He held me tighter. "We got a lot of shit to work through."

"Yeah," I agreed. "But once we do, we're going to be amazing." I felt his smile against my face.

***

I floated down onto a soft surface.

"Shh," he said. "You fell asleep."

"Logan?" I whispered.

"Yeah, baby. I'm here."

"You're here," I repeated his words.

He was here, with me.

It wasn't a dream.

Not this time.

19

Logan

She's coming over today. It's the first day of summer break for her, which means she's all mine. Her words, not mine. I'm not really a caveman. Much.

We hadn't seen each other since the night she fell asleep in my arms up on the roof. I can't even count the amount of times I dreamt about that exact thing when I was away. And now—it was happening.

We were as honest as I think we could be. We knew there were situations to overcome, issues we had to deal with, things to talk about. We weren't dumb. We weren't naive. Sooner, rather than later, we'd have to face them. But right now, we just wanted each other. Maybe we needed each other, like air.

Logan: Hurry up and get your ass over here.

Amanda: I just pulled up.

I ran down the stairs so fast I almost twisted my ankle on the final landing. I slowed down just before I opened the door to outside. It wasn’t like I was some pathetic asshole who'd been waiting all day just to see her, or hold her hand, or kiss her. Nope. Not me. At all.

Her smile widened when she saw me. She was a good twenty feet away, but the distance between us was too much, and she must've felt it too. Her pace picked up as she started towards me. It was just like in the fucking movies when she jumped up and wrapped her legs around me. I caught her and spun us around. "We're so lame," I told her, half laughing.

"Shut up. You're ruining the moment. Keep spinning," she demanded.

"You're going to get dizzy and throw up."

"Am not."

I spun twice more before she made me stop; she said she felt sick and dizzy.

I wanted to say, 'I told you so' but I left it alone. I was just happy to see her.

"Did you miss me?" she asked.

"You have no fucking idea."

I walked us to my shitty old truck and opened the door for her.

Her nose scrunched in disgust. "This is yours?"

I couldn't tell if she was serious or not. Squaring my shoulders, I said, "Yeah. So what?"

She lifted her shoulders dramatically with her nose up in the air. "Nothing, I guess." She was teasing me. "I'm just used to dating guys with expensive cars."

I picked her up and threw her on the bench seat of the truck. "Whoever you dated before is an asshole," I told her, getting into the driver’s seat. "You should tell him that."

***

Nine. Fucking. Hours.

That's how long it took to buy furniture at Ikea and set it up in the apartment. She made me buy a bed for the bedroom. I told her I probably wouldn't use it. She understood, but said I should have one anyway.

By the time it was all done, we were exhausted. "Let's order take-out and go to bed," she suggested.

"Sounds perfect."

It really did.

A half hour later, the food arrived, and we sat at my new dining table to eat. She placed her feet on my lap and pointed her fork at me. "Tell me more about Doctors Without Borders," she said.

I smiled at her. We hadn't talked about why I'd left yet, and she hadn't asked. It was almost as if she didn't want to know, or maybe she knew already and didn't want to bring it up. Maybe she'd moved on, and like me, just wanted to be together. I knew it was bad, living our lives like this, in our little bubble, far away from anyone that could take us away from each other. Soon enough, something would cause it to burst.

But it'd only been a week. Surely we had time.

I started telling her all about my time in Africa, then thought I'd do one better. I walked over and picked up my journal. I emptied the content from the pages. Dozens of pictures fell out. I started sorting them so I could show her, but her eyes were fixated on the book. I cleared my throat, her gaze lifted and focused on me. "It's my journal," I told her.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Oh."

I weighed up the options of my next words in my head, but nothing seemed to be able to stop the sentence forming. "You should read it, maybe—"

"Oh no," she interrupted. "It's personal. I can't do—"

"Nothing's personal. Not when it comes to you and me. I don't want to keep secrets from you. You want to know about my time away—it's all there. You read it, or you don't. It's up to you. But I want to lay it all out for you. Maybe it'll help you understand some of it."

She nodded, took the journal in her hands and slowly flipped through the pages. A single picture fell out. It was beyond worn, but still visible. She picked it up carefully, like it was an antique and might disintegrate it her fingers. "What's this? How?"

"That one phone call I made to Jake, I asked him to send it to me."

She inhaled deeply, her chest rising with the motion.

"It kind of saved me." Truth.

"What do you mean?"

"Read it." I got up and started clearing the table.

When I'd finished cleaning, she was still fixated on the picture.