Then it was quiet for a long moment as we both tried to comprehend what happened to her.

"I get it now," she said. "I thought that maybe she took it hard, losing her best friend or whatever. But I don't think that's it. I mean—after what Micky told us, I think it was her way of dealing with the guilt, you know? Like she let all that shit happen because she needed bad things to happen to her. Karma—kind of. I don't know."

THIRTY FOUR

Logan

I think making the actual decision was the hardest part. Amanda stayed neutral while I reeled of the pros and cons of the situation. She tried her hardest to not let her opinions or emotions sway my decision. I wasn't lying when I told her that her opinion counted. Because at some point in the last few weeks, she became more than just some girl that I slept with, or some girl I shared a bed with every night. She became more than just my girl. She became my everything.

When she wasn't around, I missed the shit out of her. When she was around, I didn't want to leave her side. If you called me a pussy right now, I'd tell you it was valid.

"So, you're sure Micky doesn't know any of this?" I asked her again. The problem I was faced with was that whatever choice I made, it wasn't just about me. I could make it that and be a selfish asshole, but I cared about Micky. Obviously. And Jake, too—he was just as invested in this as I was.

"I'm sure. No one's spoken to her about it. Ethan said that James hadn't brought up her name at all with Micky. You know, sore subject and all."

"Does James know?"

"Yeah, but what can he do?"

I sighed. "Nothing I guess."

She reached over and held my hand. We were on our way to Jake’s house to speak to Nathan, and then spend the night at my house. I wanted to talk to Dad about the whole situation and he still wanted to meet Amanda.

"I'm kind of glad you quit baseball," she said out of nowhere.

I chuckled, "Yeah? Why's that?" I picked up her hand and kissed her wrist.

"You just have more free time. I like having more of you. I don't think I'd ever get sick of having you around," she snorted, rolling her eyes. "Lame," she announced.

"It's not lame." I kissed her wrist again.

"You do that a lot."

"Huh?"

"Kiss my wrist—you do that a lot—why?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. It's like my lips—on your pulse. I can feel your heart beating and know that you're here. I guess sometimes I find it hard to believe that you're real—and that you're mine."

***

Nathan had all the information ready when we got there. He held off on a lot of it when we came the first time because he didn't want to overwhelm me—whatever that meant.

"You sure you want to do this?" he asked.

"No," I answered. It was the truth. "But I think I'd always wonder if I didn't, you know?"

Amanda and I decided not to tell Nathan everything we thought we knew about her, just in case it would sway my decision. That was Amanda's biggest concern. That I made the choice that I wanted.

"She's um..." He cleared his throat. "She's not at a good place at the moment."

Amanda and I looked at each other, we figured she wouldn't be, but we didn't know to what extent.

He continued, "She's in a home."

"A home?" I asked.

"Yes, a mental facility."

I exhaled loudly. Amanda held my hand tighter. I didn't know what to say, so I just stared at the desk in front of me.

"Logan?" Nathan got my attention. "She's on suicide watch."

***

Megan Strauss. Patient #163 at Dalton Psychiatric house.  At least that's what the file says about her. The picture they have of her is nothing at all like Amanda remembers her to be. If I had to describe her in one word it would be lifeless.

"Do you think she looked like me?" I glanced over at Amanda, who was eyeing the file on her lap as we drove to Dad's house. "I mean, before all that shit happened. Are there any similarities?"

She looked up at me then, her eyes squinting in concentration as she took in my features. "Apart from being ridiculously good looking?"

I had to laugh.

"No, Logan. I don't think so."

I didn’t think so either.

***

It was no real secret about what happened when I was younger, but I guess people had enough decency to not talk or gossip about it too much. By the time I reached middle school, I'd worked out that not that many people knew about my past. I remember talking to Dad about it once. He never tried to hide my past from me; he was always honest and straightforward. Apparently the fact that my birth parents never came back for me, made the entire adoption process simple. I remember thinking how amazing it was that I'd somehow been chosen to have a second chance at life. Even at a young age I knew better than to waste it. I guess that's what happens when you cheat death. I remember thinking that maybe Dad would keep me around and not hurt me if I kept my room clean. It was such a stupid thing to think—now that I look back on it—but when you're a kid and you're scared of monster's voices—then you do anything you can to not have to go back to that place in your life.

I still keep my room clean.

When I was fourteen, word got around town that my birth mom was looking for me. Apparently she went to Dad's work and created a scene. That's when he went looking for the best lawyer in town just in case anything went down. That's when we met Nathan. You can imagine my surprise when I made friends with some asshole with a weird accent, who was apparently some kind of baseball God, and went to his house to shoot the shit one day after school. Nathan—he didn't even flinch when he saw me. I stuttered my way through introductions and hoped to god that it didn't show. It's not that I was ashamed of my past, but I had just met Jake, so coming out and saying 'Hey, I'm adopted, my parents were abusive junkies and your dad's my lawyer' wasn't really in the cards. Not then. It took me a good year to tell Jake I was adopted—and even then—I still didn't tell him why.