep my fists firm at my sides instead of flesh meeting flesh like I so badly want to.

There’s no way I’ll be able to fall asleep again, so I settle into the couch for a couple of hours until Logan wanders out, scratching his head.

He stretches and joins me. “You’re up early.”

“Yeah. My mom called with some … news.” He raises a brow. “Sam’s been arrested.”

Logan sits up from where he was slouching on the couch “They found him?”

“I guess. I didn’t ask for specifics. All I know is he’ll be booked for a few days, but I have no doubt he’ll be able to make bail.”

“Shit.” He pauses, then looks toward my room. “Does Abby know?”

I shake my head and look at the ground. “She hasn’t woken up yet. But I think it’s time to face the music. Shit’s going to get even more real.” I sigh. “She’ll get through it. But I hate seeing her panic like that. I can already picture it.” The images form in my head far easier than I want. It’s an effort to push them down when I know they’ll be a reality soon.

His expression softens. There isn’t really anything more to say. We both know the next few weeks are going to be tough. We know it’s going to be a long road. But then I realize something, and it’s not something I’ve thought much about until now. And I’m kicking myself for it.

“You know you don’t have to be involved in this, right?” Other than being in it physically since we live together, I don’t think I’ve ever given him permission to step aside. Not that he needs it from me, but I don’t want him to feel stuck in this.

He cocks his head and looks at me, brows drawn together. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you don’t have to sit through this so closely if you don’t want to. You can opt-out and only be a part of what you want to be a part of. I realize I brought you into this without asking and I never gave you an out. So, here’s your out if you want it.” I wait for his response, unsure of what direction he’s going to take. I know he was struggling with all of it when he returned that first weekend, and I’m not sure where his head is at while things simultaneously get worse and better.

He sits up straighter and places both hands on his knees. “Dal, I’m not leaving or opting out. Sure, this isn’t what I thought the summer after graduating would be like, but I won't drop you or Abby like that.” He pauses, but I can tell he’s not done. With a deep breath, he says, “I like Abby. And I like you with her. I like this version of you. You were a mess after Cole, and through all your parent’s stuff, but somehow, she grounds you more than even baseball or riding does. I don’t know how she does it, but I’ll forever be grateful for her.”

I can’t help the cheesy smile that spreads across my face. I’ve not thought about that, but I think he’s right. She does ground me in a way I’ve never experienced before. All it takes is one look from her, and everything eases.

“I’m not going anywhere, dude.” With that, Logan stands up and pulls me into a hug. “All I ask,” he says when he pulls away, “is that you two warn me next time you’re going to grope each other on the couch.” He pats me on the back and walks away, laughing.

It’s another hour before Abby wakes up, and I still haven’t figured out the right words. She strolls out of the bedroom, still in her pajamas, and into the bathroom. After what feels like hours, she reappears and finds herself some food. How do I even bring this up? The words have been circulating in my head for hours, and I still can’t seem to form them into a coherent sentence even though it only takes all of three words to say it.

The worst part is, she seems to be in a fantastic mood this morning. She’s bouncing around the apartment like she just won the lottery and can’t hold back the excitement. Even Logan has noticed and shoots me a questioning yet very leery eye.

She sets herself up at the kitchen table, opens her laptop, opens her notebook, clicks her pen into place, and is entrenched in her writing so quickly that I almost miss the hint of worry in her eye.

The kitchen chair scrapes against the floor as I pull it out to sit next to her. She looks up briefly from her work and watches me sit before returning her gaze to her computer. Her fingers move rapidly over the keys as her eyes shift back and forth from the computer to her notebook.

I hesitate to say anything based on how invested she already is in her work. “How goes the writing?” I ask, testing the waters.

She doesn’t look up from her work this time. “I’m getting there. I’ve only got a couple more days to finish it. It needs to be submitted by midnight the night before the ceremony.” She scribbles something onto a sticky note and sticks it to the side of her laptop screen.

“The way you’ve been working, I think you’ll finish in no time.”

“Have you ever edited a paper in your entire college experience?” she asks, folding her hands on the table and staring at me.

I laugh and lean against the back of my chair. “Wow. Shot point blank.” She goes back to her writing with a smug grin, but I can’t keep pretending like everything is fine. It’ll eat at me until I blurt it out in the most unhelpful way possible. “Abby?”

She holds up a finger. “One second. Let me finish this paragraph.” So, I wait. And wait. Finally, she sets her pen down and sits back. “Okay. Sorry, that one was giving me a hard time.” She smiles. “What’s up?”

Here goes nothing. I take a deep breath and shift on the uncomfortable wooden chair. “I have to tell you something, and I know it’s not going to sit well.”

Her entire expression falters for a split second before she tries to regain her composure. “Whatever it is, just tell me. Don’t dance around it. I’m tired of people sidestepping everything they say to me.”

I nod, understanding exactly what she means. I’ve done that, sidestepped the truth with her. I know she’s strong. I know she can handle the truth. I just hate seeing her break down in front of me, unsure if she’ll fully recover.

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