Page 71 of Because of Logan

I’m thinking of Amanda. I’ve never talked to Skye about Amanda. If I could take a pill and erase every memory of that woman from my mind, I would.

She smiles at me, but I can tell she thinks I’m joking. Fuck. This will happen. I guess this is as good a time as any.

“I’m not joking, Skye. I dated someone way longer than I should have, and it’s one of my biggest regrets.”

A silent “oh” leaves her lips and curiosity overcomes the sadness in her eyes.

In a flash, being inside this truck feels suffocating and the need to get out and breathe fresh air overwhelms me. This is not a new reaction. Every time I think of Amanda, I want to crawl out of my own skin. I’ll tell her about Amanda, but not in here. I need to get out.

I run my fingers through the curls over her shoulders. Touching her calms me. If Amanda is poison, Skye is the antidote.

“Come on. I’ll tell you about it.”

I open my door, and Skye turns to open hers and is hopping out of the truck before I have a chance to come around and open it for her. I know she’s perfectly capable of opening her own door and taking care of herself, but sometimes, I wish she’d let me do it for her.

We make our way inside my house and take our jackets and shoes off by the door. I realize I’m still wearing my gun and remove it, checking again that the safety is on. I walk to the kitchen to put it in its hiding place, the cabinet above the refrigerator. I grab two water bottles and go back to the living room. Skye is standing near the door, arms wrapped around herself. I hate to see her like this, so unsure of herself.

I put the water bottles on the coffee table and walk to her, put both of my hands on her face, and bring her mouth to mine. I kiss her gently, just a pass of lips, and keep kissing her until her hands grab at my shirt and I feel her relax into me.

Stepping back, I pull her behind me to sit on the couch. She pulls her feet up and sits with her legs crossed. I mimic her.

“I guess it’s my turn to tell you about a terrible ex.”

Her blue eyes are huge on her face and still shiny from unshed tears.

“Where to start?”

“You said you dated her far longer than you should.”

She’s confirming, not asking, but I hear the question anyway.

“Yes, for three years.”

“Three years?”

The way she says it tells me it's longer than she thought.

“Yes, we started dating my first year at Riggins and broke up at the end of my junior year.”

“That’s a long time.”

“In years, yeah, but not in actual time we spent together. Amanda went to Yale. We didn’t see each other much during the school year. We got together on some weekends, breaks, and the summer, but not always. Amanda liked to travel. Her parents are divorced, and she often went to visit her mother in France. Or so I was led to believe.”

“What do you mean?”

“It seems I was the only one who thought the relationship was exclusive.”

Her eyes pop open, the clear blue catching the light from the sconces on the wall. A soft “oh” leaves her lips.

“Yeah, but that isn’t even the worst of it.”

“What can be worse than cheating?”

“Amanda is extremely high-maintenance. I never realized how much so until we broke up and I dated other women.”

Her eyes narrow at me in confusion.

“I don’t understand. You dated other girls before her, right?”

---