Page 75 of Paging Dr. Summers

“I know we’d talked about going to Yosemite this weekend, but I have to do this.” His voice was so strained; he sounded like he was in physical pain.

“Iunderstand,” I said as steady as possible, not wanting to make this any more awkward than it already was.

“I know this is bad timing, and I’m sorry, but it’s important.” He pleaded with me to understand.

I understood, even though it hurt. “You don’t need to explain yourself. Say hi to Erica for me,” I said lightheartedly, trying to hold it together. I refused to cry in front of him. We’d made no promises to each other.

Logan didn’t seem to know what to say. His expression was a mix of gratitude and guilt. Finally, with an uneasy smile, he said, “I’ll call you when I get back.”

I twisted the sheet in my hands, noting how he’d said he would call, not see me, and he hadn’t mentioned when he’d be back. It spoke volumes. Seeing the writing on the wall, I just nodded.

But then, without warning, Logan reached for me, his fingers tugging lightly on the hem of the worn T-shirt I wore—his shirt. Before I could react, he pulled me to him, his lips crashing onto mine, urgent and unspoken words pouring into the kiss.

One word, really—goodbye.

I felt it in the way his lips lingered, pressing against mine but refusing to part them.

Neither of us seemed willing to sever the connection. We stayed there, locked in a silent battle—each unwilling to surrender, yet knowing deep down that there would be no winners here. Only loss.

So, I let myself sink into him, absorbing every detail—from the warmth of his careful touch to the way his fingers pressed into my skin like they were memorizing me and the way he tasted like cinnamon, sweet and spicy.

I would never forget him or this summer. I would always think of it as a gift.

Logan pulled away as abruptly as he’d drawn me to him, the suddenness leaving me breathless. He jumped off the bed, his movements frantic and disoriented. “I better go. Goodbye,” he said, his voice clipped, like he couldn’t exit fast enough.

Before I could respond, he turned and bolted out the door.

“Goodbye,” I whispered to his retreating figure, the word trembling with all the emotion I’d been trying to hold back.

Last goodbyes were always the hardest, but this one cut deeper than I’d ever imagined.

“PASS THE LICORICE, PLEASE,” LOLA mumbled, her words slurring as she sank deeper into the coma-like haze of an all-day movie marathon. Her hand dangled limply toward me, waiting for the candy.

I groaned and reached over to the couch cushion next to me as if the exertion were herculean. It was pathetic. As was the fact that we’d been glued to the couch since ten that morning, drizzly rain drumming softly on the roof like we’d ordered it to set the mood.

In the twelve hours since then, we’d consumed sixDatelineepisodes—each featuring women who snapped under pressure and murdered their partners—followed byThe Break-Up, a YouTube montage of tear-jerking commercials, and nowThe Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement. Because every girl needed to watch that with her sister at least once, and I was bound and determined to make up for lost time with Lola—and, hello, Chris Pine.

I handed Lola the licorice. “Do you think we should eat some protein?”

She barely rolled her head in my direction, her face framed by the faint glow of the TV screen. A pillow had imprinted its seam onto her cheek, and her hair was wild from hours of lying down.

“Nah. Maybe tomorrow,” she said, unapologetically.

“I’m okay with that.” I snuggled closer to her, the quilt pooling around us, as I shoved as many Skittles as I could into my mouth. “Don’t you think Chris Pine looks a lot like Logan?” I asked, my words garbled as I chewed with my mouth open.

“Oh, chica.” Lola rested her head on my shoulder. “You asked that about Keith Morrison and four of the six men murdered by their wives.”

I giggled, even though I’d been marinating in self-pity all day. “But this time, I really mean it. It’s those amazing blue eyes.”

“You might actually be right this time. But I thought we weren’t talking about the stupid men in our lives.” She viciously ripped off a piece of licorice with her teeth like the candy was to blame for our sad situation.

“Except we keep talking about them,” I reminded her.

We bashed Father Dearest every chance we got, dissecting all his shortcomings and lies. He really was stupid. According to Lola, he’d begged her to tell me how sorry he was. Yeah, he was sorry all right. He wasn’t even man enough to tell me himself. Not that an apology would get him anywhere. I wanted nothing to do with him.

But the other man in my life? I definitely wanted something to do with him. I’d replayed every moment Logan and I had spent together out loud, like a broken record, scratching the same grooves over and over again, wishing our song ended differently. But every time it ended in heartbreak. Even so, I tried not to feel too sorry for myself.

My mom had sent me to Aspen Lake to take life to the limit, and I had. And I knew what I had to do next. I had to walk away with my head held high. Mom had let Maxwell push her to her limits, even past them, and I knew she regretted it. Logan wasn’t Maxwell—not by a long shot—but I wouldn’t let myself repeat her mistakes.

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