I’ll admit, it’s hard not to stare at her, even now. Her figure is small, tight, and dainty and her long lashes are the type that could lure men to their graves. Still, the truth is, I only ever saw her as a friend, and we both know that. We tried to have a sexual relationship, but it never worked. It was much better when we occasionally saw each other in the hallways and waved instead of awkwardly trying to hold hands.

  She never felt right. Madison did, still does. And I was cruel to her.

  Jenalyn notices me staring at her and walks over to me. She reaches out and touches my forearm, her dark eyes brimming with compassion. “How are you, Logan?”

  I sigh. “Not good.”

  Her lower lip juts out. It makes my stomach curdle even more. I hate being pitied. Ever since I was young, I’ve despised it, and now I’m sentenced to these saddened expressions and whispers behind my back for the rest of my life.

  “I’m sorry. Your mom was so nice. I had no idea she was suffering that much.”

  I nod. “Thanks. She tried her best to hide it around my friends. She really tried . . . ” My voice catches, and I can’t continue. I clear my throat to try and mask it.

  Jenalyn takes a seat on the stool next to me and continues to rub my forearm. It’s oddly calming and nauseating all at once. I want to accept her efforts to comfort me, but my only clear thought is that I wish it was Madison next to me instead of her.

  “She was proud of you, you know.”

  I glance up and notice Jenalyn suppressing a smile. “What do you mean?”

  “I still live in the neighborhood with my parents,” Jenalyn explains. She flips her long, dark hair back behind her shoulder. “I stopped by your mom’s house a lot on my runs. She couldn’t stop bragging about you and your band, especially when you went on tour.”

  My lips quirk upward. “That’s nice to know.”

  “She was right to be proud of you.” Jenalyn slips her small, soft hand up my arm toward my bicep. “You’re amazing, Logan. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t let you go.”

  My eyebrows draw together. I pull away from her touch. “Are you seriously hitting on me right now?”

  Jenalyn jerks her hand back. “I-I, uh . . . ”

  “You know what? I don’t need this.” I slam my drink down on the counter and turn away. “Don’t bother coming back to our house ever again.”

  “Logan, I’m sorry,” Jenalyn sobs. I look over my shoulder and see tears welling in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to make things worse. I just thought you could use some comfort, and—”

  “I could,” I admit, swallowing down the guilt that’s gnawing at my insides. “But there’s only one person who can help me through this, and you’re not her.”

  My childhood home spins and distorts around me as I step inside and lock the front door. A pile of unopened mail sits on the decorative table in the entryway. I brush past it, accidentally sending every last piece of it fluttering to the floor.

  “Whoops,” I mutter, drawing out the vowel sound until it’s almost comical.

  Flopping down on the couch in the living room, I bury my face in the ancient floral fabric so I won’t have to see my mother’s myriad of possessions that I now have to sort through. Every single one of these objects has to be thrown away, sold, or held onto. I’m tempted to take a match to the goddamn place. It would be a hell of a lot easier. Either that, or dump everything into a shit-ton of garbage bags and drop it all off at the dump.

  The cushion grows wet underneath me. At first I think it might finally be tears coming, but it turns out to be drool. I must have gotten more fucked up than I thought at the bar. I’m lucky I didn’t get caught drunk driving. Every time someone asked me where Madison was, I took a drink. I told them all that she had to go home sick. I didn’t want to tell them about the soap opera that’s been unfolding between us lately.

  I shouldn’t have been so cold to her earlier, but I knew there was a chance we’d be going out tonight, and I didn’t want to see her with some random man. I knew my heart couldn’t take it. Now that I’ve finally come to my senses, I realize Madison would never do that to me. She only fucked those other guys because I had just fucked her over in the worst way. I’m to blame for everything that happened between us. I owe her the biggest apology.

  God, I would give anything to hold her . . .

  I grip my head with both hands. My sight I can control, but my thoughts are something else entirely. Even now, in the darkest hour of my life, my thoughts are consumed with her. I wish I hadn’t been so stubborn when she asked if she could help me. I don’t just need help with the house, I need help with everything.

  I need her to be my strength and get me through this. I need her.

  The doorbell rings. I haul my body off of the couch with some effort and stagger over to the front door. When I look through the peephole, my heart skips a beat.

  I should have known she’d never abandon me.

  I throw the door open and drink in her abnormally casual appearance. Her heavy makeup is nowhere to be found, and she’s wearing a Snoopy t-shirt over a simple pair of athletic shorts. She looks fresh, sweet, and innocent, like she did at home on the weekends while we were growing up. This is the real Mads: the one who isn’t hiding behind a facade of belligerence.

  The hesitant expression in her big, anime eyes is almost my undoing. She holds out an envelope.

  “Bev asked me to give this to you—”

  I yank her into a hug. Madison stiffens against me at first, then relaxes into my hold and tangles her arms around me. I crushed the shit out of the envelope she was holding, but I don’t even care. Her warm body pressed against mine is enough to soothe any pain or heartache.

  Cricket’s here. Everything’s going to be okay.

  The faint glow of sunlight surrounds my vision. My nose twitches from the scent of ass and old chips. I stir, and immediately regret moving when the morning light slices through my head like a meteorite kitchen knife.

  My groans elicit a response from somewhere in the room.

  “Morning.”

  Madison’s low, soothing voice sends a rush of relief through me.

  I’m not alone. Thank God.

  I lie still, paralyzed by the phantom sensation of metal scraping its way through my skull. A warm hand comes down to rest on my shoulder. I reach up to cover and squeeze it.

  “Thanks for staying here,” I say softly.

  Madison squeezes my hand in return and kneels down beside me. She rubs my back in slow circles. I moan and fall limp on the cushions, surrendering to the firm yet gentle pressure. Madison switches her hand with her elbow and my groans grow louder. Sometimes the knots hurt like hell. She knows exactly where they are after all these years. It’s like her hands gravitate right to them.

  “Damn, you’re tense.”

  “Gee, I wonder why,” I quip.

  Her pace slows. Madison wraps her arms around my large frame. She moves her lips close to my ear. “Logan, I’m so sorry. Not just about your mom, about us. I didn’t get to tell you last night before you came back over here and passed out—”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I reach around to brush my thumb against her cheek. “I should have been honest with you. I should have tracked you down that same night and made sure you knew it was all bullshit. I planned to tell you the next time I saw you, I just didn’t get the chance.”

  I feel my shirt grow damp where her face is. Her voice catches. “How did everything go so wrong?”

  I know what she means. Between her accident, Nana’s fall, Celeste’s betrayal, and my mother’s suicide, it seems like truckloads of shit hit the fan, and now we’re in the aftermath. The shit is making it hard for us to even see straight, let alone figure out what’s happening between us.

  “Bad luck and even worse timing, I suppose.”

  After a while of sitting in silence, Madison brings me a large glass of water and some aspirin. We pull the curtains to keep it dark while I wait for the pain reliever to take effect. Even in the dim lighting, I can see a thick coating of dust on everything around us. Mom hadn’t cleaned this place in months.

  Things were even worse with her than I thought.

  I let out a long, ragged sigh. “I must have been a terrible son.”

  Madison looks at me in horror. “Fuck no! Why would you even say that?”

  I look down at my jeans, which are soiled by whiskey I spilled on myself last night. I barely even noticed it happening and forgot about it until now. “I mean, I just left her here to rot while we were living the high life in L.A. I should have checked on her and visited her more.”

  Madison grips my shoulder. Her hands on me are making me feel things I have no business feeling right now, and the touch isn’t even sexual. “Logan, you know she was so proud of you she could have burst. Your mom loved you so much. She wanted you to be happy. None of this is your fault.”

  It’s strange. Madison is saying the very same things Jenalyn said to me last night, but they mean so much more coming from her.

  “I just wish . . . ” I can’t go on. The first tear I’ve shed in years teeters on the precipice of my eyelid, ready to burst the dam.

  Madison lays her hand on my chest and leans on my shoulder. “You can cry in front of me, it’s okay.”

  I swallow and brush the tear away. It’s not time yet. I’m not ready to fall into the abyss of agony and sorrow again. But it’s nice to know that when I do, she’ll be there to catch me, the way she’s always been.

  I pull another box out of the closet, sighing as I rake my hand through my tangled mass of hair. It’s insane how messy five inches of hair on the top of your head can get. I don’t know how women do it with more than that.

  Madison, whose long mane of hair always looks immaculate somehow, takes an album from the top of the box. A shit-eating grin crawls across her features.

  “Oh boy, I’m about to see baby Logan in the bath.” Madison flips through the stiff scrapbook pages, cooing and aww-ing over my baby self.

  My cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Please stop.”

  “Not a chance, sweetheart.” Madison turns to the next page and gasps. “There you are banging on pots and pans with a spatula!”

  In spite of my displeasure at being fawned over, I grin. “Yep. I’ve always been destined for the drums.”

  “That is so cute! You have to keep this.”

  I scoff. “Why?”

  “Your future children will want to see that their dad has been drumming since before he could walk.”

  My throat goes dry. “You really think so?”

  She nods. “Your wife probably will, too.”

  I watch her closely as she continues to flip through the pages.

  Does she even realize she’s talking about herself and our kids?

  For the first time since Mom passed away two weeks ago, I start smiling like a fool. Madison looks up and notices me staring at her. “What?”

  “Nothing, Cricket.” I dig deeper into the box and see an envelope with my name on it, written in my mother’s handwriting. My hand trembles as I lift up the letter.

  Mom left me a letter. What could this be? An explanation? Her will? Something she wrote to me when I was a baby?

  I stand and tear the envelope open, pacing the room as I prepare to read my mother’s last words to me. As I pull out the letter, I feel something cold, hard and circular inside the paper. I open the folded stationery, and a beautiful diamond ring falls into my palm.

  My heart pounds as my eyes focus on the words on the paper.

  My dearest Logan,

  I don’t know when I’ll be able to give you this letter. It’s already been several years since you met her, and I’m starting to lose hope that you’ll wake up and realize what you have while I’m still alive. However, I have faith that one day the two of you will see the light, so I’m saving your grandmother’s ring for you.

  This ring lasted your grandmother through fifty-two wonderful years of marriage. She expressed that she wanted you to have it before she died. You are her only grandchild, and therefore will be the only one to carry on her legacy long after Max and I are gone.

  I know in my heart that no one will treasure this ring more than Madison. No matter where this letter finds you—five months, five years, or five decades from now—please know you have my full blessing and I am honored to call you both my children.

  You are so precious to me, Logan. The one light in my darkness. I will always treasure the years I spent raising you, and I hope I’ll be able to hand you off to the one who is worthy of you one day.

  All my love,

  Mom

  Just like that, my tears break the dam and start pouring like rain. Madison stands to meet me. I quickly fold the ring into the paper and tuck it back into the envelope.

  I’ll show her this one day, but it will be after I propose to her, not before.

  Madison leads me over to the bed and sits beside me, rubbing my back in slow circles and handing me tissues. We sit on the bed together for what seems like an eternity. It feels like the tears will never end.

  She was so close. Madison and I were finally on the right track. If Mom had just held on a little longer, she would have made it.

  “It wasn’t a goodbye.” I choke on a sob. “She left without saying goodbye.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I feel my shirt turning wet and realize she’s crying along with me.

  I pull her in tighter and kiss the top of her head. “Thank you for not being afraid to see me cry.”

  Madison shrugs. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.”

  “Hey, breaking my femur hurt like a motherfucker, okay?” I chuckle through my tears, wiping the last of the moisture out of my eyes. “You saw the way my leg was contorted.”

  “Ugh, don’t remind me. I’m gonna throw up.” Madison squirms.

  My laughter dies in my throat. This is what I want: me and Mads against the world, forever. Life is short. My mother fell into a depression because of a broken heart. My father destroyed her, and she never wanted me to go through the same thing with Celeste. If she’d known my best friend had feelings for me too, she would have begged me to make Madison one of the family.

  Even though he was a dirty lowlife, my dad was still my mom’s best friend. I don’t know why he did what he did, I just know what I saw. They were inseparable, which is part of why Mom was so devastated when she found out he had been sentenced to a lifetime in jail. It broke her heart in more ways than one.

  I know why Mom was so dead set on me choosing Madison. It’s because she knew I had someone I can trust. Yeah, Madison’s had her fuck-ups, but so have I. We know each other up and down, inside and out. I can tell her anything and she knows she can do the same.

  It’s utterly heartbreaking that I didn’t get to tell Mom that her wish came true, but I know what she would want for me now. It’s time to stop being such a goddamn pussy and take what’s rightfully mine.

  I reach for Madison’s hand. She threads her small, pale fingers through mine. I inhale a deep breath and spit out the words.

  “Cricket, I want you to be my girl.”

  She sucks in a little gasp and looks up into my eyes. “Why, because I’ve seen you crying with your leg bent out of shape and still want to fuck you?”

  “Exactly.”

  The most beautiful look of amusement mingled with joy spreads across her face. I take hold of her jaw and let the last frayed thread of my resolve to stay away from her shred to bits. I bear down on her lips with mine, leaving no room for doubt that I’m going to be the man she deserves this time.

  It’s been a month since our lives changed forever. Logan’s mom is gone. We’re packing up her belongings. The love of my life is swept up in a tsunami of grief and pain.

  It’s the worst time of our lives, and yet, being able to look over at this amazing man and call him my “boyfriend” has my heart surging with joy.

  For the moment, I’m keeping that emotion to myself. Things have been almost business-like as we sort through an array of knick-knacks and mementos, putting them in respective “keep, donate, or toss” piles. I’ve spent every waking moment in his presence for the past couple of weeks, and other than kissing “good morning” and “good night” and handing things to and from each other, there’s been almost zero physical contact.

  I’m a patient woman, but my patience is wearing thin. Being in a house alone with a man who possesses such raw sex appeal is torture for a dirty girl like me.

  Even more enticing is the fact that Logan is still technically with Celeste. Our relationship is forbidden. It could cost us everything. But with a connection as heated and animalistic as ours, we couldn’t stay away from each other.

  I want to have him just once before we go back to L.A., but he has to be the one to initiate it. If he’s not feeling up to that sort of thing, I don’t want to make him think I only want him for sex.

  “Mads?” Logan calls from the kitchen. I drop the bag I was sorting through in the living room and walk over to join him.

  Logan holds up a red plaid oven mitt with my initials sewn into it and grins. The way his plump lips, framed by his beard, stretch across his perfect white teeth sets me awash with desire.

  Easy, girl.

  “You remember your sewing phase?”

  “Hell yeah, I do.” I accept the oven mitt from him, impressed with my own craftsmanship. “For a fifteen-year-old, I didn’t do so bad.”

  “There’s a bunch more in here,” Logan says, scooping three more oven mitts out of the drawer. “You wanna keep ‘em for us?”

  My heart thumps with frightening intensity. “What do you mean, ‘for us’?”

 

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