Lost in Love (21 page)

My brother is coming home. That shouldn't make me
so nervous. Brothers and sisters seeing each other should be a normal thing. But with us, nothing was ever normal.

I guess I'll have to try getting to know him all over again. But this time, I want to know the real him.

Even if he scares me.

I FOUND SOMETHING AT LOGAN'S
last night.

A necklace. That wasn't mine.

Logan was not supposed to be a part of last night. Not at all. When he called me before the Jude stalking and asked about getting together, I knew I needed to go out by myself. I went to a few clubs, met some new people, danced harder than I ever have. I might have gotten drunk. And I might have shown up at Logan's place. Then I sort of ended up spending the night. Which is how I found the necklace.

The necklace was under his bed. The only reason I noticed it was that light was glinting off a couple strands of crystals sticking out from under the bed where I dropped my shoes. I snatched the necklace up and stashed it in my bag before Logan came into the bedroom with beers.

Was it possible that the necklace had been under the bed since before Logan came to New York?

Yes.

Was it possible that the necklace belonged to a girl Logan did not know?

Yes.

Did I think either of those scenarios was true?

No.

Call it women's intuition. Call it a sixth sense. Hey, it could have been that Knowing thing Sadie is always yammering about. Whatever it was, my stomach clenched at the sight of that necklace. My heart stopped beating. I knew why I had been feeling like something was off between Logan and me. Logan knew exactly who that necklace belonged to. And she had been there with him, right in that same bed, not too long before I was.

We drank our beers. We watched TV. I pretended to fall asleep so Logan wouldn't touch me. If he had tried to touch me, I would have screamed.

While Logan was in the shower this morning, I yelled into the bathroom that I was going out for bagels. I picked up his apartment keys on the way out. Then I made copies of his keys at the hardware store across the street like a ninja. We ate bagels when I came back, like nothing was wrong. We left the apartment together. Logan said he was doing something with the boys for a few hours. I
pretended I was going home. I told him to text me when he was ready to bounce and I would come meet him.

I waited around the corner for ten minutes. Then I used my new keys to get back into Logan's place.

A girl going through her boyfriend's things is so cliché. And so wrong. But I don't care. I'm on a mission to find that one incriminating piece of evidence that will validate this disgusting feeling I've had ever since the necklace glinted at me. I start with Logan's bag. He tossed his duffel in the corner of the bedroom. I dig through clothes and various boy gear. Nothing. I inspect every drawer, every scrap of paper on the dresser, every shelf. I check under the bed for more girl accessories. Still nothing.

I go out to the desk in the living room. Logan's laptop is sitting there. He assumes I would never touch it. Plus he's too lazy to password protect it. Even his email is open.

It doesn't take me long to find out who she is. The slut is your typical SoCal beach bimbo. Bleached blond hair. Impossibly blue eyes. Completely unrealistic body measurements.

There are naked pictures of her.

Logan sent some naked pictures of himself back.

They wrote long emails to each other. Emails like people used to write love letters back in the day. One of Logan's messages says how much he misses her. That he can't stop thinking about her. That he will be home soon.
One of them from her says some frantic guy came looking for him.

But an email chain with Randall wins the prize for Most Magnificent Display of Asshat Ineptitude. Randall is Logan's friend back home. They work in the same electrical repair shop. These are the top five highlights I discover from their communication:

              
1.
   
Logan has a buttload of gambling debt.

              
2.
   
Logan skipped town on a loan shark.

              
3.
   
Logan is maxing out his credit cards to be here this summer.

              
4.
   
Logan intends to scam me out of enough money to pay his debt back.

              
5.
   
Logan is planning to break up with me—again—after he's back in California.

From what I can tell, SoCal Beach Bimbo doesn't know about Logan's gambling debt. All she knows is that he's running a scam. Against me. A scam that has her full support. In one email, Logan told her this about me:

           
Lifted $200 in total over a few nights while she was sleeping. She doesn't suspect anything. Plenty more where that came from. She doesn't need the money. Daddy pays her bills. She'll never miss what she can get more of.

So the part where Logan showed up at my door, begging me to come back? That was for show. He has been manipulating me since the first second I saw him.

Logan didn't come to New York to get me back. He doesn't even want me back. He only wants my money.

That must be why my credit card was confiscated yesterday. Logan was probably messing with my account. He might have been trying to take a cash advance or something that triggered an alert. Or running some other scam that wasn't supposed to show up. He shouldn't have bothered trying. He's not smart enough to get away with this. I still haven't told him about my card getting confiscated. He thinks he is still getting away with his scheme.

I cannot believe I fell for his bullshit. How could I not have seen through all that bad acting? Is he even out with “the boys” right now? Or are the boys actually a girl? A girl who lost a necklace. A girl who uses lemon shampoo. I checked the bathroom. Logan doesn't have any shampoo that smells like lemons. So why does his hair smell like lemons all of a sudden?

Logan has been playing me this whole time. He's been treating me like some chickenhead he can manipulate, steal from, and then dump like garbage all over again.

Logan = Fake. Darcy = Stupid.

But here's the thing.

I know what he's trying to do. But he doesn't know I know.

No one plays Darcy Stewart and gets away with it. Especially bad boys who get off on breaking good girls' hearts.

No boy will ever make me feel stupid again. Starting right now. Starting with Logan.

I am a live wire. Thrumming with high voltage. Dangerous.

My revenge will taste sweeter than honey.

Ready or not, Logan. Here I come.

BATTERY PARK IS A SWEET
place to hang out. A mix of everyone from individual runners to families with little kids is here. A refreshing breeze is drifting in from the river. D is in one of his romantic moods. After the weird distance that has been between us, I'm happy he is coming back to me.

D put together another picnic dinner for us tonight. This time we're eating outside on the grass instead of in his living room. It's the first traditional picnic I have ever had with a boy. D spread out the blanket from Central Park movie night on the grass. He has a fancy picnic basket with real utensils and plates and glasses. He takes out a bottle of Martinelli's sparkling cider, opens it, and pours cider into two wineglasses.

“Cheers,” he says, holding up his glass. “To summer.”

I clink my glass against his.

“You up for running tomorrow morning?” D asks as he starts opening takeout containers from the Palm. I marvel at how he ordered dinner from one of the most expensive restaurants for a picnic. He could have just made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or something.

“Now that you have me hooked.” I love running. My body is adjusting to the shock of moving its parts in ways it is not at all used to. I don't know if it's that running is something special I share with D or if I just needed some cardio action. Whatever the reason, I'm loving the challenge. I want to get better. I want to be able to run alongside D no matter how fast he goes. I don't want him to have to slow down for me.

“I knew you'd love it,” he says.

“This smells amazing, by the way.”

“Yeah, you know—” D's phone cuts him off with a ringtone I have never heard before. I assume he is going to turn off his phone. This is the first time we have seen each other all week. But he doesn't turn off his phone. He answers it.

His volume is turned way up. That's how I can hear it's Shayla. How often do they talk? This is the second time she's called D while we were together. Does she call him every day?

“What have you been up to?” she asks.

“Nothing much,” he says. “I can't talk now. Call you
tomorrow?” He hangs up after Shayla trills a
byyeeeee!

Why didn't D tell her about our picnic? Or at least mention that he was with me? It's like he didn't want to give the reason why he couldn't talk.

“Sorry,” he tells me. “You know how it is with Shayla.”

“Do I?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do I know the whole story of you two?”

“We've been over this.” D extracts plates from their notches in the fancy picnic basket. “She's going through—”

“—a hard time, I know. But I still don't think you're telling me everything.”

“What else is there to tell?”

“Why did you even answer the phone?”

“I didn't know if it was another emergency.”

“What kind of emergency would it be?”

“The kind where she needs me.”

I chug the rest of my sparkling cider like it's wine and I really need a drink. When did D start putting Shayla's needs ahead of mine? Can't I have just one night alone with my boyfriend?

“She's a good person,” D says, refilling my glass. “She feels bad about interrupting our sundeck time. She wants to take us out for a drink.”

“Us or you?”

“She wants to get to know you. She knows how important you are to me.”

“How important is she to you?”

“She's my friend. You know that.”

“And that's it? You guys have always been just friends?”

D hesitates. “We kind of . . . dated. In high school. It was nothing.”

Aha! I knew it. I freaking
knew
there was more going on. So not only do they have this big shared history, they were a couple. Who kissed. Maybe more.

Going out for a drink with my boyfriend and his ex-girlfriend would be beyond awkward. I'd be sitting there like a dillweed while they lobbed inside jokes back and forth. She would laugh too hard, gushing over how funny he is. And I'm sure she would be clinging to his arm again. There is no way I'm watching that.

I clear my throat. “How old were you?”

“We were juniors. It was only for a few months. I didn't tell you because I knew you'd get upset over nothing.”

“Stop saying it's nothing. You were together. That's something.”

“But it's in the past. You're my girlfriend now. It's not like you don't have exes.”

“Actually . . . it is. You're my first serious boyfriend.”

D looks at me like he's seeing me for the first time. Another breeze drifts over from the river, making his sandy-blond hair flash with gold highlights in the sun. His hazel eyes have flecks of gold in the sun, too. He's my golden boy.

“I didn't know that,” he says.

“There's a lot about me you don't know.”

“You don't tell me much. Every time I try to ask you about your life back in Chicago, you change the subject.”

“All that's important is who I am now. Not who I was then.”

“I disagree. You are the person you were. You always will be.”

“Trust me. You don't want to know who I was.”

“Try me.”

How much should I tell him? How much do I want to tell him?

I don't give myself time to decide. I just start talking. “Do you know why I don't have a cell phone?”

“You're not a follower. You're original. It's one of the things I admire about you.”

“I don't have a cell phone because I can't afford one. My family . . . we struggle to get by. Money has always been tight. That's why I'm putting myself through college.”

D blinks. “I had no idea. You don't seem . . . your clothes look expensive.”

“They were from Darcy. She took pity on me and gave me like a whole new wardrobe. I wanted her to take them back, but she wouldn't. She took the tags off everything and threw away the receipts. You take me to such nice places that I wanted to look like I belonged. But I won't be wearing them anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I forgot myself for a minute there. I felt like I needed those clothes to go out with you. But I eventually remembered who I am. Wearing clothes I didn't buy for myself just isn't me.” I glance down at my worn T-shirt and capris. Getting away with this outfit for a picnic is one thing. Getting dressed for more upscale dinners out with D will be interesting.

“You looked beautiful in them,” D says. He gives me the plate he made for me and starts eating. He doesn't reassure me that I could wear anything and still look beautiful. His silence makes me feel worse about my situation. I can't help feeling like he is ashamed of me. I thought I would feel better about having to measure up to his lifestyle if he knew the truth. Instead I'm still feeling like I'm not good enough for him. Like I'm not worthy enough to meet his family. Like there is something missing in me that he needs.

D is eating like we're having a normal conversation. Like what he heard didn't even faze him. I hid a part of my past from him, just like he hid a part of his past from me. Maybe he thinks we're even.

We will never, ever be even.

But if there is a chance for us to make it, I have to tell him the rest. I put my plate down on the blanket.

D looks up from his food. “You okay?” he asks.

“Not really. I need . . . there's more I want to tell you.”

“Okay . . .”

“There's a reason why I don't like talking about my past. Other than growing up poor.”

D puts his plate down next to mine. His laser focus intensifies.

“It has to do with Addison. She showed up at camp yesterday.”

“I thought she didn't work at the other camp.”

“She doesn't. She lied about that and she lied to Mica about me because she thinks I lied about something first. Something big.” My thumb is snapping against my middle finger. I twist my other hand around my fingers, forcing myself to stop. “I know Addison's uncle. Or I knew him back home when I was younger. He . . . he was a neighbor my family trusted. I'd go over to his house to play games and stuff. He took me and my little sister out for pizza and to the zoo. He was like an uncle to us.” My throat gets tight. I take a sip of sparkling cider. “One day I was over at his house playing Scrabble and he put his lips on mine. He just came at me out of nowhere. I don't know if he had been planning to start touching me or if it was a split-second decision, but he didn't quit. Things just got worse from there.”

“Did he . . . how far did it go?”

“He didn't rape me or anything. But it was bad.”

“Are you okay now?”

“Not really.”

D moves over next to me and hugs me tight against him. “I hate him for doing that to you. I want to track him down and beat him to a pulp.”

“My dad beat you to it. Then he ran him out of town.”

“So that's why Addison's such a psycho? She thinks you lied about her uncle?”

I nod against D's chest, breathing in his familiar scent. Breathing in him.

“Now you know why the whole sex thing is complicated for me,” I say.

“I hope you haven't felt like I've been pressuring you.”

“No. But I've been worried about how we're going to move forward.”

D gently pushes away from me. His intense laser focus is back. “Don't worry about that,” he says. “We'll figure it out together. Okay?”

“Are you sure you still want to be with me?” I blurt.

“Why wouldn't I?”

“You don't think I'm, like . . . damaged?”

“Are you kidding? I couldn't be more proud of you. What happened wasn't your fault. If anything, I care about you more because I admire how strong you are. How resilient you are. I would be a mess if I went through what you did. You're amazing.”

D is saying all the right things. And I feel better now that he knows the truth about me. So why do I still feel like, no matter what D says, I'm not good enough for him?
Is this because of my own issues or because that's how he makes me feel? All I know is that I shouldn't be feeling this way.

And I don't want to feel this way anymore.

The truth is, I deserve to find a kind of love that won't make me compromise who I am. Before I met D, I wasn't sure if I deserved to be loved the way I wanted to be. But D has taught me that I am worthy.

Sadie says there is an epic kind of love you can find if you believe it exists. Even after Sadie found out Austin was married, she still talked about finding it. Nothing can make her stop believing that true love is real and she can find what she's looking for. I want to have that same certainty.

It's dark enough now to see a few stars. Three points of light are shining in the night sky. But even on those nights when I can't see any stars, I know they are still there. Shining just as brightly as ever.

True love isn't about being swept away to fancy dinners or elaborate vacays. It isn't about hiding who you were to become a person someone else wants. I want to get to the good part of life, where my insecurities and fears are behind me. Will D still be a part of my life when I get there? Maybe not. Maybe to get to the good part, I have to break away from everything holding me back. I can't let the fear of how I will support myself keep making me so worried every day. I can't let the fear of what Addison
might do next take over my life. And I can't let the fear of my relationship with D possibly coming to an end stop me from dealing with my past. I don't want to be defined by fear. I want to let fear become an obstacle I proudly overcome, not a barrier preventing me from living my dreams.

Here's what I know about the good part. On days you feel desperate, hopeless, and alone, we all have to remember this: You can't get to the good part unless you keep going. And the good part
will
come.

I can't wait to be the best version of myself.

I can't wait to finally get there.