I let them fall as I race up the steps, clutching the drawing in my hand. I bite my lip so hard I think it has started bleeding as I climb my way up to the attic and slip out onto the roof. The night air is oddly cold, especially this high up, and the slight wind makes a shiver race down my spine. I look out at the line of houses down my neighborhood, the maple trees seemingly reaching out to me with their branches, the distant echo of a dog barking. My hand has started trembling now because I know I’m walking a dangerous line, but I also know this is the only way.
The instant I lock eyes on the crumbling chimney on the other end of the roof, the one Ben leaned against when he shot himself, I want nothing more than to turn back. It’s like my insides are being ripped out of me all over again as I see that one fucking horrible spot and the tears start pouring out of me in torrents. My heartbeat quickens, but as hard as I try to turn away and run back to my car, something deep inside of me won’t let me. Something tells me I need to do this, for Ben, for Logan, for myself.
So I take one long, deep breath, and then I start walking over to the place where my brother died. The whole world seems to slow, but I just keep my eyes focused on the spot, keep the throbbing and the hurt and every protesting part of me at bay, and I walk right up there, lie against the chimney, and sit down in the same spot where it happened.
And then I cry.
I don’t even realize it’s happening at first, but suddenly my whole face is filled with hot tears and I’m letting deep, powerful sobs escape me. I think about all the times Ben brought me up here when we were little to have squirt gun battles and play cards and laugh at random TV shows and really just enjoy each other, and then I think about how he must have been shaking as much as I am now that night, about what was going through his mind when he pulled the trigger, about whether he was thinking about me, about whether he was already regretting it, and then I sob some more. I might be screaming too, screaming his name I think, but I can’t even tell. I can’t tell anything anymore. Just my tears and my sobs and Ben’s face, which is now more out of reach than ever.
I hear a car park below me, a door slam, and then the sound of someone running up the stairs and slipping onto the roof after me but I don’t even care. I try to block everything out, everything but Ben and his smile and what an amazing brother he was to me.
I feel a warm hand on my back, a voice whispering, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” and I just nod and look out at the dark neighborhood, at what Ben was looking at before it happened, and I let myself cry it all away. I cry until there is nothing left, until the ache in my heart is gone and I’m sniffing, gasping, turning to face whoever is beside me.
As soon as I meet Logan Waters’ gaze, my heart rate slows. He sits beside me, his warmth wrapping me up, his feet dangling over the edge of the roof just like mine are and I can tell being here affects him as much as it does me. His eyes are sad, so sad, but he squeezes my arm to let me know he’s okay, and I squeeze back to tell I am too, and the simple gesture speaks all the words we need.
We stare out at the neighborhood for a while, taking in the cool air and thinking about Ben, about what happened, about each other.
“How did you know I was going to be here?” I whisper after a while, once everything else seems to melt away. As I look around me, as I look at him, everything feels a little bit clearer. The weight in my stomach seems to have been lifted, and I can finally breathe again--really breathe.
“I just knew,” he says softly, and I can tell he’s speaking the truth. We just know each other like that, I guess. We know what hurts each other. We know what doesn’t. We know what we love, know the little secret things about each other no one else knows, like that I love root beer and Logan is never happier than when he’s gushing to others about some weird math problem he solved. We know so much about each other through our rivalry and old friendship it’s almost as if…
“You took a cab over?” I ask, not wanting to finish the thought. I take in deep breath after deep breath, letting everything else slip away, everything but Logan.
“Yeah,” he says. “I knew… I knew I had to come.”
There’s a long pause after that, and now that Logan is here, I find myself asking why. Why have I been his rival these past six months? Why have I been acting like I hate him, when I think deep down I’ve always known that I haven’t? And it’s more than just not hating him. It’s--well--it’s love. He’s everything I want, everything I need, and even though I could be perfectly fine without him, I want him with me, want it more than anything in the world. So, why did it never occur to me before?
The only answer I can think of is this: because I was scared. Because I was scared of falling for someone who was so close to Ben’s death. Because I didn’t want to lose anyone else.
It’s amazing the kind of love fear can drive away.
“You really are a bitch, you know,” Logan says after a while.
I force a smile, wiping the tears from my eyes. “And why is that?”
He turns to look at me for the first time since he arrived. “Because you stole my heart, Cali,” he whispers, running his hand along my cheeks. “You stole my heart and now you won’t let me have yours.”
I expect to tense up at his touch, to push him away and freak out like I always do, but not tonight. Tonight, I listen to the crickets chirping and the distant smell of barbecue behind us, and when Logan’s skin meets my skin, I relax, because that’s what his touch is: it’s relaxing.
“Remember when we were kids,” I say after a while, looking past him and out at the sea of old houses in front of us, of the trees swaying in the breeze. “When I was eight and you and Ben decided to convince me I was actually a dog adopted into a family of humans?”
He nods, forcing a smile, and even though I’m on the verge of crying again I force one too.
“Remember how I went to everyone I knew, from my mom and dad to your parents and our friends and you guys followed me everywhere and all of them said that yes, I was a dog, and then I started crying because I didn’t want to be a dog, I wanted to be a person like you and Ben?”
Logan is still smiling, probably remembering all of the dumb things the three of us used to do to each other. “Yeah,” he says. “I do.”
“I knew it was a lie all along.”
He arches his eyebrow. “You did not.”
“I did!” I say, and it feels good to remember with someone else. It feels good to talk it out. It feels good to finally get closure.
“I wasn’t an idiot, you asshole,” I say, smiling some more. “Of course I knew I wasn’t a dog. But I saw how happy it made you… you and Ben… and so I went along with it because it was fun. You told me something while I was fake crying about not being part of the family, though, something that seemed way too deep to come from a ten-year-old boy at the time, and so I’ve remembered it since.” I hesitate. “You said that things in life aren’t always fair. You said that bad things happen sometimes and there’s no stopping them, but that there is no point in worrying about the past and the future. You said that how you got here or where you’ll end up doesn’t matter, which I think you expected would comfort me about being a dog. You said you could worry about any number of things, but the only thing that truly matters is right here, right now, and enjoying the people and the love that you’re surrounded with.” I take a deep breath. “I just… I wanted to thank you. For saying that.”
Logan nods, but he doesn’t seem to want to elaborate. It takes a lot of effort not to ask why.
“What do you have in your hand?” he asks. I look down at where he’s pointing and hold out the sketch Ben did of me. I totally forgot I was holding it.
“Ben did this of me in art class,” I say, not taking my eyes off of the sketch. “Remember?”
He nods. “You two used to love this, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” I say, and I sigh. The tears have stopped now. The stinging in my heart has stopped. I feel better, so much better, and as I sit in the e
xact same spot where Ben killed himself four years ago, I don’t feel afraid.
I feel strong.
Logan watches me carefully. “It’s time to let go, Cali,” he says. “It’s time for both of us to let go. Ben would want that,” he says.
“I know.” And I do.
“Then we’re going to let him go, or at least start to. Okay?” he says, and when he holds out the sketch to the edge of the roof, I know what he’s going to do. My stomach twists, but I don’t resist.
“Okay,” I say.
I hold my breath as he lets go. The sketch falls slowly to the ground below, then gets swept off by the wind with a whoosh and flies through the trees until it disappears out of sight. I feel myself freeze up as it leaves me once and for all and a part of me wants to scream and run after the sketch, but then I feel Logan’s hand on my back and I know I’m safe here. I know this is right.
We’re silent for another long while after that. I start to say something, to thank him or yell at him or I don’t even know, but the words seem to leave me. So I just look out at the trees where the sketch Ben presented me with some ten years ago for my birthday, a huge grin on his face, disappeared.
“You know, when you really think about it, sometimes love is like poetry,” Logan whispers out of nowhere, rubbing a finger against my chin and smiling at me. I turn to him, and our eyes lock. “It doesn’t always make sense and it sure as hell isn’t ever simple, but it’s always there, and it’s in the individual to find it.”
I just watch him. Something in his words is so deep and heartfelt that I know he’s talking about it firsthand. I open my mouth to ask him what he means, but he shakes his head and speaks instead. “Cali, I… I have something to tell you,” he says quietly, his jaw tightening. I see him fidget with his hands, see the heat creep into his cheeks, and it’s so totally adorable I can’t help but smile.
Before I know what’s happening, he reaches out and gently holds my wrists. He pulls me up with him so slowly and carefully that I don’t think about anything but his skin touching my skin, his eyes trained on my eyes. Then, once we’re eyelevel with each other, he draws me in closer to him than ever before. All of the heat from his body wraps around me then. His lips are just a millimeter from my lips, and I feel his legs touching mine, his stomach touching my stomach, his chest touching my chest. We’re so close together that all of the air is sucked out of the roof, that there is nothing here but him and his jaw, shifting closer to my lips, so near and so tempting. I want more than anything to kiss him then, to press my lips to his and let everything else happen. I think he does, too, because I feel his body tense up, and so does mine. My hand quivers at my side, and I just keep looking into his eyes, inching closer and closer and closer. There is nothing but Logan anymore. Just his eyes, his lips, his warmth, his everything tangled with my everything. I know I’m on that dangerous line, that dangerous line that I want to cross right now more than anything else in the world.
So I just stand there with him, our lips millimeters apart, forcing myself to breathe, to think, to focus on anything but him.
Finally, he speaks. His voice is so quiet I can barely hear it, can barely distinguish it from the feelings coursing between us right now. He whispers, “I’m going to tell you something,” and I just relax at his words. Logan still looks as deadly serious as before, but the confusion in his features is gone. He watches me with such intensity that I know he’s made up his mind about something, about something huge. “I’m going to tell you something,” he whispers, eyes on mine, lips hovering by my lips, “and I want you to really listen. Just… hear what I think and answer with your heart. You can say yes or no, but you better believe that I’m not going to stop feeling like this… to you. Do you understand?” he whispers, his voice more serious than I’ve ever heard it, all meaningful and honest and heart-wrenching.
I nod without thinking. It’s a weak nod, slow and confused, but the point comes across.
Logan gives me a sad smile. Me, pressed up against him and wanting to be nowhere else. Me, with all these feelings for him I can’t make sense of, don’t want to make sense of. Me, knowing what I want.
Then he leans into me, grazes his nose to mine, and suddenly I know what he’s going to say. A tear starts glistening in my eyes, and we’re just standing there, on the roof where my brother killed himself, our bodies touching, and I’m trying not to cry.
“Cali Monroe,” he finally whispers, pressing his nose to my nose. His body moves closer and closer to me with each word he speaks. I feel my knees buckle, my heart quicken, my senses go on high alert. I notice each curl of his smile, each shift of his jaw. I notice how his eyes look like they’re going to shatter and freeze all at once, how I can feel the steady pounding of his heart now that I’m touching him, how his eyelashes brush up and down and up and down. I stiffen up and every muscle in my body follows suit as he whispers, “I love you. I love you more than anything in the world, Cali. I love you like in ‘I carry your heart with me,’ with the purest love in the world. My love for you can keep the stars apart, can take seeds of the tree of life, can do more wonders than I will ever know. I love you with every part of me, and I need you because I love you. That’s why I’ve been… like this… this confused… because I love you, I love you and I didn’t know how to say it until now. And no matter what, I know with every fiber of my being that I will carry your heart with me, because I will never stop loving you, Cali. Never.”
He stops then, his voice filling the small void between us, ringing throughout my ears and seeping into my being. I don’t even know what to do, what to say, but I know that my brain is on high alert and my heart keeps tugging and tugging, getting me to speak the truth, to tell him what I really feel.
But I can’t.
I can’t ever.
I just watch him, my eyes glistening with tears, pressing my nose closer and closer to his so that our lips are practically touching and it takes all of my willpower not to shift them that one millimeter so that I am kissing Logan Waters.
I keep looking into Logan’s eyes and I’m trembling all over because I don’t know what to say, what to feel, what to do. All I know is that I can’t do it, can’t love him, even if I already do.
“Logan, I can’t--” I whisper, my voice breaking. I want to cry, I want him to kiss this all away, to wrap me up in his arms and never, ever let go.
“It’s okay, Cali,” he whispers, touching his hand to my cheek. His touch is so warm and comforting, and the last thing I want right now is for him to pull away. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
“No.” I shake my head. “No it isn’t. I do-- but I can’t--” My voice cracks, and now real tears slip out of my eyes for the billionth fucking time today, running down my face, my cheek, and falling off somewhere below. I don’t have the words to talk to him, to express the gravity of what I feel for him, to make sense of any of this, so like an idiot, I. say. nothing.
“Do you love me, Cali?” Logan finally whispers, his gaze as strong as ever.
“Logan, I--” I start to say.
“Do you?” His voice is softer than ever.
I hesitate, not knowing what to say, what to do, but with him next to me, with his lips practically touching mine, I know home with Logan Waters is the only thing I need. “I can’t,” I finally force out.
Logan just watches me for a long while, holding me tight, shifting his nose against my nose so that I swear he’s going to kiss me at any second. He doesn’t, though, to my disappointment. He just keeps watching, waiting, wanting to know the answer to the same question I think my subconscious has been asking me every minute of every day for these past six months: do I love him?
I know the answer, but I can’t do it, can’t admit it to him, and I don’t know why but I just can’t.
“There are two roads in front of you, Cali,” he says quietly, and we cling to each other for what feels like dear life. “The first is for you to do the common thing and stand here and tell yourself you’
re going to screw something up between us without ever taking the chance. You can just keep telling yourself that you can’t do it, that you can’t mess something up like you supposedly did for Ben, when really there is no way you can mess us up because I already love you too much. Or instead, you can choose the other option and you can stop moping and do something about it. You can be honest with your parents and follow your dreams and embrace your inner poet and people will accept you for you. And then? And then you can stop pretending like I’m just some object for you to torture and you can kiss me, Cali.” He slows, dropping his gaze to meet my eyes, those long lashes batting slowly back and forth. “You can kiss me,” he whispers again.
My breath catches. For the longest time, I just stand there, frozen in place, too shocked that he said it flat out but also unable to resist the truth in his words. My heart skitters in my chest and I want to run away and scream and hide and combust and be anywhere but here all at once, but I can’t. look. away. from him.
Finally, I tilt my head up to meet his gaze, hovering my mouth millimeters away from his face. I see the muscles working in his jaw, clenching and tightening and unclenching all over again, see the hope in his features, the longing, the desire. I feel his breath next to mine, his warm lips almost touching my skin. And then I see his eyes, blue and vibrant, so sure and so ready and so freaking inviting. And then, just like that, I know what to do.
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