Logan

I took her out to the rooftop of the building. When I’d first moved in, the landlady told me that this wasn't the type of building that allowed drug use and loud parties. I laughed, and told her that it wasn't me at all. I told her about how much I planned on doing nothing but studying to try to catch up on as much as possible. She’d smiled then, and made me follow her up here. She’d told me that it was the only place in the building that had enough quiet so that my ever-progressive brain would work properly. Only her and I had a key, and no one else knew it existed. I bought some outdoor furniture the next day, and this place became my safe haven.

I tell all this to Amanda. She just smiles warmly at me and says, "It's real nice, Logan." Like I'm a fucking kid she needs to talk down to. I know what she's doing. I saw it in her eyes when I practically begged her to stay. I knew she pitied me, and it's probably the only reason why she was here with me right now. But I didn't care. I'd take anything she gave me. I walked us over to the outdoor sofa set I bought and motioned for her to sit down.

"So," I started.

"So," she replied.

"How's Ethan?"

Her shoulders visibly relaxed. Maybe she'd be happy to talk, as long as it wasn't about us. "He's good. Him and Lexi have been dating for a few months now."

I sat back and tried to feign comfort. Inside, I was a wreck. I tried to hide my shaking hands in my pockets as much as possible, but I couldn't do it from a seated position. "That's good, right?" I asked. "I mean—are you okay with that?"

She shrugged. "Yeah, I'm happy for them." She brought her legs up and under her. "And Tristan lives with us now, so it's kind of like old times—like high school."

"So Tristan—he's in my old room?"

"Um." She leaned back so her head rested on the top of the sofa and she was looking up at the sky. "No. Actually, I'm in your old room."

I tried not to picture her in our bed, probably with other guys. I didn't know if she was dating anyone, or if she had in the past. Fuck, surely she would've had sex with—

"So, Logan Matthews—gallivanting aimlessly around the world for an entire year. That must have been fun—I bet you drove the ladies wild." Her tone was part mocking, part teasing and part anger, and I felt every single one.

"No gallivanting. Not unless you count sleeping on dirt in third-world countries, and watching sick kids get sicker, gallivanting. And no. No girls."

Her head whipped to face me, her eyes narrowed. "No girls?" she asked incredulously. "Why do I not believe you?"

I shrugged. "What about you?" I asked.

It was her turn to shrug. "Don't really think it's important. Do you?" She slowly turned to face me, and then let out a breath, picking at the sleeve of her sweater. "Tyson moved in after you left."

I tried for the same reaction she gave me, but failed. "Huh."

"Yeah," she said, dreaminess in her voice. Fucking Tyson. "He asked if I ever wondered what would've happened between us if I'd never met you."

My chest tightened. I wondered the same thing all the time. "What did you tell him?"

"I don't know. Different time. Different place. I guess anything could have happened."

I didn't know what she meant, but I didn't press further.

It was quiet for the longest time, neither of us knowing what to say, or how to move on from the awkward conversation.

She shifted until her long legs stretched out in front of her, with her feet resting on the table. My eyes trailed from her feet, up her legs, over the rest of her body.

"How are you so neat?" she asked out of nowhere. "Your room, and now your apartment, it's so clean. Why?"

I had to laugh. "I'm gone for a year, and that's the question you ask?"

She squared her shoulders. "Fine then—why did you leave me?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but she stopped me. "Actually. You know what? I don't want to know."

She started to stand, but I pulled her back down and turned my body to face her. She kept looking straight ahead, refusing to meet my eyes. "When I was adopted, I thought that if I wasn't good enough, my dad would send me back, so I kept my room clean and hoped that it was enough, you know? That he might keep me if I was a good kid. That was my way of showing him that I was. I guess it kind of stuck."

I felt her warm hand cover mine. "I'm sorry," she said, turning to face me. She looked down where our bodies joined. "I didn't know that it had to do with that."

I flipped my hand over. She brushed her palm softly across mine, and then started tracing my fingers with hers. I watched as she focused on what she was doing. "Amanda?" I croaked out. "You don't ever have to apologize, for anything, ever."

"Why did you come back?" she whispered. Her eyes lifted and I could see it—her pain. "I thought I was getting over it, over you . . . why did you have to come back and ruin everything?"

She stood up quickly, and started to walk away. I followed, pulling on her arm to stop her. "Baby." The word slipped out, like verbal vomit.

"Baby?" she rushed out. "Baby," she repeated, louder this time. Then a rage switched on inside her. She'd gone from upset to pissed, in two-seconds flat. "You don't get to call me baby."