Logan didn’t know what he was doing. He was holding the hand of the boy he used to bully in high school who had supposedly killed himself the week before. Nothing was making sense. 

But he kept holding Dakota’s hand. He squeezed it hard, rubbing his thumb over that hand, begging it to still be there. Even still, anxiety gnawed at his nerves. He looked back, silently praying that when he did Dakota would be there.

His eyes met bright green ones. They were as fearful as they’d always been, but now, confusion swirled within them. Dakota’s face was flushed from crying and his eyes red-rimmed. He could have clawed his way out of Logan’s grip, but he didn’t. He followed him though Logan only ever hurt him.

Logan knew Dakota couldn’t possibly trust him. But the idea that he might have? Even after all that he’d done to him? It was strange how he found satisfaction in that. 

But more than that strange satisfaction, there was a great need for him to get Dakota to safety. The angel’s piercing gaze had unsettled him in a way that made him need to save her. And with her, he wanted to save Dakota.

His legs and feet hurt so much. While he hadn’t felt pain when he crawled from the river, he felt it now. He was no longer in denial. For some reason, he’d been transported back in time. It had to be for this reason. Another chance to change the course of history. 

Dakota needed to be saved. And Logan had been chosen to do it.

Again, Logan’s feet were doing the thinking for him. They were carrying him in the direction that he came from. The bridge flashed in his mind and with it, horror struck him. He abruptly stopped, causing Dakota to run into him. 

Logan, still horrified that he’d been about to take Dakota to the fucking bridge, whirled around. “Is the painting okay?”

Dakota gave him a confused look. He glanced at his own painting as if he didn’t recognize it. “Yes.”

The short, almost courteous reply, threw Logan off. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t ever heard Dakota speak. However, it had been ten years and even when he had heard him speak once or twice it had always been screams for help. 

He recovered, giving a sharp nod. His hand was warm in Dakota’s. The boy had merely been letting Logan grip him, but ever so subtly, his fingers curled around Logan’s. 

Logan darted off to the left to where he knew the open fields would be. He didn’t know if Matthew or Nate were still after them, but he knew that he couldn’t let Dakota be around them any further. As he kept thinking about how he’d tried to kill himself just like Dakota, he shook his head in embarrassment. 

Life hadn’t gotten that bad. He’d been free from this town, of his past. He’d gotten what he wanted, but why did it turn out this way?

He pushed those thoughts away. They were parasites, sucking the life from him, and he needed his strength. All he had to do was focus on Dakota, on making sure the boy didn’t kill himself, and everything would get better. 

The spring breeze felt surreal as they ran through the knee-high grass. It had been awhile since he’d felt this. This free feeling that lifted the weight of responsibilities. He hadn’t realized how beaten down he’d become from working and being cooped inside his apartment until now. 

So this was what he was missing. 

The windmills loomed over head. The closer the boys got the more apparent their giant size became. Logan had to force himself to not stop and gawk at them. He stared at them, heart speeding up. It was as if he was standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon, gazing down into an abyss. Except it was a big metal structure in the sky. 

Logan didn’t stop until they were right in front of one. He turned back to the line of trees. The field stretched for at least a mile. Even if they’d been followed, he would spot Matthew and Nate before they got close. He wasn’t sure how much he was willing to do to keep Dakota safe, but this seemed like the bare minimum. 

But now that they were here, awkwardness settled it. He let go of Dakota’s hand, fingers slipping through Dakota’s gentle grip he hadn’t expected. His face burned. He couldn’t turned around. He couldn’t bring himself to look Dakota in the face again.

The shock had warn off. True realization settled in. This was worse than if he’d faced Dakota when they were older. It wouldn’t have been years since Logan tortured him. Time would have lessened some of the pain, right? Or had this been haunting Dakota all this time? Could Logan be the reason why Dakota jumped?

He covered his mouth with his hand. He was so deep in his thoughts that he didn’t hear Dakota approach him.

A fist collided with his cheek before he knew what was happening. 

He tripped over his feet and fell back on his ass. Pain bloomed over his face, his cheek stinging from the blow. With wide-eyes, he looked up to find Dakota looming over him.

His expression wasn’t one Logan had seen before. It darkened further when their eyes met. 

All that Logan could think was how bright Dakota’s eyes were. 

Even so, that pretty jade color turned stormy with pure resentment. Logan understood it. He would have been more worried if Dakota didn’t hate him. He knew he had no right, but it made him sad that it had come to this. The things he’d done, they were unforgivable. 

Dakota tossed his painting to the side, treating it no better than Nate had.

Logan gawked at that more than being punched. “Hey! Be careful with it!”

Dakota’s brows furrowed at the response. Clearly, it wasn’t what he was expecting. But he brushed it off as just another one of Logan’s ways in trying to distract him. He pounced on Logan while he was still distracted. 

The tackle still caught Logan off-guard though he kinda did see it coming. He reacted by throwing his arms up, not sure what Dakota was going to do. All their fights before had been almost one-sided with Logan hitting Dakota though it had never been a direct punch to the face. Logan hadn’t been too physical with Dakota—that was Matthew’s forte. Instead, Logan liked to take Dakota’s stuff and destroy it. Preferably in front of him while he was held by the other two.

But now, there was no backup to keep Dakota from beating his ass.

This was the justice he deserved. Finally, maybe Dakota would feel like he could stop the bullying. Logan would be there, if he wanted. And even if he didn’t want Logan’s help, Logan would gladly be his punching bag.

Dakota grabbed Logan’s wrists and wrenched them above his head. His full-weight came down on Logan, pressing him down into the grass where he couldn’t escape. 

He drove his knee into Logan’s stomach.

“Pgh!” The air was shoved out of him. He tried to turn over, but Dakota pressed further onto him, making it even more difficult to get a breath it.

Still, he didn’t fight it. He sagged into the grass. Though he wanted to curl up into a fetal position, he forced himself to lay with his arms and legs spread. He gave Dakota the full range of his body. Anywhere he wanted he could hit Logan. Honestly, he could do anything to him if it would make the other boy happy.

The shift in the air was almost automatic. Logan didn’t think anything of it until Dakota stilled on top of him. He didn’t ask anything. He didn’t think he had the right to speak. Instead, he peered up at Dakota.

Even if Dakota was still hitting him he would have wanted to look in his eyes. They were too pretty to not to for one thing. However, the main reason wasn’t that. He kept needing to gauge Dakota’s reaction. It was as if he would see the change within the boy, as if he’d know when he’d done his job, and that things were going to get better.

There was no point in it. He knew that that was not how it worked. Still, he held Dakota’s gaze without flinching. It was almost selfish in a way.

This was the first time Logan had gotten a good look at Dakota. All the other times he’d been too focused on making the boy suffer that he hadn’t bothered to take a hard look at him. This fuzzy image he had of Dakota was further aged by time.

But there had been a time that he knew Dakota’s face so well that he could recall on it. 

Everyone in Hopptide attended the same school and had the same classmates from Kindergarten to Twelfth Grade. A new face was rare on occasion, but for the most part, everyone grew up together. 

It was no different for Logan and Dakota. They’d entered Kindergarten the same year. What could have been friendship soon divulged into a game of how much Logan could annoy Dakota. And when it wasn’t stopped, it transcended into a vicious cycle of perpetrator and victim.

Logan couldn’t give an exact reason why he hated Dakota so much. Was it the way their teacher had fawned over him? Or how he’d hung out with the girls? Perhaps it was because his clothes were nice and Logan hated the stupid cute bears on the boy’s jacket.

All that didn’t excuse anything or really explain the animosity Logan had held for so many years. 

But maybe the explanation didn’t have anything to do with Dakota. When Logan looked at him now, prominent features that would become stronger in a year or two, Dakota didn’t look much like the little boy he used to tease. The hate in his eyes was that of a man who’d been pushed too many times. 

“What are you doing?”

Logan had been staring at Dakota for too long that he forgot that he was supposed to be getting beat up. The hitting had stopped some time ago and the hold on his arms had slackened. He could have wiggled out of the grip if he wanted to, but he hadn’t even thought about it. 

Dakota’s voice, deeper than he remembered, pulled him out of the strange trance. 

He blinked a couple of time. “Huh?”

Dakota frowned. “You’re just going to let me hit you?”

He knew how crazy it might have seemed. After all that he’d put Dakota through why wasn’t he defending himself?

Logan sheepishly grinned. “I just don’t feel like it.”

To be fair, Dakota had every right to look at him like a crazy person. Logan still wasn’t sure if he hadn’t hit his head hard on a rock during his fall—this could have all been in his head.

But everything felt too real. This, Dakota’s face and reactions, was too real. 

Dakota pulled his hands from Logan’s wrists and got to his feet. His jeans were covered in grass stains and dirt, but he didn’t bother to clean them. 

Logan watched him walk away. His first thought was to check on the painting which Dakota did. He examined the piece with no recognizable expression on his face. 

Logan assumed the worse.

“Is it okay? Can you fix it?” His body ached not just from slamming into the ground or from Dakota hitting him. The running was catching up to him. He’d pushed his body too much—a body that wasn’t used to working out in the sun all day. 

He approached Dakota as if they were on friendly terms. That was his mistake. 

Dakota flinched away, pulling the painting out of Logan’s reach and eye-line.

Logan held his hands up. “Sorry. I don’t intend to—”

He closed his mouth. Of course Dakota wasn’t going to trust his words. The Logan Dakota knew was a liar, a thief, and an asshole. 

He sighed. “The painting. It’s not damaged is it?”

Dakota glared. “What do you care?”

He didn’t know what to say. He needed an excuse. 

“I—uh—think it’s really nice.” He fumbled the words. He scratched the back of his neck. “She told me to.”

He cringed. Jesus Christ. What was wrong with him?

“You can hit me again, if you want to.”

He closed his eyes and waited. Being hit was so much better than dealing with this embarrassment.

The hit never came.

He cracked one eye open to see Dakota peering at him. 

It was Logan’s turn to wonder what it is that Dakota was doing. 

Dakota’s eyes widened with shock. He shoved Logan again, knocking him back on his ass, but this time out of surprise than anything else. 

They both looked at one another with confusion. 

“Thanks,” Dakota yelped before running off.