Chapter 26 Three Years Before
3 years before Penny
The chalet smells like toasted bread and lake water and sweat. Everyone’s crammed into the kitchen and dining area, sitting on counters, the floor, tables — anywhere that can fit a person. Someone found speakers and music hums softly in the background, just loud enough to make people’s laughter blend into something bigger, something alive.
I’m sitting with my guys — Caleb, Nate, and Ryan — at the long wooden table near the window. The light’s warm, spilling over the half-eaten sandwiches we made when we got back. There’s crumbs everywhere, bottles of water rolling around, streaks of dirt on everyone’s legs and arms. No one cares.
Ryan’s mid-story, arms flailing like always, trying to explain how he almost fell face-first into the mud during the course, and Nate’s choking on laughter. Caleb’s pretending not to listen while eating his third sandwich, which only makes it funnier.
I laugh too. It feels good — real, easy.
Across the room, Jemma’s sitting with Stacy and Margot, her long dark hair still messy from the day, her green bandana hanging loose around her neck. She catches me looking and grins, flashing that playful little smile that pulls something deep in my chest. I smile back before I can stop myself.
This… this is a good moment.
Every team’s gathered around in their colors — reds, oranges, greens, blues. The bandanas are stained and torn, but everyone still wears them proudly. A few people are sprawled on the floor, groaning dramatically about sore legs and sunburns. Someone yells for whoever’s in charge of the music to play something better, and another voice answers, “Then get your ass over here and change it yourself!” The whole room erupts in laughter.
It hits me then — how strange and beautiful this all feels.
Some of these people, I’ve barely talked to in four years. Some I’ve only nodded to in the halls or stood behind in line at the cafeteria. But right now, none of that matters. We’re all just… kids. Dirty, tired, hungry, happy kids on the edge of whatever comes next.
I lean back in my chair, chewing slowly, and let it all sink in.
It’s hard for me to trust people. To let them in. I’ve got my guys — Caleb, Nate, and Ryan — they’ve been solid since day one. But outside of them? It’s harder. Jemma’s the only person I’ve let close in the past year, the only one I’ve told even a piece of what goes on behind my walls. And even she doesn’t know everything.
She doesn’t know what home really is for me — the fighting, the silence, the days I wait for voices that never come back.
She doesn’t know what it’s like to lose something that big and still wake up pretending it didn’t happen.
So yeah, trusting people? Not exactly my specialty.
But sitting here now, surrounded by laughter and music and the smell of grilled cheese and sun on everyone’s skin, something in me shifts.
Maybe it’s the exhaustion, or maybe it’s the way Jemma’s head falls back when she laughs, but I start to think… maybe I can learn to live again.
To talk to people. To make friends. To laugh without waiting for the world to take it away.
To be… normal.
Not the quiet, careful version of me I’ve been lately, the one always ready for things to go wrong — but the old me. The one from before. The one who smiled without forcing it.
The sunshine guy, they used to call me. Always grinning, always easygoing.
And for the first time in a long time, I think maybe — just maybe — I could find him again.
A regular guy.
A kind one.
A smart one.
A happy one.
Maybe I could be him again.
Before everything changed.
Before everything fell apart.
Something in me just… clicks.
The laughter around me fades into background noise — Ryan’s dumb jokes, Nate teasing someone across the table, Jemma’s soft giggle from the couch — and I just sit there, staring out the window at the lake glowing orange under the sunset.
It’s the clearest I’ve felt in a long time.
When I get home, my parents will be back. And this time, I’m not going to just pretend everything’s fine. I’ll tell them the truth — that I’m done walking on eggshells, done listening to them tear each other apart like it’s my fault, done waiting for things to get better when they never do.
They can fix it or they can walk away from each other, but the fighting needs to stop.
And then I’ll pack my bags and go.
I’ll see the world. For real. Not just talk about it like some faraway dream. I’ll go where the ocean’s blue enough to make me forget everything, where the air smells like salt and the sun burns my skin in the best way. I’ll see mountains and cities and people who make me laugh so hard my stomach hurts.
People like Ryan, who somehow finds joy in every dumb thing.
People like Jemma, whose smile feels like sunlight breaking through clouds.
I’ll find all the good things out there. The beauty. The kindness. The proof that the world isn’t all chaos and loss.
And I’ll do it for me —
and for him.
Because he will never get the chance to.
The thought settles deep in my chest. It doesn’t sting like it used to. It’s… grounding. Like a promise.
I glance around at everyone — Caleb leaning back in his chair, eyes half-closed; Nate still arguing about who cheated in the relay; Ryan grinning like an idiot; Jemma, her head tilted back in laughter.
This — this feeling — is what I want more of.
I want to belong somewhere again.
I want to laugh and mean it.
I want to wake up and not feel heavy.
I want to be me again.
Not the version weighed down by grief and silence — the one I used to be before everything went wrong. The one who believed the world was big and beautiful and worth seeing.
And maybe, if I try hard enough, I can find my way back to him.
The kind, happy, curious Logan.
I take a breath, smiling to myself. Yeah. That’s the plan.
When I get home, I’m going to change everything.