“I’m hating you,” I tell him, sniffling. “And I’m giving Fancy Chair to Javi so he can give it to someone else.” “Why?” “Because I don’t want it anymore. It’s too nice and was too expensive and reminds me of you.” “No, why do you hate me?” I stop punching him. Instead, I grab his jersey with both fists, stepping back but not too far back. I glare up at him with blurry, tear-filled eyes. “I hate you because I love you and you’re leaving,” I tell him, almost—ALMOST—getting through the sentence without choking on a sob. Logan blinks at me, his lips parting before he says, “You love me?” Why does
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