More Than Her

He threw his cap on the bed then faced me, "I'm sorry," he said.

"What?" I asked, confused. "What for?"

He shrugged, his hands going back in his pockets.

"Please don't take this the wrong way," I said, "but why are you here? I mean, I don't mind. I just—I mean why?"

Truth is, I did mind. I came home because I needed to get away from him, even just for a night. I needed to clear my head and work out what I wanted. But then he gave me that speech in the car, and I felt forced to make a decision before I was ready. And when he asked if it was enough, I knew in my heart it wasn't. Maybe if he hadn't slept with someone else. Maybe.

He took a seat on my bed and gripped the edge. His head fell forward. He took in a huge breath, his shoulders heaving with the weight of it. And then he looked up at me. There was a pained expression on his face that even he couldn't hide.

"I'm sorry," he said again, "I just—I don't know. I needed to see you."

Whatever was going on with him, it was bigger than us. Bigger than whatever issues we had to work out.

I kicked off the door and opened it. "Mom!" I yelled, "Logan's staying the night."

Without waiting for response, I climbed into bed and waited for him to join me. "Are you sure?" he said through an almost shy smile. But he wasn't asking. Not really. His shirt and jeans were off and he was lying in my bed before I had a chance to reply.

Then we just lay there, side by side, on our backs, not touching, not speaking.

"I lied," he said, just as I was about to surrender to sleep.

"What?"

"I lied," he repeated. "I was being a dick. I didn't sleep with anyone. I said it because I wanted you to hate me. So that you wouldn't want to be with me. Because it's my fault you went through all of that shit after our date. It's my fucking fault, and I don't deserve to have you."

My eyes snapped open. I was fully awake. "What?" I said again.

His arm moved up to cover his eyes, even though it was already dark in the room. "I tried," he started, "I really did. I tried to leave you alone but I don't think I can do it."

I blew out a quick breath. "What are you saying?"

"You own me, Amanda. All of me."

***

I stayed up for a long time after his confession. He fell asleep almost instantly. I could tell the moment his breathing had evened out. "Logan?" I whispered. He didn't respond. Then I reached over, took his hand in mine. And let myself have him. All of him.

***

I felt his hand separate from mine, before I could wake myself up. The heat from his body escaped from under the covers as the bed raised.

He was leaving.

I slowly opened my eyes and watched as he put his shirt back on. I sat up. "What are you doing?" I said quietly, switching on my night-light. I checked my phone; it was two in the morning.

He sat on the edge of the bed and turned his body to face me. "I'm sorry." He kept saying he was sorry and I had no clue why. "I shouldn't have come here. Go back to sleep, I'll find my way out."

I sat up on my knees and moved closer to him. "What's going on, Logan?"

"Nothing." His eyes darted around the room, everywhere but on me. There was a sadness consumed in his features. I knew he was lying.

I sighed. "Obviously it's something. You're here aren't you?"

He didn't respond.

I moved closer, and then linked our fingers together.

His eyes snapped to mine. They drifted down to our joined hands and back up again. He swallowed. "Is this—I mean are you—"

I cut him off with my mouth on his. I kissed him slowly, letting my lips linger on his. "Stay?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied, but didn't move from his position.

I waited.

He looked right at me. His gaze so intense. I refused to look away.

Finally, he broke the stare. "I just found out I have a sister," he said out of nowhere.

"What? How?" Clearly I was confused. And shocked. But mostly confused.

His thumb came up to straighten the lines between my brows.

"I'm adopted," he informed.

"WHAT?! And you just found out?" I almost yelled.

His hand covered my mouth, and then he chuckled. "No, Amanda. I knew. It happened when I was seven. So...it's not a big deal. But she's been looking for me. I guess she found me."

I settled my frantic heart. "I'm confused," I told him, pouting a little.

"Yeah," he agreed, looking away. "Honestly, so am I."

He kissed me once, then took his shirt off and made a move to lie back in bed. I followed him. Then he positioned us so his arm was under my head and I was lying sideways with my head resting on his chest.

He looked up at the ceiling. I looked up at him.

Then he spoke. "My birth parents were assholes, Amanda. And I'm not talking just neglectful assholes. I'm talking abusive, drugged up, fucked up, assholes."

I gasped.

He continued. "When I was seven, my dad beat me so bad, that even in her messed up state, my mom knew enough to take me to hospital."

"Oh my God," I breathed out.

His hand went under my top, rubbing slow circles into my back. Like he needed to comfort me.

"You remember my dad, the one you kind of met that night?"

I nodded. "The one Mom works for?"

"Yeah," I could sense his smile. "He was my doctor when she brought me in. My birth parents never came back for me, so he adopted me."

I tried to keep my breathing even. I tried to hold back the tears. I tried so damn hard to hide the fact that my heart was breaking.

"Anyway." He spoke so casually, seemingly unaffected. "Apparently the asshole wasn't just a dick to me, but to his wife too, because he had a kid with another woman. Apparently she's my age. He knew about her. Used to visit her all the time. I guess he loved her—used me as a punching bag."

I wiped my tears on his chest. I sniffed once. "Logan," I managed to get out through the giant lump in my throat. "I'm so sorry."

He adjusted us so I was completely on top of him. His hand on my back kept circling. His other hand played with my hair.

"How did you find out?"

"Jake's dad. He's um, my lawyer—kind of. She—my sister—she's been looking for me. It's a long story."

Silence filled the room while I tried to imagine his life. "Do you remember it?" I asked.

"Remember what?" he answered, his voice low and scratchy.

"That day. When he—" I looked up and into his eyes. "When he hurt you. Do you remember why? Or how?"

He swallowed hard, his eyes drifting shut. He nodded his head once. "I remember the phone ringing and my mom answering. Straight away she was glaring at me. I tried to remember what I could have done that made someone call her. I couldn't think of anything. I mean, even as a kid I understood that whomever she was speaking to, it was about me. I remember her hanging up and then yelling at me, saying that Dad was going to be pissed. She only hit me once across the face before going for her smokes. I knew straight away what was going to happen. I remember trying so hard not to cry. Crying only made them madder. The second she lit her cigarette I tried to run, but she cornered me. I remember pissing my pants." His voice broke. He paused to clear his throat, and then inhaled a huge breath before letting it out in a rush.