Wrecked Book 3 by Rachel Hanna Page A

hard to get that Business degree so that she could do something real in the world.
    This was what she had always wanted, but she wasn’t here to live it anymore. And it was my fault.
    I shook my head. “I know,” I whispered. “She should be here. Right here where I’m standing right now. You should be here visiting her, not—” I couldn’t make myself say that she was here reminding me of the terrible person I was, so I skipped over it. “But I am here. I’m here because I’ve changed. I’m a better person now, and I’m doing it because it’s the only way I know how to honor Beck’s memory.”
    It was true. The day of her funeral I made a promise to myself. I would never be that reckless, careless kid too selfish to see what her terrible choices were doing to the people she loved the most. I was going to be a better person, the kind of person Beck would be proud of.
    For a while, I thought I’d been doing alright, too…
    “Changed, eh?” Miranda said, folding her arms across her chest as her gaze focused on something behind me.
    I felt dread flood my body and before I even began to turn I knew what she was looking at— who she was looking at. Standing there in nothing but the jeans he had worn over here last night was Logan, his blonde hair a tousled mess of sexiness that looked fresh from a night of wild love-making. He was smoothing it out with a large hand, the movement making muscles ripple beneath his sculpted chest.
    My eyes scanned over the tattoos that ran like jagged lines over his body, forming intricately beautiful works of art that he used to hide the truth of his past. He was beautiful to me, and my heart bleated against my chest, begging me to go to him, to touch him.
    But I resisted.
    I was still too aware of Miranda standing on my porch, staring at Logan and judging me by my past mistakes and taking him as evidence of the ones I was destined to repeat.
    The ones that got her sister killed.
    Logan was obviously still sleepy and had just made his way down the stairs in search of either me or breakfast. Whichever it was, he found me and after recognizing me, his storm blue eyes brightened and his lips split into a wide grin.
    It took him a moment to register that what he had just walked in on was not casual, but instead rife with tension. When he did, the smile dropped and his eyes darted from me to Miranda. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, I turned back to Miranda and said, “We’re not together. He’s just a friend of my roommate who stayed over.” I couldn’t make myself look back over my shoulder at him, because I knew that the look on his face would be awful—but I had to say it. Forcing myself to remain calm and nonchalant, I added, “I barely even know him.”
    Miranda’s smile was chilly as she said, “Well that’s good. For him and you. I’d hate to see something bad happen to someone else , too.”
    With that, she turned to go. She made it down the stairs and to the sidewalk before pausing. Turning back to look at me, she added in a casual, ‘I almost forgot’ voice, “I hope he knows what he’s getting into.”
    I watched as she disappeared down the sidewalk, across the street, and around the corner. I didn’t know where she was going, but I was glad she was gone. In all the scenarios I had pictured where I confronted her—or rather she confronted me—I never could have imagined what it would really feel like. Part of me had always hoped that somehow it would be a healing experience. We would both yell and cry, there would be apologies as I poured my heart out to her, explaining how awful I felt about the whole thing, how haunted, and then we would hug and remember that we both lost the same person.
    Of course, every rational part of me knew that was never going to happen, but in my determination to reform myself into the upstanding girl that everyone had wanted and needed me to be, I had convinced myself that it wouldn’t be that bad if