"Move!" she yelled it so loudly, I swear the neighbors could hear.

I gripped her wrists and pulled her closer, then wrapped my arms around her. "I'm so fucking sorry, Amanda. Please," I said. "I'm fucking up, again. I can't lose you. Please." And then it hit me. "You're right," I told her. "I need you. I need your help. I'm sorry. Just please, please be patient. Please." I was begging, but it was all truth.

I felt her shake her head against my chest. "I know things are hard for you, and I shouldn't push it, but I'm not your enemy."

"I know. You didn't push anything. You didn't do anything. I'm just an asshole."

I walked us over to the front door, hand in hand, while I triple-checked the locks. She wiped her face on my arm; I felt the wetness from her tears. Sighing, I faced her. "I really am sorry, baby. I don't ever want to be like that with you. Swear it. I don't . . . I don't even know how to explain what just happened, but I hate that it did."

"I know. I forgive you."

"You shouldn't."

"I do."

"I got you something."

"A present?" Her eyes lit up and any sign that she was upset only minutes ago had disappeared.

"Yup."

"Gimme."

I laughed, and led her to the bathroom. Opening the cupboard under the counter, I handed her a toothbrush. She laughed the instant she saw it. "Hello Kitty?"

"Yup." I kissed her on the forehead. "Just for you."

"Aww," she cooed, holding the toothbrush to her chest and faking dreaminess in her voice. "You're the bestest boyfriend ever."

She left the bedroom and came back seconds later with the journal. She set it on her nightstand, walked to my dresser and started opening and closing all the drawers until she found what she was after. I watched her remove her jeans, then her shirt. I tried not to jump her when she stood in nothing but her bra and panties. She pulled out an old baseball jersey, and shrugged it on. I walked over to her, wanting to touch her, just a little. "I missed seeing you in this." I curled my arm around her waist and brought her as close as she could get.

"Not as much as I missed wearing it."

I grinned from ear to ear. "I love you."

Her eyes drifted shut. "Stop it. You're not supposed to say it until I do."

I shrugged. "Too bad. You deserved that one."

She pulled back and walked to the bed, undoing her bra at the same time.

I gazed at her, then at the bedroom door. Panic set in. She must've noticed because she said, "I always sleep with the door open. If that's okay with you?"

I turned off the lights and got into bed. She pressed her body against mine. Our limbs were a tangled mess. "Good night, pretty girl."

Amanda

He fell asleep almost instantly. I freed myself from his hold, turned on my night-light, picked up his journal and flipped to the first page.

Five weeks post Amanda.

There are no dates here. Only time passing with each moment.

Dear Diary—says the twelve-year-old girl in me.

Manny, one of the guys in the field with me, told me I was depressed . . .

Logan

It took me a while to work out what the sound was; she was sniffing, sobbing quietly. I'd fallen into such a deep sleep that it took longer than I'd hoped to get even one eye open, but when I finally did, I kind of wished I hadn't.

She was sitting up in bed with her knees to her chest, and my journal resting on them. Her hand covered her mouth while tears streamed down her face. I wasn't sure what part she was up to, so I did what I thought was best: I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep through it. I wanted her to have this moment—the time to read what she wanted, learn what she needed, and accept what had been done. Still, it took everything in me to not reach over and comfort her somehow.

I don't know how long I lay there, listening to her laugh, sigh and sob. I heard the pages turn, almost like clockwork, every few minutes. Eventually, I heard the slapping of heavy pages as the book closed. Her weight shifted on the bed, the covers moved, and the warmth of her body enveloped me.

"Logan," she whispered.

I pretended to ignore her.

I felt her breath against my lips. She must have been close. "I love you so much, Logan."

My eyes snapped open. Her smile grew. "What?" I croaked out, my voice scratchy from sleep.

She nodded slowly. "You heard me. I love you, so damn much." She moved closer, until we were chest to chest.

It was like that day—the dream—her words. She must've read it. She must've known what those words would mean to me. "Yeah?" My voice broke. "You're not just saying that bec—"

She shook her head, interrupting me. "I'm saying it because you never let me say it before. I'm saying it because I've wanted to say it ever since you took me to that bookstore. I've wanted to tell you since you got me this." She pulled out a gold chain from around her neck and showed me the vial. "When you kissed me out there in the pouring rain, and told me that we'd make new memories. You took something that I was afraid of and turned it into something amazing. That's what you are to me, Logan. Amazing. I want you to know that, and if it means telling you that I love you over and over and over, then I will. I love you so much, Logan." She kissed me once. "I love you." Another kiss. "I love you." Another kiss, deeper this time. "I love you."

"Stop," I told her. "You're going to waste them."

She pulled back. "I can't waste them, Logan. You're my person. I'll never run out of loves for you. Ever."

20

Logan

The sun was coming up by the time we'd decided to go back to sleep. She’d asked her million questions, like I’d known she would. I answered everything as truthfully as possible.

Some things were harder than others. Amuhda was a hard one to try to talk about, but she held my hand, and helped me through it. The only thing that wasn't serious was when she got to Rebekah. "You swear you guys didn't do anything? She just kissed you, right? And you stopped it immediately, right?" she'd asked, pacing around the room. "Swear it," I'd assured her.

"You don't have to lie to me," she'd said, almost like a warning. It made me laugh. That made her pissed. Her eyes thinned to slits as she clipped, "I don't care, Logan. It's not like you and I were . . . you know . . . whatever!" She threw her hands in the air. She got so flustered and so annoyed at my laughing at her that I couldn't help laughing harder. Typical asshole boyfriend move.

Then it was my turn to question what she'd done with other guys while I was gone. I'd been trying hard not to bring it up. A part of me wanted to know, and another part of me felt too sick at the thought. Actually knowing, mentally being able to picture it, I think I'd puke. When she promised me she hadn't even touched another guy and no hands had been on her . . . I lost it for a little bit.

We fooled around for so long, I swear my dick was about to snap off. We got to the point of me almost being inside her before I stopped it. We both agreed that we wanted to wait. Neither of us really knew why, we just wanted to take it slow, savor it.