Sixteen

Rory's eyes opened slowly. Something was warm, solid, and currently pressed against her.

Her eyes shot open in an instant. Him.

Logan Huntzberger was currently in her bed, naked, and partially curled around her as he slept. Brief panic set in, and she moved slowly to peel herself away from his grasp, slipping out of bed and making a beeline to the bathroom. She winced slightly as she closed the door, a sudden soreness she hadn't experienced in a while, reminding her of the events of the night before. Oh, god, she pinched the bridge of her nose.

She couldn't believe she'd asked him to spend the night. THE Logan Huntzberger. Connecticut's Casanova! She took a deep breath and exhaled, studying herself in the mirror, her lower lip slightly swollen from all the kissing, and her fingertips tracing it. She blushed, a small smile tugging up at the corners of her mouth. Logan.

She liked him. She knew she did. The moments they spent together alone had opened a whole new side of him, Logan the Man.

Not the foolish boy, not the trust fund kid, but the bright, caring, wonderful side that had so frequently started to make an appearance. One that she doubted most had ever seen, one that she was beginning to think even Logan himself was unaware of. Or, maybe he wasn't, and everything else was the act. She wasn't sure which was better. Or worse.

He'd been wrong. Fake or not, he'd made a fantastic boyfriend. He listened, he offered advice, and he cared. He'd proven it more than once. Gone out of his way to make her comfortable. To protect her from gossip. To help her, just as much and as often as she wanted to help him.

Oh Boy.

Doubt suddenly crept in.

He never wanted this. Not with her, but with anyone, he had been so sure, so upfront and nothing had really changed, had it? Why should she expect it to? Why would she want it to?

She felt the truth in the pit of her stomach because her feelings had.

She gave out an exasperated sigh before washing her face and brushing her teeth. Knowing she'd stalled long enough.

She walked softly, trying not to disturb him, debating on how best to slip back into bed when she heard his voice.

"Freaking out already, Ace?" he spoke from the dark, and she could hear him smile.

"No!" she answered, a little too quickly, too defensive, and she heard him outright laugh.

"Had you decided then?" he questioned.

"Decided?" she replied, a little more than confused.

She could hear his smirk. "Yeah. Were you planning on running out of the door of your own apartment or climbing back into bed?"

Logan. Freaking. Huntzberger. She thought, both amused and annoyed simultaneously, per usual.

She rolled her eyes, though he couldn't see, and pulled the sheets back, slipping between them.

"Bed," she countered, just as his fingers wrapped gently around her wrist, pulling her to him.

"Oh, goodie," he teased, "because I wasn't sure I was going to give you another option."

She couldn't help but laugh as she curled up in his arms, listening to the steady drumming of his heart in his chest, reveling in the soft sounds of his breathing as they interrupted the silence. Her mind started to float off, wondering what this meant, how he felt, her emotions starting to spin within her.

"You're not going back to sleep, are you Ace," he finally spoke, breaking the silence and her train of thought.

"Definitely not," she answered.

"I figured as much," he yawned, stretching a little before continuing. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It?" she laughed, nudging him, reminding him of a joke he made the night they met.

He laughed, nuzzling his face into her hair and kissing her neck.

"What do you want to do in the world?" he suddenly asked, pivoting the conversation entirely.

"In the world?" she asked, needing some clarification.

"I mean, I know what people have told me.

You want to be a journalist, write for a newspaper, maybe contribute to a column, something along those lines, but I guess I want to hear it from you. Direct from the source type of thing."

She was quiet for a moment. She couldn't remember the last time someone had asked her such a thing. She felt her breath catch in her throat as she put the answer to the question. Her mom.

"At one point, all of those things were true. A reporter might have even been on the list when I was younger. Then, I fell even more in love with literature, with the written word and how powerful it can be, and from there journalism, even more so when I came to Yale," she contemplated, talking through the question out loud.

"And working on the paper only intensified that.

Honestly, though, it feels like a lifetime ago. I'm not sure I feel like the same person anymore. In fact, I know I'm not. So much has changed since…" she paused, correcting her next thought before she said it out loud and adding instead "this year."

"Big life changes will do that," he nodded sympathetically, his eyes watching her with genuine interest.

"It's so hard," she teared up a little before it all came spilling out.

"I wish I could explain it, explain her, my relationship with her. She was smart, witty, hilarious really, funky, and so, so beautiful. She was my best friend. We had inside jokes, and movie marathons, and a language that only we could understand and speak. She drank probably a gallon of coffee a day and ate a tremendous amount of junk food. Seriously, she should have been studied by science.

I was her world, but she was my anchor, my constant. And despite all that, she was still a mom, she worked so hard to understand me, to have a different relationship with me than she had with her own mother, sometimes it felt like we were both growing up, I guess because we were. Still, she sacrificed a lot, maybe too much looking back, but we always had each other, and I always knew that. Without a doubt.

We shared music and clothes and gossip. She was the first one I ever wanted to tell anything to, and she's still the person I wish I had to talk to at the end of the day. I still pick the phone up to call her, she was that much a part of my life. She just had this energy, this light about her that couldn't be extinguished…" she trailed off, "until it was."

"She sounds amazing," Logan smiled.

"You two would have probably gotten along," Rory laughed, "but she definitely would have given your rebellious streak a run for its money."

He was quiet, contemplative, and Rory wondered if she'd said something wrong.

"I would have hoped so," he finally spoke, sounding somewhat disheartened before pushing again. "But what do you want to do in the world now."

She breathed deeply, twisting her mouth in a little grimace.

"Honestly," she started, quiet, wanting to gauge his reaction, "I want to tell the world about her."

"Tell the world?" he echoed, confused.

"About my mom. About her life. Our life." she began, rapidly unloading ideas, "She was so insanely interesting. Her upbringing, teen pregnancy, refusing to accept help, raising a kid, raising herself, working to live, realizing her dream, then making it happen. All of it, the good, bad, and ugly. I want to tell all of it."

"Sounds like you've thought a lot about this," Logan smiled, her energy contagious.

"For a while," she answered. Relieved to have said out loud such a big idea that had been living in her brain. "Honestly, I'm just so proud. She might be gone, but not from me. Not from my life, not now, not ever. Literature lives on, and I want people to be able to know her."

"Have you started?" he asked.

"I've outlined almost 30 chapters and have rough drafts of the first 10," she sighed, her thoughts going someplace far away and nostalgic.

She met his eyes, "Everyone tries so hard to avoid talking about her around me, especially my grandparents, but it's not just them, my entire hometown even avoids the subject whenever I'm around. It actually feels nice to finally tell someone about her, to talk about her again."

"Even though it makes you sad," he asked, genuinely curious.

"I've always had the "it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all" kind of outlook, I guess," she shrugged. Trying her best to lighten the mood and move on.

Logan looked at her, his own guilt rising back up again, and he knew someone was going to get hurt here, and if he was frank, he knew it would be them both.