Chapter 37
ALEX
My bed groans as I flop onto it, landing on my stomach.
I open my laptop to my half-written piece for The Goldberg.
I know I shouldn’t have started working on it as soon as I got home, but there’s this new sense of longing in me that I didn’t have before, and I want to push it away.
I think back to the mess of dishes on the floor and Logan holding me from behind.
I wanted nothing more than to lean into him and let him hold me through the tidal wave, but I pushed him away.
I think it’s just hard for me to trust men to help when I need them.
My dad left when my mom and I needed him most, and Scott left me for someone else just as I was starting to fall harder.
I’m terrified Logan is going to do the same. That he’ll leave at the worst possible time and threaten all the things I have going for me.
But I can’t stop thinking about how warm and strong his hands felt on my shoulders and the concern in his eyes as he held me in place.
How the curve of his lips looked so soft in the light of the cafe kitchen, and how badly I wanted to cup his cheeks in my hands and press my mouth to his.
I shake my head, put my headphones on, and crank my music to maximum volume so I can concentrate on my piece.
My fingers start flying across the keyboard as words crack onto the page like electricity.
The bandage on my finger practically blocks out any pain as I type.
Movement at my door makes me jolt, and I look up to see my mom standing in the doorway.
I pull off my headphones and let them rest around my neck.
“Hi,” I say.
She steps into my room. “Am I interrupting?”
“No, it’s okay.”
I close my laptop as the tingling in my fingers fades, but I don’t care when my mom wants to talk.
She sits on my bed, her face wincing slightly as she does.
I sit up and cross my legs. “What’s up?”
“I wanted to ask how things went with Fiona.”
I smile. “I got my spot back. I just showed up and acted like nothing happened.”
She pats my arm softly. “I’m proud of you, Alex.”
I beam at her. It’s one of my favorite things to hear.
“And journalism is still what you want to do?” she asks.
I frown. “Yeah. Of course.”
She lowers her head, and I wonder what she’s trying to say without actually saying it.
“Why?” I ask, picking at my fingers.
She sighs. “I just... I was wondering if you can really balance that with everything else you’ve been doing.”
“What do you mean?”
She fully faces me. “You’re doing so much for us, Alex. Too much. I’m your mother, and most of the time, it feels like you’re the parent. Same with Nay.”
I shift to face her. “I have to be, Mom. What else am I supposed to do? Sit back and let you struggle? Watch you work yourself to death while your condition gets worse? This is my family, too.”
She lowers her head. “I know. But I... I want you to be a person, Alex. I feel like you’re not enjoying yourself anymore. Not with anything.”
My face crumples as she looks at me with a broken expression.
“Except with Logan.”
I whip my head up. “Leave him out of this, please,” I say immediately.
She shakes her head. “Come on, my love. You know it’s true.”
I shake my head. “No. It’s not going to work right now.”
“Why? Because you’re scared of him leaving like Scott did?”
I keep my gaze fixed away from her. I really don’t want to be talking about this right now.
“Or like your father did when you needed him most?”
That makes me look at her.
“That is not why,” I lie.
But like any good mother, she knows I’m lying. She places a hand on my cheek and brushes her thumb along my cheekbone, something she used to do all the time when I was a kid.
“Oh, Alex. You can’t control your way out of being hurt. Life is full of injuries, and you can’t hole yourself up and expect them not to come your way. You have to keep your heart open and allow yourself to heal. It’s part of growing up. It’s part of becoming an adult.”
“But what if he leaves? What if it destroys me and I can’t come back from it?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
She gives me a knowing smile and rubs her thumb against my cheek one last time.
“But what if he doesn’t?”
She pats my hand and slowly rises from the bed, leaving my head spinning.
“Okay, takaramono. Just please... remember that life is meant to be experienced.”
I nod, keeping my gaze on my bedsheets. “I will.”
She leaves the room and closes the door softly behind her, and I let out a long breath.
I really do want things to work with Logan. It’s not like I don’t understand what she’s saying.
If I followed my heart and what I wanted, I would go after Logan without a second thought.
That choice was forfeited the moment Dad left and Mom got sick.
Maybe my mom is right. Maybe I’m scared of Logan becoming like my dad just as much as I’m scared of becoming him myself.
Instead of returning to my half-written piece, I open a new document.
My fingers hover above the keyboard like they’re too scared to write what I actually want to say.
I want my journalism to be human-focused, don’t I? How can I say that when I’ve never written about something I’ve experienced myself? Is it because I’m scared of someone seeing how out of control I feel? That my humanity will make me seem weak?
Instead of hesitating, I start writing.
I write about what it’s like to have a parent abandon my family and me. About what it’s like to have a sick mother and be a child forced into the role of caretaker and adult. I write about how hard it is to support a family with so little government assistance.
I let it all out, and I don’t filter myself.
I’m not even sure if I’ll want to publish it, but I write the piece as if I will. Because I can say everything I want to say, close the tab, and delete it forever if I want to, even though part of me doesn’t.
Just as I finish the first draft, a sound comes from my window.
I turn toward it and see nothing. I get up from my bed and walk over.
I jolt as a pebble ricochets off the glass.
I open the window, and my heart soars when I see Logan standing on the lawn, staring up at me with a handful of rocks in his hand.
“Can we talk? Please?” he asks, his eyes full of hope, even from down there.
“I’m busy,” I say, but I don’t turn away. It’s not a lie. I really am in the middle of pouring my heart out here.
He shakes his head. “I don’t care. I’m already here. Let me in.”
I can’t help but admire his audacity. Logan refuses to be ignored.
“Fine,” I say.
I close the window against the autumn air rushing into my room and pad toward the door.
I silently make my way down the stairs so I don’t alert my mom or Naomi.
By the time I open the front door, Logan is already standing on the stoop.
There’s a bouquet of flowers in his hands that I somehow didn’t notice before.
“What—”
He thrusts them into my arms before I can finish, like he thinks I might slam the door in his face.
“These are for you.”
I take them, staring down at the roses.
Roses.
The whole thing feels like it’s straight out of some cheesy rom-com.
He has nothing to apologize for, so why would he even be doing this?
“Logan—”
“I need to talk with you. Please,” he says.
Logan’s green eyes cut through me and ask me to let down my walls. They ask me to finally let go of control.
I sigh and open the door fully to let him in.
He walks into the entrance, his height becoming more apparent as he steps inside.
I look around the room and spot an empty vase on the dining room table.
“Just a second,” I whisper.
I walk into the kitchen and fill the vase with water.
When I come back to the entrance, I take the flowers and place them inside.
I’ve never received flowers in my life, and I want to cry right now.
No guy has ever cared enough about me to get me flowers or even give me a gift of any kind.
And here Logan is, with grand romantic gestures and flowers, and I’m pushing him away like he’s a pariah.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I whisper, tearing my eyes away from the bouquet on the dining room table.
He nods, and I lead him up to my room, quietly tiptoeing up the steps.
I bring him inside and close the door softly behind us.
He looks around my room, smiling as he takes in everything on my walls and all my decor.
“You have a reading nook,” he comments, noticing the seat underneath my window.
I don’t say anything and watch him look around my room like he’s studying for an exam.
“I can’t believe I haven’t seen your room yet,” he says.
“Well, I’ve only seen yours once,” I counter as I sit on my bed.
He turns to me. “How’s your finger?”
I look down at it, the Band-Aid still wrapped around it. “It’s fine. It was a small cut. I was crying over nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing.” He juts his chin toward me. “Did you manage to get through to Fiona?”
I nod. “The lemon squares worked pretty well.”
“Good. As I said, you’re indispensable.”
My heart lurches as he says it so effortlessly. The way compliments about me roll off his tongue so naturally.
“Look, what are you doing here?” I ask.
He frowns. “Are you really asking me that?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble.
He sighs and sits down next to me on my bed.
“I want you to let me in.”
“I already did,” I say, gesturing to my room.
“Not like that.” He reaches over and taps the side of my head. “I mean in here.”
I chuckle and try to bat his hand away.
“Why?”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Because I like you. I thought I made that obvious, Alex.”
He has made that more than obvious, but does he know how much I like him? How terrified I am of him leaving my heart cracked on the pavement?
“I know. But I already told you, Logan—I’ve got too much going on...”
He laughs and shakes his head in disbelief. “Now you’re using the Scott excuse?”
I frown. “Excuse me?”
Logan raises a hand, almost like he’s going to put it on my back, but he stops himself and rubs his thigh instead.
“Scott said the same thing to you before he broke up with you, didn’t he?”
I scoff, my mouth falling open. “No, he didn’t. He—”
I stop and look down at my lap.
I remember that he actually did use those exact words.
“Well, he didn’t have a good excuse. I do.”
“And what is the excuse?” Logan asks, placing his hand over mine.
My eyes immediately drop to where our hands meet, to how naturally his hand fits over mine. How warm and comforting it is.
Looking at Logan sitting in front of me, I realize I don’t really have a good excuse.
I’m scared, and I’m not sure that’s ever a good enough reason.
Maybe my mom is right. Maybe I’ll get my heart broken.
But at least I’ll have lived.
He squeezes my hand tighter, and I want nothing more than for him to keep holding it for as long as possible.
“You make me feel like an actual person again, Alex. Don’t you see that?
” he says. “I was just going through the motions of life. I didn’t know what I wanted, and I was a sad sack of shit.
After meeting you, I’m trying to be better.
I’ve started exploring myself again, and because you let me be myself, I’m more myself than I’ve ever been. Even before football.”
He shifts his hand fully into mine, and instead of pulling away, I let his long fingers snake between mine and try to build roots there.
“And you can’t sit here and tell me you can’t be with me. You can’t look me in the eyes, see how much you’ve changed me for the better, see how I’ve never wanted anyone more than I’ve wanted you, and then throw it back in my face. I won’t let you, Alexander Fields.”
My heart lurches into my throat as he stares at me.
His green eyes bore into mine, glistening like emeralds in sunlight beneath the warm glow of my bedroom lamp.
His eyes look like forever—a vast sea of possibility—and he looks like he would give it to me if I just asked.
He squeezes my hands tighter, like he thinks I might let go.
“I’m not leaving, Alex. I want to help you. I want to help your family. Whatever you need, you can lean on me. I’m not going to leave when things get hard. I’ll be patient. I’ll be here to help pick up the pieces.”
Tears form in my eyes as I think about how badly I wanted him to help me when I dropped the dish bin in the kitchen. How he cleaned it up for me.
How he was there for me when my mom’s treatment wasn’t working. How easy it is for me to fall into his arms and get lost there. How easy it is to lose myself in his kiss and forget how heavy life can be sometimes.
His emerald eyes and the unwavering grip of his hands in mine make me realize how stupid I’ve been. How hard I try to push happiness away.
Logan lets me be imperfect. He lets me make mistakes.
I feel like I’m not allowed to make them anymore when so many people rely on me, but he makes me feel like it’s okay. Like I won’t become my father, and Logan won’t be like him either.
I slip my hands from his and cup his cheeks before crashing my mouth against his.
He inhales sharply, as though he wasn’t expecting me to kiss him, but he melts into it quickly.
His mouth is warm and comforting against mine, like I’m coming home. Like I’m returning to who I am.
“Alex,” he whispers between kisses.
“I want to do this,” I whisper, resting a hand on his chest as we pull apart.
His eyes sparkle as I look into them. I realize I don’t want to know anything else but his eyes.
How it feels like he was put on this earth to be in my arms and have his mouth on mine.
How being with him feels inevitable.
He runs a rough hand through my hair.
“I—I’ll cook dinner for your family on Friday nights. And I’ll help your sister with her homework on the weekends. I’ll even help you close the cafe when you need me to. I’ll do anything to help, Alex.”
My hands find his cheeks again, and as I stare into his eyes, I realize how serious Logan is.
He means every word.
“I’ll fit into your life however you need me to.
If you need space, I’ll give it to you. I’ll understand.
I just want to do whatever I can to help.
I don’t want you carrying everything by yourself.
As long as you promise to pick up the pieces when I inevitably fall and remind me that I’m more than the man I used to be, then I’ll do it all for you. ”
Tears spring to my eyes, and I grab fistfuls of his shirt before kissing him.
“Okay,” I whimper as tears roll down my cheeks and stain Logan’s too.
“Yeah?” he asks.
I nod. “Yes. I’ll let you do it.”
Logan presses his mouth to mine again and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into an embrace that feels impossible to escape, not that I want to. I want to stay in his arms forever, with his lips on mine.
He pulls back and brushes strands of hair from my eyes.
“I guess this is a good time to ask if you’d be my boyfriend?”
I chuckle, and another tear slips down my face.
“Of course I’ll be your boyfriend, Logan.”
Logan smiles wider than I’ve ever seen before. He wraps me in his arms again, pressing kisses to my shoulder and running his hands up and down my back.
“Boyfriends,” he whispers.
“Yes, boyfriends.”
For the first time in ages, the future seems possible. It feels like I can actually function as Alex Fields, and I’m going to do it alongside Logan.
Logan is going to let me be myself, for myself.