Last Summer (22 page)

“So I’ve been thinking,” I begin, glancing
over our kitchen bar to the naked living room. “What if we get a
purple couch? Or blue? I like blue; it’d go with the beach vibe
around here. Then we can hang some mementos on the wall, maybe a
few pictures of us.”

Deadpan, Logan says, “Um, babe? Just because
we live near a beach doesn’t mean we have to decorate the place
with seashells and mermaids.”

I shrug. “It’s just an idea. What about a
yellow theme? Yellow reminds me of the sun.”

“Chloe . . .”

“Or maybe a mixture of burnt orange and hot
pink, like a sunset.”

“I swear to God, if you start decorating in
that pink frilly shit, I’ll throw it out the window.”

I gasp dramatically, pretending to be
offended. “You wouldn’t dare!”

Logan cracks a smile. “You already know the
answer to that.”

We were lucky enough to find an apartment
only a few blocks from the beach, though it’s a little on the
pricey side. But we’ll manage.

“So I’ve been thinking . . .” Logan
mimics.

I roll my eyes. “What is it?”

“Hang out at the beach until it gets dark?”
His face lights up when he talks about the ocean, like he’s seven
years old again. “Pleeease?”

“Okay.” I scan our tiny kitchen. “We can’t
exactly bring drinks or food with us, though.”

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
“That’s fine. I’ll cook us something when we get back. I just want
to enjoy another sunset with you.”

My cheeks ache from beaming. “Sometimes
you’re the cutest romantic I know, and other times I still want to
punch you like I did the second time we met.”

He throws his head back, laughing. “I’m
surprised you haven’t hit me again.”

Narrowing my eyes and holding up my fist, I
say, “I only reserve this for pissed-off moments.”

“Trust me, I know,” he says, rubbing his
face at the memory of the time I hit him in the cottage.

“But I highly doubt we’ll have one of those
moments again,” I concede. “You’re not as much of an asshole as you
were back then.” I stick my tongue out.

His eyebrows cinch and his features lose
amusement, like he’s falling into one of his dark places again.
“No, I’m not.”

My hands instinctively move to cup his face.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t say
things like that.”

Months ago, we had a minor setback when we
hit the town one night to eat dinner and there was a homeless man
quietly sitting nearby. One glance at him and Logan relapsed into
his shadowy space. It took me almost a week to pull him out of that
void, and it’s taken even longer to convince him he won’t ever live
that way again; at least, not if I’m around to see my promise
through of staying with him forever. I don’t think Logan will ever
fully recover from what he’s lived through, but he’s better off
than he was, and he has a small network of family and friends who
will support him.

“Let’s go to the beach.”

“’Kay,” he murmurs.

I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him. As I
pull back, his hands grip my waist, rendering me unable to move.
His leans in and his lips cover mine, igniting a gradual ache in my
body. The kiss deepens, becomes forceful, even, as if he’s claiming
what’s his. Even after all this time, I’m still surprised at the
adoration I feel for Logan. I admire him on so many levels; the
closeness he has to his family and his brother, respect for manning
up and overcoming his drug addiction, and the affection he displays
to me each and every day.

He severs our connection. “God, I love you,”
he says, kissing my nose, forehead, cheeks, and lips again.

“I love you, too,” I murmur against his
mouth.

“Now we can go to the beach.” He grins.

I wink at him as I saunter by, grabbing my
purse and keys off the counter.

There aren’t too many people soaking up the
sun, sand, and surf at this hour. Within a couple of weeks, they’ll
be out in full force. Logan and I find a quieter spot amid the rows
of lawn chairs, sandcastles, and colorful towels. On the horizon,
the sun relaxes, providing spectators with the illusion of sinking
into the ocean. Half of the bright sphere has already disappeared;
the other half is hanging out, either sad it’s leaving until
tomorrow or extending the moment for us all. I haven’t decided
which.

Logan stands behind me, wrapping his arms
around my shoulders. “I’d be dead if it weren’t for you. You know
that, right?” he whispers in my ear.

Despite the warm weather, I shiver. “Logan .
. .”

“I’m serious.”

“Yes,” I say, “I know.”

“And you know I’d do anything for you.”

“Yes, I know that, too.”

“I don’t want us to ever be apart,” he says,
squeezing me tighter against him.

I turn around in his arms. “Where’s this
coming from?”

His brows furrow as he glances over every
inch of my face. Dropping to one knee in the sand, he reaches into
the pocket of his board shorts and pulls out a tiny, black box.
“Chloe Sullivan, will you marry me?” He pops open the small box,
revealing a glistening diamond ring. The center diamond is larger
than the row of other diamonds beside it.

My eyes widen and I gasp. “Logan—”

“You’re my lifesaver, Chloe,” he interrupts.
“When I was drowning, you rescued me. I won’t ever forget what you
did.” He grabs one of my hands and brushes his thumb over my skin,
sending another shiver through my body. “I can’t live without
you.”

I close my eyes. Is this really happening?
Did he really just ask me to spend the rest of my life with him? I
mean, we’ve already been together for a year and stuck it out
through some crazy times. What else will life throw at us?

“Just think about it,” he adds. “You don’t
have to—”

“Okay,” I say decisively. “I’ll marry
you.”

“Yes?” A hesitant grin appears, like he
can’t believe I’m agreeing. Like my brave, sweet Logan was
terrified I would’ve turned him down.

“YES!” I squeal. “A thousand times,
yes!”

He laughs and picks me up, wheeling me
around in circles as he kisses every inch of my face. Sometimes, in
seconds like this, I imagine it’s just him and me, all alone on our
private island, hidden from the rest of the world. I imagine, once
upon a time, we had normal lives, and our families met on the lake:
Logan’s parents on their imaginary boat, and Dad taking ours on the
water like he used to. I imagine Mom and Dad happy and in love like
they were twenty years ago, socializing with Phil and Marcie, while
Logan and I jet-ski with Lucas. I imagine Logan wasn’t a homeless
heroin addict; he was still an all-star on the football field, who
didn’t require morphine to dull the pain of his shoulder injury. I
imagine Jessica and I were still best friends, and that her father
was never tragically killed.

But the truth of the matter is fate brought
us together under different circumstances, circumstances Logan’s
still not proud of. With time, though, he’ll overcome his demons,
and I’ll be there to support him every step of the way. Although,
years from now, when people ask us our secret, I’ll tell them the
truth: where it all began and what we went through together. How we
managed to move mountains just to get where we are right now. But,
most of all, how it was the best and worst summer of our lives.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rebecca Rogers expressed her
creative side at an early age and hasn’t stopped since. She won’t
hesitate to tell you that she lives inside her imagination, and
it’s better than reality.

To stay up to date with Rebecca’s
latest books, check out her website at www.rebeccaarogers.com or
find her on social sites such as Goodreads, Facebook, and
Twitter.