Page 4 of Hypothetical Heart
“Whatever you want,” I say, tracing her jaw. “I’ll do it. Just say the word.”
She nods, trying to smile. “I want you,” she sighs. “God, that’s all I’ve ever wanted.Me and you.”
“You have me.”
It’s only three days later when my mom dies, and five days after that when I tell Logan I can’t do it anymore.
I don’t give him a reason. I don’t tell him how much it messed me up watching my dad not be able to get out of bed after losing the love of his life, and how I can’t bear the thought of that happening to either of us.
I simply walk over to his house. He opens the front door and gives my statue of a body a hug, and without being able to meet his eyes, I say, “I can’t do this, Logan.”
He looks up at me, his hurt written so deeply within his expression. It’s the type of face I know I’ll never forget. “What?”
“I can’t do this,” I repeat. He takes a step back, and I take a matching one forward. “Logan?—”
“No.” He holds his hand up. “I know you’re going through a rough time right now, and I’ve tried to be there for you the best I can be?—”
“Logan, this isn’t your fault.” I grab his hand, and he tries to resist for a second, but then he just lets it happen. “It’s hard for me to explain right now, and I hope there will come a time when I can understand my feelings fully. But right now, all I know is I’m not in the right headspace to give you the type of relationship we both know you deserve.”
“Winnie, I’m not worried about that.”
“I am,” I say, tears forming in my eyes. “You deserve the girl of your dreams, and I can’t be that for you right now, Logan. I can’t.”
“This is what we were afraid of,” he says, letting out a shaky breath.
He’s right. The whole reason we’ve never tried to be anything more than friends sooner than we did is because we were so afraid of losing each other.
“I still want us to be friends.”
Logan drops his hand from mine, and while I’m sure he didn’t mean it in a cruel way, it still feels like he dropped a thousand pounds of bricks on my chest.
“I’m trying to understand, Win, and I don’t want to push us forward when you’re not ready. I’m just hurt.”
“I’m sorry,” I sigh. There’s no way for me to make him understand, and I’m not even sure he would want to.
“We can stay friends,” he says after a beat. “We have to.”
“No one needs to know it was ever anything more,” I tell him.
He nods, agreeing. “And if there’s ever a time where we think we could be something more, without the repercussions, then we will.”
“Alright,” I say.
“Alright.” And that is that.
2
FEBRUARY
Only Logan Callaghan would send a girl he’s not dating flowers on Valentine’s Day.
It’s nearly seven in the morning, and the dozen pink and white roses that were delivered freshly to my house just a few minutes ago are now staring me down from where they sit in the vase on my dresser.
My dad was the one who answered the door to the delivery and the one who read the card out to me as he stood in the doorway of my bedroom.
Valentine’s Day has been my favorite holiday for as long as I can remember, and for nearly just as long, Logan has never failed to make me feel important.
I reread the card, trying not to think about how my dad—who already has suspicions of Logan and my relationship being something more than itis—already read the note this morning, most likely while standing on our front porch.
