34 crossfire
By the time Logan picks me up after class, the sky is already getting dark.
Not fully dark yet. Just that cold November kind of dim where everything looks blue-gray and the streetlights flicker on one by one across campus.
I pull my hoodie tighter around myself while jogging toward his truck, and Logan leans over immediately to shove the passenger door open before I can even reach for the handle.
"You look homeless," he greets.
"You look unfortunate."
"Wow," he says solemnly. "That one really came from the heart."
I roll my eyes and climb into the truck, immediately reaching for the bag sitting between the seats.
Logan smacks my hand away without even looking at me. "Absolutely not."
"You bought fries."
"For me."
"You invited me."
"I invited you to spend time with me. The fries are a separate relationship."
I steal one anyway.
Logan sighs like I'm personally ruining his life before pulling out of the parking lot, music low through the speakers while campus blurs past outside the windows. It feels normal in the easy way things always do with Logan. Comfortable, familiar.
Safe.
Which is probably why I relax enough to let my guard down.
We spend most of the drive arguing about Thanksgiving break next week.
"Our mom is already texting me grocery lists," Logan complains. "I'm literally an athlete. I should be exempt from manual labor."
"You play football. You don't work in a coal mine."
"It's basically the same thing."
I snort quietly, turning toward the window so he won't see the smile pulling at my mouth.
The trees lining the road are almost bare now, leaves scattered across sidewalks and parking lots in messy orange piles. Winter's getting closer. You can feel it in the air already.
"You ready to go home?" Logan asks after a minute.
"Yeah," I admit. "Kinda."
"Mom's definitely gonna cry when she sees you."
"She cries watching baking shows."
"That woman cried over a casserole commercial last month."
"That casserole probably looked emotional."
Logan barks out a laugh at that, shaking his head.
For a few minutes after that, everything stays light. Easy.
Then Logan glances over at me briefly and asks, "You two still weird with each other?"
My stomach tightens instantly.
I look over. "What?"
"You and Bennett."
Of course.
I should've known this is coming eventually.
I sink lower into the seat automatically. "We literally share a dorm. Weird is unavoidable."
Logan doesn't answer right away.
And that's the problem with him. Logan notices everything. Especially with me.
When I look over again, he's watching me instead of the road for a second too long.
"Ev," he says slowly.
I look back toward the windshield. "What?"
"You're doing that thing."
"What thing?"
"The thing where you pretend you don't care about something while very clearly caring about something."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Right."
I cross my arms tighter.
Outside, headlights streak past us in blurry white lines while silence fills the truck for a minute.
Then Logan asks more carefully, "Did he do something again?"
Again.
That word alone makes something defensive rise up in my chest before I can stop it.
"It's complicated."
"That's never a good answer."
I rub tiredly at my forehead, suddenly wishing I'd just stayed on campus.
But Logan waits. Patient, quiet, letting the silence stretch until it starts pressing against my ribs.
And honestly?
I'm tired.
Tired of carrying everything around by myself. Tired of thinking about Jackson every five seconds. Tired of pretending none of it matters when it obviously does.
So before I can talk myself out of it, I say quietly, "I like him."
The truck immediately goes silent.
Logan's hands tighten slightly on the steering wheel.
I keep staring forward.
"I like him more than I meant to," I admit. "And I don't know what I'm supposed to do with that anymore."
Logan lets out a slow breath through his nose."That guy's been messing with your head for months."
The words hit wrong instantly.
"He's not doing it on purpose," I say before I can stop myself.
Logan glances over sharply. "You're defending him?"
"I'm not defending him."
"You literally are."
I press my lips together hard.
Because maybe I am.
Maybe that's the worst part.
"He hurt you," Logan says flatly.
"I know."
"At the party?"
"I know."
"He keeps pulling you close and then acting scared every time things get real."
I swallow hard.
Because the thing Logan doesn't know-the thing nobody knows except me now-is that Jackson is scared.
Terrified, actually.
I heard it in his voice that night.
"I don't think he means to hurt me," I say quietly.
Logan laughs once, but there's nothing amused about it. "That honestly might be worse."
I look down at my hands.
"He's just..." I stop, trying to figure out how to explain something I barely understand myself. "Confused."
Logan scoffs softly. "And meanwhile you're the one getting wrecked by it."
"That's not fair."
"The hell it isn't."
The tension inside the truck shifts then. Not explosive, just heavier.
Logan isn't angry at me.
That somehow makes it worse.
"He's been messing with your head for months," Logan repeats quieter this time. "And now you're sitting here defending him like he didn't humiliate you in front of half the school."
I stare out the window hard enough for my eyes to sting.
Because the worst part is that Logan isn't wrong.
But somehow Jackson isn't fully wrong either.
And I'm stuck somewhere in the middle of it.
"I'm tired of everybody acting like I should hate him," I admit softly.
That makes Logan go quiet.
For a second, all I can hear is the hum of tires against pavement and the faint music still playing through the speakers.
Then Logan sighs. "You know I'm always gonna take your side, right?"
The sudden softness in his voice almost hurts more than the argument did.
I look over at him finally.
And there it is.
That same protective expression Logan's worn basically my entire life.
The one that always makes me feel six years old again.
"I know," I say quietly.
Logan nods once, but neither of us says anything after that.
Because the truth sits between us now either way.
Logan hates Jackson.
Jackson loves me.
And I still don't know what I'm supposed to do about either of those things.
By the time Logan pulls up outside my dorm, my chest somehow feels heavier than it did before we talked at all.