“Excuse me,” I said, turning away and running upstairs. I couldn’t be in the room with her anymore. Couldn’t look at her or at Logan. Couldn’t watch this happen.

Couldn’t watch my family break apart again.

An hour later, I heard Dad calling me from downstairs. I thought about ignoring him, knowing what he wanted to say to me—that it would be all right, that this was bound to happen, things I didn’t want to hear. I thought about putting the pillow over my head and pretending his voice hadn’t carried up the stairs.

But I decided to be at least somewhat mature about this. I sighed and climbed off my bed, running my fingers through my hair before heading downstairs.

Logan and Jenna were gone already, but Dad was waiting for me by the bottom step, his hand resting on the banister. “We should talk about this,” he said. “Come on. I’ll make you a sandwich.”

I followed him into the kitchen and sat down at the table while he rolled around the room, getting what he needed to make me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, like he used to when I was little and upset.

“He can’t do this,” I blurted out, knowing Dad was waiting for me to speak first. “He can’t leave us.”

Dad didn’t respond. He pulled a knife from the silverware drawer and began spreading jelly across a piece of bread.

“And not with her,” I continued. “She’s… she’s awful. So bossy and demanding and obnoxious.”

“I found her charming,” Dad said. “Very smart, in control. A little obsessed with order, but that’s the kind of girl Logan needs in his life. She reminds me of you and your mother, actually.”

“No,” I muttered, but I remembered Cash saying once that Jenna reminded him of me. As much as that made my stomach churn, I couldn’t argue with the majority. Not successfully, at least. “Besides,” I continued, picking up a napkin that had been left on the table and folding it into small, even sections. Fourths, eighths, sixteenths. “He’s so much older. It’s creepy. She’s, like, seven years younger than him. Can’t he date someone his own age?”

Dad sighed and moved his chair back to the kitchen table, sliding the sandwich he’d just made across to me. “Honey, I know this is hard on you,” he said. “I know you’ve spent the last five years taking care of us—of Logan and me. But sweetheart, Logan is an adult now. He has to take care of himself eventually.”

“I’m scared that if he gets too far away, we’ll lose him,” I whispered. “I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

“Don’t look at it as losing him,” Dad said. “Look at it as adding to the family. We have Jenna now, too. Someone to help you keep him safe—because you know she’ll boss him around just as much as you do.”

He was trying to make me laugh, but it didn’t work.

I put down the napkin, now folded into a compact little cube, and picked up my sandwich. “Why her?” I asked. “Of all people, why her?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes it’s hard to predict who will make a person happy. But in the end, that’s what matters. Remember what I told you when you and Randy broke up? I told you that I’d accept any boy you brought home, no matter who he was, as long as he made you happy. Honey, we owe Logan the same.”

“I know.”

“You can’t control everything,” Dad said. “Sometimes you just need to relax and have faith that things will work out. Let go a little and let life happen. You don’t want to miss out on the best parts of life just because you were afraid of getting hurt. Or, in this case, of Logan getting hurt.”

But it wasn’t just about Logan.

Dad didn’t know it, obviously, but he was also talking about Cash.

I’d been pushing him away, keeping him at a distance, running every time he got too close, because I was afraid of getting hurt. Afraid of how I felt about him. But in reality, I should have just talked to him. Like Ellen now wanted me to do. I could have solved all of this if I’d just asked him why. But instead, I tried to control everything about our relationship, tried to keep myself safe. And that hadn’t worked at all.

But it wasn’t too late.

“I have to go,” I said, standing up, my sandwich only half-eaten.

Dad looked startled. “Are you okay?” he asked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, honey. I just—”

“You didn’t,” I told him. “You’re right. I can’t control everything. Sometimes I need to let go and… not be afraid.” I took a breath. “I’ll work on it.”

Dad nodded. “Okay. Good. I know it won’t be easy for you, but I think you’ll be happier in the long run.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Now, um… Can I use the car? There’s someone I need to go see.”

chapter thirty-­one

There was a soccer game going on down at the high school that afternoon. I showed up just in time to watch the last twenty minutes. The bleachers were pretty empty, probably because so many people had left for their fall break mini-vacations, but there were still several loyal fans sitting around cheering. I could see Ellen on the second bleacher, cheering for Adam with all her heart.

The way I used to cheer for Randy.

I sat down in an empty row, pulling my feet up onto the narrow bench and resting my chin on my knees while I watched. It was the first time I’d ever really watched a soccer game. Usually, I’d just pass the field and catch glimpses of the action during practice or on my way to the football field. Sometimes, due to horrible scheduling, the games would happen at the same time.

My family didn’t watch soccer and I didn’t know any of the rules, but I spotted Cash running in the middle of the field, mostly along the edges. I remembered him telling me at the summer party that he was a midfielder or something like that. I wasn’t sure what it meant, and I hadn’t really followed his explanation then. Now, though, I wanted to know. I wanted to know what his job was on the team. What they trusted him with, relied on him to do.

One thing I knew for certain—I’d never seen anyone as graceful as Cash on the field. He moved swiftly, smoothly, past his opponents. He made it look like more than a game—like it was an art. I could suddenly see why he loved it. Why anyone might love sports. To me, it had always been just a game, but to people like Cash—like my dad and Randy, even—it was a life, an art, a passion.

The buzzer sounded just as Adam kicked the ball past the other team’s goalie. Hamilton won, and everyone clapped and cheered. Slowly, the audience began to disperse, leaving the stands in packs, chattering and comparing their favorite moments of the game. Everyone seemed to be gushing about Adam or Kyle, the goalie. But I’d barely noticed either. Cash was the only one I saw on the field. The only one who mattered.

I stayed in the bleachers, nervously rapping my knuckles against the aluminum bench while the rest of the fans headed back to the parking lot and the teams shook hands on the field. Then the Hamilton players gathered at the bench, high-fiving and discussing the game with Coach Lukavics. When they’d finished, the boys all headed back toward the changing rooms.

All but one.

Cash’s eyes met mine and, after a long pause, he started walking up the bleachers toward me. My heart pounded as he got closer. He looked amazing in his uniform—more amazing than usual, I mean—but I tried not to think about that.

“Nice game,” I said.

“Thanks,” he replied as he reached my place in the middle of the stands. He sat down, leaving a few feet of space between us. “I never expected to see you here.”

“Yeah,” I said, my knuckles tapping faster. “Can we talk?”

“Sure—but, um, would you rather I go shower and change first?”

I shook my head. “No, let’s just… I want to get this over with.”

He frowned but nodded. “All right. What’s going on?”