Page 122 of Everything Has Changed
“Please, baby–-”
“No, Logan. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to plead with me.” I run my hand over the silent tears falling down my face, trying not to think about how I probably look like a raccoon as I hold strong. “We had a good run while it lasted. You don’t owe me anything, but please just remember what this town means to the rest of us before you sit back and allow everyone else to change it forever. Good luck with everything, Mr. Mayor.”
Without another word, I finally turn my back on Logan and head down the street. The pieces of my shattered heart bleed out onto the ground with every step I take.
41
Logan
Iwait until I hear Gwen leave her apartment the next day before I make any move toward my own door. After the announcement that was unsurprisingly not received well by the townspeople, in my father’s attempt at a lavish gala to impress his new rich friends, I returned to the ballroom long enough to inform my mother I was leaving. She tried to beg me to stay, but after seeing what was sure to be a devastated look on my face, she kissed my cheek and told me to call her tomorrow.
I went back to willows—knowing that she wouldn’t be there, but a part of me hoping she would be—and sat reflecting on all of the things I should have done, that I was too chickenshit to do. Starting with telling Gwen the truth from the beginning. As soon as I started to feel something more for her, I should have told her. But I didn’t, and now I had to live with the consequences.
I stayed out there until about two in the morning, wallowing in self-pity, before I found the energy to make the trek back to my apartment.
I wasn’t expecting to see Matthew sitting on the stoop, phone in one hand and an unlit cigarette in the other.
“Got some real nerve showing up here, man.”
I roll my eyes, taking the seat on the step next to him. “I live here. What’s your excuse?”
“I built the damn place.” He fiddles with the stick in his hand, twisting it back and forth.
“Touche.”
He releases a long breath, looking up at the cloudless sky. “The girls passed out a little bit ago after some wine and a good screamfest over how awful boys are. I think she said something about rich assholes, too, but I can’t be sure after they turned on Taylor Swift and started singing.”
“I deserve that.”
“And a hell of a lot more from what I’m gathering.” Matt looks at his black phone screen. “It’s fine. You can join the club. If there is anything I know how to do, it's how to break a Prescott girl’s heart.”
Running a hand through my hair, I sigh. “What the fuck can I do to fix it?”
Matthew stands from his spot on the stoop, pocketing his phone and cigarette. “I couldn’t even begin to guess after the shit you are in. But why don’t you start with giving her some space? Do what you gotta do to smooth over this mess your father started, man. Then maybe she will think about talking to you again.”
Matt leaves me there in the silence of the night, walking toward his truck parked a few spots down. I wait until he is turning toward the residential area before I get up to go inside, not wasting any time until I flop down on the couch, my ears ready to pick up any sound coming from Gwen’s apartment. Which doesn’t come until later in the morning, as I catch them tiptoeing down the hall through the peephole.
Only then, when I was able to breathe knowing she was okay—or as okay as she can be in the situation we are in—did I sit down andstart to come up with a plan. I knew I needed allies. I needed someone in town to hear me out and help me. As much as I want that person to be Gwen, I can’t involve her right now. No, I needed someone else who could be influential and help me behind the scenes.
Only one person really came to mind.
“Fuck it,” I whisper to myself as I swipe my keys off the side table and head out to my car.
A few minutes of driving later and I’m knocking on their front door. When it opens, an expectant look crosses their face.
“I knew you were coming around sooner or later.” They open the door a little more and usher me in.
I step into the entrance, turning to take in Ophelia.
“How are you feeling?”
One shoulder lifts in a shrug as she gestures for me to follow her into the living room. We both take a seat on the couch and I turn to face her so she has my full attention.
“There are good days and there are bad ones. The real question is how areyou?”
Sighing, I pick at my fingers in my lap. “I’m fine.”
Ophelia tsks. “Don’t let my great-granddaughter hear you say that. Let’s try this again, and this time don’t lie to me.”
