Page 51 of Everything Has Changed
“There’s no way you had one drink. Unless it was one bucket, you smell like a brewery.”
He shakes his head. “One bottle. Of bourbon. Stole it from my dad’s office. Felt appropriate.”
At the reminder of his dad this morning, I want to hide my face. Not that he can see the redness overtaking my skin, because his eyes are now half open as he nestles his head into the crook of the doorframe. A small yawn leaves his mouth, prompting me to jump into action.
“Nope.” I put his arm around my shoulder, angling him in the direction of his apartment door. It takes him a second to catch on that I’m trying to move him, which is almost comical because I think I could push a car better than I could push a drunken Logan down the hall right now. I nudge his thigh, trying my damndest to not focus on the hardness beneath his slack, urging him to take a step.
He shuffles his way a few feet down the hall, his other hand supporting most of his weight so he doesn’t crush me. When we finally make it to his door, I prop him against the wall.
“Can you get your keys out for me?”
I look up at his face to find him staring down at me again. He doesn’t make a move, just keeps looking, until I speak up again.
“Logan?”
“Huh?”
“Keys? Where are they?”
Patting at his pockets like a fumbling toddler, he eventually produces a keyring that only holds two silver keys and a car fob. No extrafrills or fun, I think to myself. For some reason, that makes me a little sad. I think about my own keyring, full of keychains loved ones have picked up for me here and there. They always remind me that no matter how bad some days can be, someone loves me enough to think about me in their special moments.
I juggle with making sure he stays upright, knowing if he meets the floor he’s just going to be staying there, unless he can crawl into his apartment. I finally get the key into the hole and twist the door open. The door swings open to reveal a dark apartment, the only light filtering in is from his balcony door lighting the way. It felt weird to be in here, seeing my place mirrored but without all the trinkets that make it feel homey.
I manage to shuffle Logan to his couch, dropping him unceremoniously onto the cushions before bounding into the kitchen. I find a clean glass quickly, filling it with water and rushing it back to him as I watch his heavy eyelids drift closed.
“No, you don’t,” I grab his shoulder, pulling him upright.
His eyes reopen and immediately land on me again.
“Gwen, when did you get here?”
I chuckle as I pass him the glass. He downs it quickly as if he had been desperately thirsty. “Since you showed up drunk on my doorstep.”
He sighs heavily. “I wanted to see you, but I didn’t want you to see me this way.”
My chest warms at his admission. I perch myself on the edge of his coffee table.
“Why are you like this on a Monday night, Logan?” I nudge him with my knee that is resting on his to get his attention, which is wavering between staring at me and staring at a blank spot in the air.
His voice is low when he finally responds. “I should never have come back.”
My lips part in shock, unsure how to reply. He doesn’t give me a chance, anyway. As if the dam has broken, he continues to talk.
“He wants me to be him. I can’t be him. And he can’t accept that. I was so happy being far away from this place and all the reminders. I knew this,” he waves a heavy hand around the room before dropping it to the couch, though I know he’s talking about beyond these walls, “was inevitable. But, fuck, it’s not what I want.”
I lick my dry lips, feeling bold enough to ask the first question popping into my head.
“What do you want?”
His eyelids were drooped so low that I almost think he’s sleep talking, until he slowly opens them again. They land on the hand I had not realized I placed on his knee. I start to pull away, but he slides his over mine.
“Freedom. Passion.” His head lolls to the side, where it’s lying against the back of the couch, but he keeps his gaze locked on me as he says the next word. “Love.”
A flurry of butterflies erupts in my stomach, traveling throughout my body with such force I feel like I could float.
He’s talking in general, not about you,I remind myself.
But damn if I don’t take that simple word to heart. I’ll chastise myself for the galloping speed it takes on later when I can’t sleep at three in the morning and dissect everything we have ever said to each other.
