Hypothetical Heart (Farewell Fairwood #2)

Chapter 5

5

“ R ight, Logan, turn right,” Genevieve says, leaning forward from the backseat to lean on the console.

“Okay, okay!” he shouts, putting his blinker on and making the turn. “You’re so bossy,”

“Well, maybe pay better attention to the directions that are on the screen right in front of you.”

Logan sighs, and Eloise, who’s sitting in the passenger seat, throws her head back against the headrest.

Meanwhile, I’m stuck in the second row, sitting behind Logan, with Genevieve in the middle and Jameson on the other side of her.

A long car ride with Genevieve and Jameson sitting next to me would have been my worst nightmare mere months ago, but seeing them together now, getting along not only as friends, but as a couple, it’s a bit mind-boggling.

Instead of her and Jameson arguing, though, it’s now her and Logan.

“At this light coming up, you’re going to turn left ,” Genevieve emphasizes when Logan reaches a red light.

“Would you just like to drive, Gen?” Logan turns around to ask.

“No,” she replies.

He rolls his eyes. “Then stop backseat driving.”

“I wouldn’t have to backseat drive if you knew how to front seat drive.”

“If you're this much of an authoritarian sitting in the backseat, I can’t even imagine the type of bossiness Jameson has to deal with in bed,” Logan snips, and I hear Luke try to stifle a laugh from where he sits with all the bags in the third row.

“Are you really trying to bring my sex life into this?” Genevieve asks, sounding only partially offended.

Normally, the two would volley back and forth with inappropriate jokes, but Genevieve told me earlier today that she and Jameson haven’t had sex yet, which is likely the reason for her apprehension toward making sex jokes.

“Jameson, I’m praying for you, man.” Logan laughs, and I smack him in the back of the head, making him wince.

Logan has always been one to joke around, telling all sorts of jokes, but he has a bit more lip than I appreciate today.

“Not funny,” I say.

Moments later, the entire car slowly breaks into laughter, starting with Eloise and Luke and spreading to the rest of us.

Logan’s laughing so hard that he has to pull off to the side of the road.

We’ve been in the car for nearly two hours, and there’s still another forty-five minutes before we reach the cabin, yet none of us really mind being stuck together.

“That was the dumbest fucking argument I’ve ever heard,” Luke wheezes, resting both of his hands over his head.

“That was not an argument,” Genevieve denies. “Logan, switch seats with me. I’m driving.”

“Oh, now you want to drive?” His question is rhetorical because he gets out of the driver’s seat as soon as she asks.

Genevieve climbs over the center console, and Jameson reaches out, holding her skirt down as she does so. I scoot to the middle seat so that Logan can sit where I was. Once he shuts the backdoor, Genevieve puts the car in drive and pulls back onto the road.

With Logan back here instead of Gen, it’s a tight fit.

“Do you have enough room?” I ask Logan, his muscled arm encroaching on my space.

“It isn’t very spacious back here,” he says, trying to move closer to the door.

He fiddles in his seat for a moment, trying to find the most comfortable position, but he keeps elbowing me in the side in doing so. “Sorry,” he says.

“You’re fine,” I reply with a wince, rubbing my ribs. “Do what you need to do.”

“I like this.” He smiles, running his thumb over the neckline of my sweater. “It looks cute on you.”

My cheeks heat at the compliment, and I suddenly feel the need to turn away from him, but he grabs my chin, keeping me facing him. “Thank you.”

That’s when he wraps his arm around my shoulders, effectively moving and getting his arm out of the way and giving us both a little more room.

I absentmindedly lean into him, letting his hand fall on my back. I’m not sure why I do it; all I know is that it feels good.

“Is this okay?” he whispers.

I nod, but inside, I feel a familiar twinge of uncertainty. In my eyes, Logan’s arm being wrapped around me is the best way this all could have turned out, and I have a sneaking suspicion he would agree.

Yet, the warmth of his touch stirs up something confusing—a mix of comfort and unease that I can’t quite shake.

I’ve always loved how Logan makes me feel safe, but moments like these leave me questioning if I’m leaning too far into something I’m not ready to confront.

L ast night, a few hours after arriving at the Alderidge cabin, it was nearing ten o’clock, and there had been no mention of calling it a night.

Eloise started playing music from the kitchen, where she, Luke, and Logan were making cookies, while Gen, Jameson, and I had been sitting in the living room, building a puzzle on the coffee table.

Genevieve and Jameson had been doing most of the work while I’d been sorting through the pieces, and every time I held out an edge piece, they fought for it, trying to see who could pinpoint where it went first. I swear, nerds can make anything competitive.

Overall, it was a peaceful night until Eloise brought up the idea of going to a club the following evening.

The conversation was something along the lines of:

Eloise: “What if we go to a club tomorrow night?”

Genevieve: “A club? Seriously”

Eloise: “Yeah, don’t you think it would be fun?”

Somehow, she got all of us to agree to it, but now that it’s the next day and we’re actually here, I don’t think any of us are nearly as excited anymore.

“How did we let her talk us into this?” I ask Genevieve when she sits down next to me, a drink in hand.

I look around the small-town club. It’s one of the only ones in the area, which makes it so it’s packed. The strobe lights glare off the checkered tiled floors, making me the tiniest bit dizzy. The rest of the place is confusingly disorganized; there are metal tables and chairs that don’t match the rustic walls. None of it goes together.

This is an eighteen and older club, so the only person we had to sneak in was Eloise, which is easy to do when the club has an emergency exit down the hall of the bathrooms with no security in sight.

That being said, none of the drinks we can get from the bar are alcoholic, but we came prepared.

“I’m not sure. I hope getting drunk will help me remember.” She pulls a flask of vodka out of the pocket of her leather jacket, pouring some into her cup of lemonade.

“Where are the guys?”

“Getting drinks. Logan’s getting yours,” Eloise answers as she also sits at the table, holding out a hand for the flask.

“Didn’t you bring your own?” Genevieve scoffs as she hands it over.

“It’s whiskey. That doesn’t mix with lemonade.”

“Did you say you have whiskey?” Luke asks, approaching the table.

Eloise pulls it out of the waistband of her jeans, giving it to him, and he dumps it in his cup of coke.

The scene of this club isn’t something I would normally choose to partake in, and I find it especially funny how we went from baking cookies and putting puzzles together last night to clubbing the next, but it is nice to do something a bit different every once in a while.

I make eye contact with Logan from across the room. He’s walking toward me, holding two cups.

I momentarily feel dizzy, and I’m not sure if it’s from the single shot I took at the cabin or if it’s because my eyes are locked on Logan. Either way, I feel the urge to sit down, like my body is screaming at me to take the precaution.

When Logan approaches, I grab his bicep to steady me.

“Something wrong?” he asks, setting down the cups so he can empty a flask into them. I blink hard, and his arm wraps around me to keep me from swaying.

“I don’t know if I want to be here,” I reply, feeling like I’m in a complete daze.

The lights are bright and sporadically moving across the walls, and the music is loud, which makes it so people also have to talk loud.

Everything is happening quickly, and I can feel myself sinking further into the chair I’m sitting in.

“Do you want to leave?” His question catches everyone’s attention, and suddenly, I have five pairs of eyes on me, all silently asking If I’m okay.

“I—” It takes me a moment to gather my thoughts. “I don’t know.” I can’t focus on anything.

Someone puts a hand on my shoulder, and I flinch away from it, only wanting to be closer to Logan’s chest. The feeling of him near is the only thing keeping my knees from buckling beneath me, and I think he knows it too, considering he’s supporting a majority of my weight.

I feelmy hands begin to sweat, and my heart starts to race.

“Winnie.” I can tell my hearing is starting to go when I have to look up to tell who's talking to me.

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath to collect myself and keep my body from floating away from me.

“C-can I have some water?” I ask.

“Go get her water,” Logan says. “GO!”

“Calm—” I go to say calm down , but my tongue goes heavy as my body goes limp.

And then everything goes black.

“ F uck, fuck, FUCK,” I hear myself yell as I catch Winnie’s deadweight body, keeping her head from hitting the table in front of her.

“What the hell happened?” Genevieve asks, coming back with a cup of water.

“Get her dad on the phone now .” I take my phone from my back pocket, throwing it at her. “My password is twelve-fourteen.” Winnie’s birthday.

She takes my phone, walking away from the table, holding it to her ear as she makes the call.

I have one hand on each side of Winnie’s face, anxiously waiting for her to come to.

“Come on, Win,” I sigh, tapping my hand lightly on her cheek. “Come on.” The longer she’s unconscious, the longer I feel like I’m drowning, being dragged deeper and deeper underwater.

When she finally gasps in my hands, her eyes opening the slightest bit, I let out the biggest sigh imaginable.

“What the—” She tries to sit up, but I move my hands to her arms, stopping her.

Her face shows exactly how disoriented she feels. Her brows knit together, and her eyes flutter.

“Stay still,” I tell her. “You’re okay. Gen’s on the phone with your dad just to make sure you’re alright. Just stay still for a minute.”

“Logan.” Her hands cup around mine, a mixture of relief and vulnerability crossing over her face.

“You’re okay, I promise.” I rest my mouth against her head. “Just relax.”

Relief floods through my entire body as I feel her chest rise and fall against my own, her breaths stabilizing the longer I stay pressed against her. All I want to do is stay near her.

“He said it happens when she gets overwhelmed,” Genevieve tells me, pressing one hand to the speaker of the phone. “And that it shouldn’t be a problem as long as it doesn’t happen again.”

“Well, we’re not staying here to find out,” I mutter, reaching down to wrap my arms under Winnie’s legs, picking her up and carrying her out of the club.

“You called my dad?” Winnie asks, her head against my chest.

“Of course I fucking did,” I say. “That was terrifying, Win. I panicked, so I threw my phone at Gen and told her to call your dad because it was the first thing I thought to do, and he’s a doctor.”

“That’s fine,” she responds. “Everything’s fine. This just happens sometimes.”

I finally reach the car, open the backseat, and set her down, pulling the seatbelt over her before hopping in next to her.

“What do you mean, this just happens sometimes? Why is this the first time I’m hearing of this?”

Winnie is my best friend, and if there’s something wrong, I always want to know. I understand that I can hit the ceiling at times, especially when it comes to her, but that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve to be in the loop.

I can keep my composure when needed… most of the time.

“Do you remember when we were freshmen in high school, Eloise and Evie locked us in the closet and I freaked out? That was a panic attack, the first one I ever had.”

I do remember because it was one of the scariest moments of my childhood. “Yeah, but I thought that was only a one-time thing?”

“For a while it was, but then it happened again in ballet last year when I was stressing over the choreography and another time when?—”

“Last year!?” My brain can barely keep up because anger is beginning to seep in. Not at Winnie, never at Winnie, but at the situation itself. “This happened last year, and you never told me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“I just held your limp body in my arms for far longer than I ever would have liked, Winnie. I think we’re past me being worried.” I grab the car door handle, not bothering to wait for the rest of our friends, and pull it shut.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, making me feel guilty.

The last thing I ever want to do is upset Winnie or make her feel like anything of this is her fault.

“Listen to me, Win.” I grab both of her hands, resting my knees on the car's floorboards in front of her. “Anything there is to know about you, I want to know. I am president of the Winnifred Carter fan club, and I cannot handle being uninformed like this. I don’t care if you email me write-ups, or make an Excel sheet, or fuck, send me a goddamn carrier pigeon. I want to know.” I take a breath. “Somehow, someway, you need to let me know these things for my own sanity, please.”

Her eyes are tearful as she nods, squeezing both of my hands in hers. “Okay,” she says, giving my heart the liberation it needs to beat steadily again.

It doesn’t mean much though, because my heart still hurts, and I’m only her friend in this situation. I’ve done everything with this girl, given her every part of myself, and it hurts that it’s not our time yet.

And fuck, if I didn’t realize how much I cherished Winnie before, I sure as hell did tonight.