Hypothetical Heart (Farewell Fairwood #2)

Chapter 27

27

I ’m not sure anything will ever feel as odd as moving into your college apartment, knowing that for the next nine months, you are going to be living hours away from everything you’ve ever known.

“Is this everything?” Dad asks as he sets the last box down on my kitchen counter.

I look around, taking in the new scene. “I think so,” I sigh.

We’ve spent all day unloading his truck and the U-Haul attached to it, and I can sense in the air that something is about to shift. My dad is going to leave, and I’m going to be here all by myself.

I try not to pay attention to the dull ache in my foot and ankle after being on my feet all day. After I was in a cast for six weeks, I was in a boot for another four, making it so my foot has only been free of confinement for a few weeks.

My doctors are sure I’m close to making a full recovery, and after a few weeks of physical therapy, I’ll be able to go back to ballet. NYU ballet company has also been very understanding. They didn’t kick me out when finding out I got injured, instead, they’re giving me the time to heal before joining practice.

“Well, you know Logan is right down the hall if you ever need anything,” he says, picking up stray cardboard boxes and beginning to break them down. “And I’m just a call away.”

Logan has already moved in downstairs. He got here earlier because I had more stuff to pack, and he finished unpacking sooner because… well, I had more stuff to unpack. He came up earlier, asking if we needed help at all, but this is something I wanted to do on my own—just me and Dad.

“Thanks, Dad.” I smile into his embrace as he wraps his arms around my shoulders.

“I love you, honey,” he tells me, sounding choked up. “I hope you know how proud your mom would be of you.”

And now I’m crying.

Tears fall down my cheeks, and for once, I’m not crying because of how cruel the world is for taking my mom away—I’m crying because I know I’ve finally made it through the trenches. I persevered and made it through high school without my mom, which I never thought possible before the day of graduation.

“I love you, Dad.” There is nothing like the bond between a father and his daughter, and I’m grateful to understand the feeling. The one that screams, I would do anything for you. Just say the word.

“Call me tomorrow?” he asks.

“I’ll probably call you tonight,” I try to joke. We both laugh because we know it’s true.

I’ve never been good at being away from home, and while I know this is something I have to do for myself, I know it’s going to be hard.

“I’ll always answer.” I know he will.

The elevator ride back up to my apartment after I ride down and say goodbye to my dad one last time is harder than I expected. The doors slide together, shutting me off from the lobby and up to my new home, and it feels like the doors of my childhood shutting. I’m on my way up to adulthood.

I’m choking on tears by the time I reach my door and am too focused on pulling my key out to notice the person standing there waiting. “Logan?” It’s half a question and half a sigh of relief.

“Your dad texted me saying he was leaving,” he explains. “I figured you’d want some company.” He takes my key from my hand, sliding it into the lock and opening my door for me.

He motions me in first. “Are you already unpacked?” I ask as he shuts the door behind him.

“Win, I’ve been unpacked for hours.” He laughs.

“Of course you have. You probably brought five shirts, five pairs of pants, deodorant, and a toothbrush,” I scoff.

He walks through the living area of my apartment and into my bedroom, knowing exactly where it is because our apartments have the same layout. “Seriously, Winnie?” He sounds like he’s near tears, trying to hold back his laughter. “You have seven suitcases worth of clothes? Did you bring your entire closet?”

“Hey!” I smack him in the arm, and he fake winces. “That’s not funny. I want to have options.”

He holds his hands up, feigning surrender. “I understand, I understand.”

“Good.”

“Do you need help putting it all away?” He looks around the room as if the laundry fairy is going to appear in the corner and offer to do it for me.

“I just have to hang most of it up. I’m not worrying about the drawers yet. Speaking of…” I glance back and forth between Logan and my unbuilt dresser. “I told my dad you would build that for me.”

Logan’s shoulders slump like this is the worst news he’s heard all day. I know he’s messing around when he says, “Let me go grab my tool belt from downstairs.”

“You brought a tool belt?”

“Yes, and I’m certain you didn’t.” He’s right.

“What would I ever need a tool belt for?” I raise my eyebrows, and he laughs.

“You’re right. You just make me do everything anyway.”

When Logan comes back, a tool belt is slung over his shoulder. His T-shirt is also clinging to every muscle of his back and biceps. He looks so good, it takes everything in me not to drool all over the clothes I’m attempting to hang up.

“Need a mop?” He grins, reading my mind.

I clear my throat, shaking my head as I turn back toward my closet, and for the next few hours, Logan builds my dresser while I attempt to put my room together the best I can. After a while, I move on to organizing the kitchen, and Logan walks out of my room with his tool belt.

“Done?” I ask over my shoulder while I wash my new silverware set.

He nods, “What clothes are going in these drawers? I’ll start folding them and putting them away.” “You don’t have to do that. I’ll do it later,” I reply quickly. We both enter my bedroom so Logan can showcase his new project. “It looks great!”

Without me even noticing, Logan drags out the boxes I tucked in the bottom of my closet, setting them on top of the dresser. I don’t even have a chance to try and stop him before he’s ripping the top off of the cardboard box full of my bras and underwear. Just my luck.

“Jesus,” he chokes out, his cheeks turning red.

I don’t even know what to do in this situation. My best friend, who I just so happen to be in love with, is staring at a box full of my underwear, and all he can say is Jesus . I’m frozen still, so unaware of how I’m feeling, and praying he will simply shut the box and never speak of this again.

“Wow, um, I—“ he stutters, unable to rip his gaze away from the box’s contents.

I unlock my feet from the cement block they were seemingly stuck in. “It’s just underwear, Logan, what’s the big deal?” I ask, trying to play it cool.

This is not cool. So not cool.

“Just underwear?” He looks from me back to the box and then toward me again.

I finally get the chance to peer inside the box, and of course, the only underwear visible from an aerial view are my skimpiest thongs and everything lace. Perfect.

“Would you stop looking?” I groan, trying to pull his hand away and shut the box.

“Sorry, sorry.” I watch his throat bob as he gulps, taking a step back.

I pick the box up off the dresser, throwing it back on the floor and sliding it back into my closet. “That’s why I said I’d fold my clothes myself.”

“Well, it’s not that big of a deal,” he says, making sure I’m not too embarrassed.

“Then why are you acting like you just saw your first-ever porno?” I snort, trying to keep my laughs at bay.

In all honesty, if you take away the initial embarrassment, the face Logan made while he was looking in that box was pretty damn funny.

“Winnie, I just saw your pink, lacy underwear.”

“So?” I’m feigning offense. “What did you expect me to wear? Granny panties?”

“I’d prefer not to talk about the type of underwear I imagine you wearing,” he sighs, taking a seat on the edge of my bed. “And please, never say the word panties ever again.”

I make a pfff sound, desperately holding onto the little composure I have left. “Logan! You just saw all of my panties!” I finally burst out laughing, which makes him do the same.

I land on my bed when I crumple over, and he lays back. We spent the next—I don’t even know how long—laughing until there are tears streaming down both of our faces.

And when I rest my elbows on my bed, propping my head up, Logan’s on his back right next to me.

“I’m sorry, I’m trying not to make this awkward.” He’s still giggling.

“Mission failed.” Gosh, my stomach hurts from laughing so hard.

Logan’s hand comes up, meeting my chin, and his touch is all it takes for both of us to go silent. The only sound echoing off the walls of the practically empty room is the sound of both our breathing.

He pushes a piece of hair out of my face, his fingers ghosting over my lips. Suddenly, us laughing about Logan seeing my underwear has turned my bedroom into a tension-sealed air vac. And yet, like a rubber band snapping on each of our wrists, we pull away.

It’s not a new feeling; it’s just one neither of us has ever really acted on.

“Remember when you came into my room, begging me to kiss you?”

“I was not begging you to kiss me,” I retort. “We needed to do it for the sake of the dance.”

“Hmm… not how I remember it happening.” His smile heightens all the way up his cheekbones and into his glimmering eyes.

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes dramatically, pushing his buttons. “What about it?”

His hand slides from my chin to my jaw all the way until his thumb is pressing the pressure point behind my ear, and his palm has completely engulfed the left side of my face. “Can I kiss you for real this time?”

My entire nervous system goes haywire, like every neuron in my body has started running around, screaming and looking for answers.

I don’t say anything before I lean in, feeling the back of my neck heat as his hands push back into my hair, dragging my face closer and closer to his.

When our lips meet, it’s in complete synchronicity. Maybe it has something to do with the fact we’ve been waiting our entire lives for this to happen. Not just as a joke, not only for practice. This time, it’s for real.

I turn further on my side, and he follows. His tongue traces my bottom lip, and my eyelids flutter at the feeling. I’ve dreamed about this feeling my entire life, and yet none of the dreams I could have ever conjured up in my brain could ever compare to the real thing.

The feeling of flying, soaring across multiple universes with Logan Callaghan. The air whooshing past us, screaming, Us. Us. Us.

And unlike the last time this happened, in his bedroom when we were nearly interrupted by his mom, nothing changes when we pull away from one another.

It’s still the same indescribable feeling of knowing this is exactly where I belong as we catch our breaths.

“So all it took was us getting out of that small ass town,” Logan sighs with a content smile, looking up at the ceiling before meeting my gaze again.

“We’re all on our own now.” I smile, grateful that it’s him I’m with, living in a whole new city away from everything we’ve ever known.

Because, in all reality, Logan is all I’ve ever wanted to know.

And I finally get to do just that.