"What I guess I'm trying to say is—is that unless you feel those things for Micky-" Lucy's head whipped to face me. Cam pat her leg a couple of times. "Unless you feel those things, the nerves, the want to be with them all the time, the missing them when they're not around...all of that shit ... then it's not love you feel. Well, not love love. It's uh..." He thought for a moment, eyeing the sky. "It's the Logan-Lucy Love," he said.

Lucy grinned at me.

I was silent.

In shock.

Then finally, "Where the fuck were you months ago when I needed that speech, asshole."

"Fuck you." He laughed.

Then Lucy chimed in, looking out in the distance, raising a fist in the air and started pumping it ... she started singing quietly, to the tune of 'Macho Man', "Lo-gan Lu-cy Loove..."

***

An hour later, I was walking back to our group after talking to the DJ when I saw her. It was the first time I'd seen her since that night. I figured she might be here, but actually seeing her was harder than I thought. She was with a few other girls, standing a little away from where James and his friends were. Of course, they went to the same school.

I needed to talk to her, maybe try to explain what happened without going into too much detail. I walked towards her, and wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans. I cracked my knuckles with my thumbs. It was a nervous habit I've tried to break. I basically had, I only did it when I got really nervous. And apparently with girls, or a girl, I should say.

I got closer to them, and their conversation died. Alexis, her friend, had the other two girls in her grip. "Come on," she said, pulling them away. So then it was just her, and me, face to face, for the first time in months. And as stupid as it fucking sounded, I missed her. And I was nervous as all hell. I wiped my palms on my jeans again and adjusted my cap a little higher so I could see her properly.

"Hey." I motioned my hand in a small wave, and then placed them in my front pockets.

"Matthews." She nodded her head. She had no expression. Not happy to see me, not sad, not angry, nothing.

"I, uh ... how are you?"

She inhaled a deep breath, but didn't say anything. We stood, looking straight at each other. Honestly, I'd played this moment out in my head more than a few times over the last two months, and each of those moments I had something to say, some sort of plan so that she would actually talk to me again. But now, standing here, I had no words.

Just a shitload of fucking regret.

"Amanda!" Some guy behind her interrupted. We broke the stare. Her head turned to the kid. I looked over her shoulder at him. He had a ball cap pulled low on his forehead, looking down at his phone. It was dark. I couldn't make out who he was or what he looked like. "You ready to go?" He never looked up from his phone.

She turned back to me slowly, and my eyes moved to hers. She held my gaze for a few seconds to make sure I heard her next words.

And I did. I heard them loud and fucking clear. "Yeah, babe," she said loudly, eyes on mine. "We're totally done here."

She walked backwards a few steps, then turned and went to him. He was still looking down at his phone as he spun, putting one arm around her shoulders. She wrapped both arms around his waist, looked up and spoke to him. Finally, he put the phone in his pocket then gazed down at her. He flipped his cap backwards, leaned down and kissed her.

And I looked away.

Because I couldn't fucking stand to see it.

And this—this is the moment I knew what it felt like to lose everything I never had.

ONE

-Present-

A year and a half later

College was everything I expected it to be. I lived in the frat house, which was fine.

A few months after we got here, Jake and Micky became a thing. An official, exclusive thing. And I was happy for them. I truly was. Because Cam was right; I didn't love her. Not the way I thought I did.

I know Amanda told Micky she was going to college here, but we never discussed it. And it sucked because I looked for her everywhere; in all my classes, walking through campus, the stores nearby and diners she might be working at. Nothing. I didn't see her anywhere.

I know I could ask Micky, and I've thought about it on more than one occasion—but here's the thing—if she wanted Micky to know then she would have told her, and I'd have had my ass kicked already. She's not telling her for a reason.

So, every day I look for her and she’s not here. And every day I got more and more pissed off and angry about what I did to her. Then I turn that anger into the one thing I know will help: girls.

Between baseball, the parties, the girls and the sex I have just enough time to study. If I had to give up one of those things, it would be baseball. Honestly though, I'd give it all up it if it meant I could see her again.

TWO

-Past-

The Meet.

Before summer, pre college

The first time I saw her was at Jake's house. It was at Mikayla’s families wake. To me—she was like a light in the darkness. I wonder now if Micky ever thought of Jake like that.

***

"Excuse me?"

Her voice was so low I almost didn't hear it. But when I turned around, she was there. Standing in the middle of the Andrews' kitchen, plates in hand, waiting for me to say—or do—something.

Finally, a sound travelled up my throat and out my mouth. I couldn't tell you what the fuck I said, because I can't remember.

All I can remember is her.

The way she stood there, unsure of the situation. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth, her eyebrows drawn together.

She jerked her head towards me, "I need to put these in there."

"Huh?"

"The sink, behind you? I need to put these in there." She said this slowly, as if I were a child.

She lifted the plates in her hands and waited.

I took my time, taking her in. I’m pretty sure I didn't even try to hide the eye-fuck I gave her, because when my eyes finally left her body to settle on her face, she was blushing.

She tried not to smile, "Are you going to move or what?"

I smirked, and lazily stepped aside.

She took two steps forward and tripped—on absolutely nothing. The plates she was holding fell to the floor and shattered. We were both quick to bend and pick them up; so quick that we butt heads on the way down.

"Shit," she whispered, rubbing her head.

"Fuck," I said, doing the same.

I started to pick up the broken pieces and that's when I noticed the blood.

"Dude, you're bleeding," I told her.

She looked up and our eyes locked.

And that's one of the ways I remember her.

Her face so close to mine I could hear her breathing.

"Huh?" She looked down at her hand, and her eyes widened before she said, "Holy shitballs!"

And then she squealed like a little girl. Her eyes squeezed shut as she threw her hand out in front of her, waving it around, dripping blood all over the floor. "I can't see blood. I mean, technically I can see it, but I can't look at it. You have to make it stop." She hadn't taken a breath. "Seriously, it freaks me the fuck out. Make it stop! Oh my god! I'm going to throw up! Move!" She started to stand, then stopped, gripped my shirt, faced away from me, and continued, "Don't move...fix it. Please?" Then she looked at me with panic clear on her face. "I'm going to pass out. Oh God. Oh God."