She closed her eyes slowly and visibly swallowed.

Shit. "Shit," I said aloud. "Forget I said anything. I'm sorry. It's way too soon for this conversation."

She smiled. "Maybe it is—too soon, I mean—but who gives a shit, right?"

I laughed once. "Right."

Then she lay back down and rested her head on my chest again. Her hand went under my shirt, fingering my abs. "I'll follow you wherever, Logan. For as long as you'll have me."

Forever, I thought. But I kept that to myself.

THIRTY FIVE

Logan

I could tell it was hard for Jake to stay quiet while I told Micky that I wanted to visit Megan.

"Suicide watch?" Micky asked, her voice breaking. She'd been crying since the Amanda told her the rumors of Megan's life in LA.

I nodded. "I'm going a week from now, it's a five hour drive."

"I'm going, too," she insisted.

"So am I," Jake said.

Amanda held my hand tighter, she didn't have to say the words. I knew she would be coming to support me.

***

We took Dylan's truck for the trip. Mine was too small, Jake had no back seat and Micky's car was too unreliable.

Five hours later we stood in the foyer of the Dalton Psychiatric House. Amanda and Jake stayed outside. I had researched visiting protocols and times, so was prepared when they asked us to hand in anything loose that was on us. A metal detector and a security search later, we were inside what looked like a visiting room. Like in jail. Not that I'd know what that looks like in real life. Just TV.

"It looks like a jail," Micky said, reading my thoughts.

"Uh-huh."

"Are you nervous?" she asked.

"Are you?" I retorted.

"Shit yes," she choked out.

I turned to face her. She was already crying. I covered her hand that rested on the table with both of mine. "We'll be okay, Mick—promise."

Then the doors opened and she walked in. A nurse followed but stayed in a seat next to the door. Micky gasped the same time Megan's steps faltered.

She was worse than in her picture.

"Is that her?" Micky whispered, turning her head to me.

"Yes."

"Shit."

"Mikayla," Megan greeted. Her voice came out hoarse, like she smoked two packs a day. Then she looked at me. "Bro." She tried to smile, but she couldn't.

She looked old. Her skin sagged on her face and she had blood spots all over her face. Her hair looked dead on top of her head, she had bags under her eyes and her cheeks were hollowed out from how skinny she was. She sat down in the chair opposite us and rested her arms on the metal table. I could see the bruising on her arms from where the needles would have constantly punctured skin. She sniffed once, getting my attention. She raised her eyebrows in question. I must have been staring.

"Meth?" I asked her.

"Winner winner," she croaked out. She had a twitch. The type junkies get when they need a hit.

For a second I wanted to get Micky on her feet and get her the fuck out of there. I'd seen that face on other people before. Hell, I lived with those kinds of faces—but Micky—I don't know that she'd be able to deal.

"Megan," Micky whispered.

Megan's eyes went from me to Micky, and it was instant. Whatever emotion she was trying to hide disappeared the moment her eyes locked on her best friend. Her body slumped and a sob took over. "You're not supposed to see me like this," she said through a cry.

"Megan," Micky sighed. She reached her hand over and tried to hold Megan's, but she pulled it away, coming to a stand. The nurse stood too.

"No!" Megan yelled. "You're not supposed to be here. You're not supposed to see me like this and you're definitely not allowed to fucking pity me!" She started pacing. I saw the nurse pull out her walkie-talkie.

"No!" Megan yelled again. "Micky, what the fuck? Why are you here?"

"Because I need to forgive you," Micky said quietly.

"Forgive me?" Megan spat out. "No, Mick, you don't need to do that. You can't do that. You—and your family—you were all I had—and look what I fucking did!"

"Megan," she repeated again, tears streaming down her face. "You may have been a shit friend but you don't deserve what's happened to you. Nobody deserves that."

"So that's it?" Megan stopped pacing and faced us. "You came because you felt sorry for me? You can't do that Micky. You can't pity me. You just can't. I won't let you." She shook her head back and forth, her eyes wild. "I won't fucking let you Micky." She started walking backwards until she hit the corner of the room. "I won't fucking let you." Then her body slid down the wall until she was sitting in a fetal position, rocking back and forth. "I won't fucking let you." She kept repeating the words over and over. "I won't fucking let you."

Micky stood, but I pulled on her arm. "It's okay," she said.

I looked at the nurse, who nodded once in confirmation.

Then she walked over to Megan and kneeled in front of her. She placed her hand on Megan's shoulder and whispered loudly in her hear, "Megkayla brings all the boys to the yard, and they're like..."

Megan looked up then, "it's better than yours."

Then they both said, "Damn right, it's better than yours."