chapter 23

Logan

“How was work?” Jenna asks, climbing into my truck. She places her duffle bag on her lap, buckles the seatbelt, then leans over and kisses me. “What’s the smile for?”

I nudge my head toward her lap. “What’s in the duffle bag? Carrying deadly weapons or something?”

“Ha. Ha. Funny,” she mocks. “No, I have my weekend stuff. It’s better than dragging around my suitcase.” She shrugs. “And I may have something for you in here.”

“Lingerie?” I grin, wiggling my brows.

“I didn’t know you were into wearing that kind of stuff. If I’d known, I would’ve purchased you a blue, skimpy lace number to bring out your eyes.”

“All right, smartass.”

She laughs. “You set yourself up for that one.”

“This is true.” I pull out of the parking lot and begin our drive to the lake house.

“It’s nothing big, just a little something you can use in the future,” she says as she unzips the black bag and starts rummaging through it. I reach a red traffic light and look over. Jenna hands me a clear plastic bag. I quickly peek in. Arching a brow, I meet her smile. “Gift bags and wrapping paper?”

She nods.

“You got me yellow gift bags and wrapping paper,” I clarify.

She nods again.

“Well, aren’t you the major wiseass.”

Her laugh bounces around my truck. “Well, it does benefit me.”

I steer with one hand, my other finds its way to hers. I bring our entwined fingers to my mouth and graze her soft knuckles against my lips. “Why yellow?” I mumble against her skin, my eyes on the road.

“It’s my favorite color.”

“Is that so?” I ask.

“Yep. It’s bright and pretty and cheerful.” She sighs. “It reminds me of the sun.” Jersey Girl pauses. Squeezing her hand around mine, she whispers, “I spent most of my life in the dark. Yellow allows me to visualize the light. Even if it’s just an image I paint in my head and not reality, I’ll take it.”

I press my lips firmly against her hand. Jersey Girl will probably never know this, but yellow will now and forever be my favorite color too—because I want her to be happy. I want her to be surrounded with brightness in her life. I want her to fight through the darkness and find her light someday.

* * *

Jenna

We’re walking hand-in-hand into the lake house when a chorus of applause goes off. I tear my eyes away from Logan and see Santino, Charlie, Bryson, and Blair are all in the living area. Everyone, except for Blair, is smiling and clapping. “It’s about damn time!” Santino hoots.

“You guys are dicks,” Logan states. He shakes his head, smiling good-naturedly, and guides me up the stairs. More whistles and cheering trails up when the door to Logan’s room closes behind us. “Sorry about that. If I’d known there was going be an audience, we would’ve stayed at my place,” Logan says as he walks across the room and places our bags on the ground.

“It’s okay.” I look down and fiddle with the edge of my white camisole. I’m suddenly nervous. I desperately want to continue what we started in my room yesterday before my father intruded, but I know we have to get past a few things before that can happen.

“So, what do you want to do?” he says, removing his boots. “Want to go out by the dock? In the lake?” He goes on, stripping off his T-shirt, “I’m gonna hop in the shower, wash off this sweat and sawdust. You’re more than welcome to join me,” he jokes with a broad smile. But we both know there’s seriousness hidden behind the humor.

“I’d like to talk.”

His grin weakens. “Is everything okay?”

I cross my arms, hugging myself. “Yeah. I… I just figured you probably have a lot of questions for me and I want to answer them all.”

“We have plenty of time for that. I don’t want you to feel pressured to spell out everything at once.”

“Logan, I’ve kept things from you for so long. I don’t want to keep anything from you anymore. Can you honestly say you don’t have any questions for me? About my disorder, my triggers, what started all of this?”

He bows his head, twisting the cotton fabric of his white T in his hand. “I do.”

“Well, I want to answer anything you might find confusing.” I walk over to Logan and place my hand against his face, showing him the sincerity in mine. “In my opinion, the hardest thing anyone can do is accept someone else and all of the baggage that comes along with them. And you did that for me.”

“Because I care for you.”

“And I will never understand why. But the least I can do is be honest with you from here on out. It’s challenging for me to tell you everything. I’m embarrassed about most of it, but I trust you and I know you won’t judge me.”

“I won’t.”

I smile. “I know. So take your shower. I’ll wait for you by the dock. Okay?”

He nods, lowers his head, and lightly caresses my lips with his before turning and stepping into the bathroom.

* * *

I’m sitting by the edge of the dock, admiring the sunset, the crisp scent of the lake, and the light warm breeze crashing against the tall tree branches, when I hear footsteps from behind. There’s no need to turn around. I catch a whiff of his fresh shower gel before he takes a seat beside me.

Logan scoots close enough so that the sides of our thighs are pressing against one another, and our feet are swinging in unison. He takes my hand in his, securely weaving his fingers between mine. “Let’s talk,” he says.

“What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with the beginning. Why did this happen to you?”

I shake my head; my gaze focuses on our hold. “I will never know why, Logan. But I can tell you when and how it started.”

“Okay. Let’s start there.” He brings our hands up to his mouth, gently kisses the back of my hand, and then places them back down on his thigh. I think it’s his way of safeguarding me, of expressing in his own little way that no matter what I disclose to him today, it will never change his feelings toward me. A restful breeze whips by and instantly I’m okay.

Breathing in and out as calmly as possible, I begin. “It was senior year of high school. My grades weren’t all perfect, so I was desperately trying to study my ass off so I could ace my SAT score. I wanted to be like Brooke.

“God, she managed to make everything seem effortless: school, getting into college, sports, and boys. Anything. You name it, she did it well. Nothing was difficult for her, which made my parents proud—especially my mother. I just wanted my mother to recognize me once in my life. Even before I was diagnosed with psychosis, our relationship was rocky.

“I think maybe she knew deep down I’d end up like this. I don’t know. I was in therapy when I was younger, starting when I was about ten. I suffered from depression as well as lack of social skills, which freaked my mother right out. So maybe she knew.” I shrug. “Anyway, back to senior year. I focused on trying to bring my grades up. They weren’t bad—more than average, really—but not perfect.

“I spent months studying: at home, the library, even at Eric’s place. I barely slept. I was a living, breathing zombie—if that’s even possible. I became obsessed with academics just so I could be on the receiving end of that look of pride on my mother’s face, just like she had given Brooke so many times before. Not even my talent impressed her. She never understood my art. It’s funny. You know how some people say you’re your biggest critic?” I chuckle, knowing that was never the case for me. “My mother was always mine.”

I picture the me from four years ago, at seventeen: the scared girl I’ve tried to rid from my brain as she struggled, trying to comprehend why this disease chose her. I stretch and tighten my fingers around Logan’s. My throat throbs with fear before I gain the courage to continue.

“It was a Sunday morning. I was in my bedroom, studying. The SAT exam was the next day and I was under a lot of stress. It was beautiful outside. Eric wanted to spend the day outdoors, but I just wanted to be locked in my room with no distractions. It’s how I spent most of my summer that year and most of the beginning of the school year. Eric and I had gotten into a minor argument—nothing big, more of a disagreement.

“I didn’t care. I just wanted to study. So there I was in my room with my nose in a book when I heard my name being called. It was so clear and loud. I looked up at the door, but there was no one there. I brushed it off as nothing and went back to studying. After a few seconds I heard my name again. I quickly looked up, searching around the room, but I was completely alone.”

“What did the voice sound like? Like someone you knew?” Logan asks.

“No. It was a male voice I’ve never heard before. When I heard my name for the second time, I got out of bed and searched around my room. I opened the door to look out. No one was there. I closed it and then walked over to my bedroom window. I thought maybe the gardener or my father was in the yard. But from what I could see, there was no one.

“I sat back on the bed, confused but easily distracted by the way my mind was racing with how much more I had to do. There were just so many notebooks and textbooks and highlighters and pens and scraps of paper. To say I was overwhelmed would be an understatement. Then the voice came again. It was closer this time, so close I actually felt it coming from behind me. It said, ‘You’ll never be good enough for her.’ I remember it like it was yesterday—how the goose bumps rose on every inch of my skin, the fear lodged in my throat, the sound of my breathing, its spastic rhythm matching my heartbeat. I finally found the courage to look behind me, but there was nothing there, only the headboard.”