Page 108 of Meet Me in the Valley
Krista’s desperate and needy moans.
I wasn’t in the room with them, but my mind certainly tells me otherwise. I’m there in that room. It’s visceral and painful. A fly on the wall, trapped with no way out.
But then my phone buzzes, jolting me out of my Krista hell.
Logan
Talk about a blast from the past. Happy Halloween, Woody.
It’s short. Friendly. Not our usual banter, but it’s a start. Weeks of no communication would do that to you. He’s angry with me, that much I know. I felt his frustration that night. I broke as I watched his eyes beg me for a different outcome. But I also saw surrender. Logan knew what needed to happen, even with his protest.
I lay back on my bed, tossing off the black cat ears my mom wanted me to wear. Biting my lip, I think of a response. It feels like I’m sixteen again, texting the cutest boy in school.
I don’t want to seem too eager, but I also don’t want to seem too distant. Not too clingy, but not too short. I groan, annoyed with myself that I’m getting so worked up over a reply. A replyto Logan out of all people. The one person I should know how to fucking talk to.
He doesn’t owe me a reply. I broke us that night. But he replied anyway, and I don’t want the conversation to end.
Tia
It’s one of my favorite memories of us.
Logan
Mine, too.
Tia
Got plans tonight?
I watch the screen, heart thudding, as the typing bubble appears—then vanishes.
Reappears. Disappears again.
It goes on like that for minutes, long enough for the laughter of trick-or-treaters and distant neighborly chatter to fade into background noise.
My eyes blur from staring at the screen too hard, and suddenly I’m not sure I even want his answer.
What if he’s with someone else? Smiling. Laughing. BeingLoganwith someone who isn’t me?
God, I hate how selfish that sounds.
Then the message comes through, causing my stomach to plummet.
Logan
Yeah, I do. I’m hanging out with Chloe.
Chloe.
Of course.
Hell, I practically handed him the runway and told him to take off. I don’t get to feel this way—not jealousy, not regret.
He’s not mine anymore. Not in the way I want, anyway.
But the ache doesn’t care about logic. I swallow hard and type back.
Tia
