The most important lesson I learned in college had nothing to do with my academic classes and everything to do with love.

In most love stories or movies, the ones that made me fall in love with reading, love is beautiful. A couple falls for each other into pure, blissful happiness and gaze into each other's eyes, embrace in a hug, or smother each other in "fade to black" endings into assumed happily ever after endings.

In one of the most horribly low moments of my life, Logan taught me the true meaning of love. He sat with me in my darkness, stayed awake through my distressed sleep, held me through my uncontrolled, random bouts of grief, and pushed me through the basic necessities of caring for myself.

With Dr. Sterns' guidance and Logan's amazingly stubborn persistence, my days slowly turned brighter. Setbacks happened but Logan was right - when I fell, he fell with me. He never told me what to do or how to feel but he was there... right in the trenches, encased in the muddy, dark emotions that threatened to pull me under and...

He never left.

In the darkness, Logan became my entire world. More than anything, I appreciated how he allowed silence into our apartment, our life. If he felt any pressure to fill that silence with words of encouragement or reassurance past the occasional "I'm here," he kept that opinion to himself and I couldn't have appreciated him more for that restraint.

With each day, slight improvements accumulated. I cried less, ate a little more, and my mental focus returned, followed by my smile until my smiles turned into laughs. My moments of solitude weren't all filled with guilt and remorse, just silence.

Our relationship wasn't perfect but we worked hard for it. One week after Dad's funeral services, after the football game where Emmitt buzzed around me like an annoying gnat, Logan seethed with anger when I met him outside the locker room. His chest pitched with sharp breaths, the ocean-blue in his eyes stormed gray, his jaw was clenched tightly shut, a vein pulsed out of the side of his strained neck, and his fists were clenched so tight that the skin on his knuckles was stretched white.

"Logan?" I started when he dropped his bag onto the ground, grabbed my waist, and slammed his lips hard against mine. The tightness of our kiss, followed by the way he plunged his tongue in between my lips left me breathless and dotted my vision.

Once my hands grabbed the back of his neck, Logan pulled off with a slight pop and pulled back with a slightly guilty look in his eyes. One of his hands cupped my cheek and without a blink, he spoke in the angriest voice I'd heard from him, "You're mine, Ellie."

"I..." My lower lip rolled under at the mixed reactions, annoyance at his caveman-like statement that battled against an equal amount of arousal that also found his possessiveness a massive turn-on.

"No one kisses you but me," he continued without a blink. "No one."

At my raised eyebrows, his hand lifted off my cheek and rubbed the back of his neck. "Uhh... except family."

"I assure you I don't kiss Jake," I teased but my eyes averted down the line of his post-game suit's tie as the source of his anger hit me. "Emmitt... I'm sorry -"

"If I hadn't seen how disgusted you looked when you shoved him away." Logan threaded his fingers within his. "Probably would've punched his lights out instead..."

"Instead of what?" I gaped at Logan in awe. The longer I studied the back of his head, warmth and pride flowed through me at his mature reaction, how much he'd changed.

"Don't look so surprised," he grumbled over his shoulder. "He definitely got his ass chewed out and when I left, Darrius held him back."

Ouch.

Despite his warning, Logan had definitely surprised and impressed me over and over in the weeks that passed since Dad died. Even the silly exercises and 'homework' Dr. Sterns gave me, Logan participated in. One night he listened to the list of things I'd appreciated about Dad, another he sat through a phone conversation with Mom that was tear-soaked on both sides, and one where we listed the qualities we appreciate most about each other.

Academically, I limped my way through grueling finals that made my midterms look like homework assignments, and with the biggest sigh of relief, Logan and I found ourselves at the end of our dark tunnel. Our finals were completed and Logan threw his last pass in his last game of the regular season, a home win over the local rival Washington State.

Football turned into the most welcomed distraction for me, which helped because Logan's performances gained him national-level attention and the media circus outside our apartment building only grew larger with each game the Huskies won. Logan himself finished the season with a spectacular quarterback performance, none of which he cared about but I still took his seasons' stats to UW's student printing services office, where they laminated them onto a magnet that I'd stuck on the fridge.

62 touchdowns, including 8 touchdowns rushed, 3 interceptions, 4367 yards, 81% completion rate, QB rating 200.3.

Logan shook his head at my proud-girlfriend moment, then scribbled onto a random piece of paper, clipped it onto a magnet, and stuck it over my efforts.

Huskies 11-1.

"What happens next?" I blinked at UW's record, which had earned them the PAC-12 Northern Division title. The post-game celebration that rocked UW's campus and practically all of Seattle continued for hours after the final home game where I was surprised the fans hadn't pulled over the goal posts with all the excitement that rushed onto the field.

It was adorable when Logan climbed onto the Section 106 railing, leaned over, and kissed me... Right before his Gatorade bath.

"PAC-Twelve Conference playoffs." Logan frowned slightly and crossed his arms over his chest. "Against the Southern Division Champs, a rematch in Paradise, Nevada..."

"With?" I raised an eyebrow but by the gleam in his eye, I already knew the Huskies' opponent. "Oh. Well, I hope you know where I'm sitting."

"With Mom and Brody, I hope," he replied with a half-grin. "But if you want to sit with your Mom, I just want you to wear my jersey."

"Sitting in a sea of traveling USC fans? I'll get eaten alive," I teased and wrapped my arms around his waist and tucked my forehead into his chest. At the frown that was obviously fake by the sparkle in his eyes, I added, "We both know there's only one place I belong, cheering for you on the Huskies' side."

"That's right." Logan chuckled quietly then pressed a kiss into the top of my head.

"When?" I rolled my lower lip inward at the possibility that Logan and Jake's game was in January, since my assigned court date in Santa Cruz was January 19.

"January first," Logan replied. "Mind spending New Year's Eve in Paradise with me?"

"With you?" I leaned back and graced my lips over his, gently at first, then snaked my hand behind his neck and cupped him close. With a slight pull back, I grinned widely up at Logan. "No comment about Paradise but there's one else I'd rather be with any day."

A low groan vibrated both our mouths as I ran my tongue over the seam of his lips in a teasing entrance request. He obliged but plunged his tongue into my mouth deeply, which lit off a chain reaction in my body that ended in throbbed pulses in my core area.

Way too soon for my liking, my entire body whimpered as Logan withdrew. Per Dr. Sterns' suggestion, we'd abstained for three weeks while I'd sorted out the mess of negative emotions that crashed over and consumed my senses. She'd also given us some couple-building exercises that we'd laughed at more than taken seriously but I appreciated what little I learned about Logan that I hadn't known about before.

Logan assured me he was fine without sex but I wasn't. I missed being intimate, especially after we learned that physical contact seemed like his love language. That explained why his go-to response was he held me, touched me, and reassured me of his physical presence.

That's his way of feeling connected.

I brought our mouths together again for a much needed, scorching hot kiss that he ended way too soon for my liking. In a breathy voice and hands cupped gently around my jawline, his eyes studied mine intently. "You sure? I don't -"

"Yes," I interrupted between kisses that left my lips like the rest of my body, buzzed and greedy for more. "I want you... badly."

With zero resistance on his part, I tugged Logan down the hallway and slammed our bedroom door behind us.

Christmas this year was the most bizarre holiday the Harrison family had experienced in my recent memory. It started with the most emotional embrace I'd remembered from Jake, whose muscular arms tugged around me tightly.

"Oof! Miss me or something?" I coughed up to the ceiling.

"Or something," he parroted but gave me a devious smirk that was completely wasted on me as his sister.

True to his promise, Jake had called me every week, Sunday nights after his film study sessions became the nights we talked. The first few calls were definitely short and awkward but thankfully we'd pushed through and shockingly had some meaningful conversations.

While I had a 6ft5 mountain of support for my grief after we'd lost Dad, I was concerned about Jake. He refused to discuss anything about Dad's death, past wanting an update on how I dealt with it.

Jake had an anger management support group but he sounded and looked anything but angry. Based on USC's identical 11-1 finish as Southern Division Champions and how Jake had gone on an offensive tear the last four games that edged his stats slightly higher than Logan's for the season, I knew Jake buried himself into football.

While that's a healthy enough distraction for now, what happens when it's over?

Through my own grief process, for Jake's sake, I was painfully aware of the bias within our society against men and labeled those who displayed emotion as being weak. Jake's projected strength and dedication of the season to Dad was regarded by all the media outlets as honorable but I saw it as unrealistic. I assured him over and over that my listening ear was available for whatever he wanted or needed to share but he responded every time with a dismissive, "I'm fine."

Hopefully he'll come around.

Our weird Christmas continued with Mom's announcement at our first dinner together, where Jake and I sat across from her at the kitchen table. The empty fourth chair, Dad's, was pulled back slightly askew from the table like a sobering reminder of his absence.

"I'm selling the house," Mom said firmly, her hands clasped near her plate.

Being in the house without Dad carried equally painful as pleasant memories, which Dr. Sterns had warned me about last week when I'd told her my plans for our short Christmas break. She was entirely on board with the winter vacation, which we left for tomorrow morning and stayed at a winter cabin for a few short days in...

Honestly I have no idea where we're going, other than north to a Canadian ski resort where my crazy mom thinks I won't break my legs skiing or snowboarding.

Since Logan dropped me off earlier today then drove to his dad's house for a quick visit before his final stop at Grace's house in Scotts Valley, I'd taken the emotions as they rolled through me, with a few breathing exercises, journaled my thoughts for the next session with Dr. Sterns, and went through as many positive memories as I remembered within the house. Even the smallest details set off an internal reaction, like Dad's favorite seat in the living room, his windbreaker hung up in the closet and still with the distinct smell of new car tires from the dealership where he'd sold cars, or his toothbrush near his bathroom sink.

"Why?" Jake asked with both eyebrows raised, arms tightly folded over his chest, and his eyes two shades darker as they stared directly at Mom. "This is home."

"It's too big..." Mom started, then dotted the corners of her eyes with a napkin. "And it just -"

I understood what she meant, too much of Dad was here, and wrapped my hand around her tight fist. She gave me a fleeting smile but Jake scowled at this point.

"It's selfish but obviously your call. I'll be in the garage, getting back to fixing that car so you can sell it too," he grumbled, pushed his chair back, and slammed the door on the way out.

"Poor guy." Mom shook her head, which now showed the much shorter haircut she'd gotten after the funeral. While her hair normally fell to her shoulders, now it edged around her ears. "He didn't wait for me to tell him I'm waiting until the spring, gotta clean out all of Dad's hoarded treasures first."

"Please tell me most are going to the junkyard," I half-joked, half-pleaded with her.

Dad's affinity for 'discarded treasures' had blessed our house with odd additions, the biggest of which was an old, rusty car frame he'd convinced himself that Jake converted into a working car for me. While Jake had banged away on the car until it actually resembled one instead of a rusty hunk of metal, with a rebuilt engine, he assured me it was far from complete.

Having the benefit of semesters instead of quarters, Jake had been home for two weeks already on his winter break, most of which Mom said he'd spent countless hours late into the nights on the car. Obviously, he welcomed the distraction but I assumed he also regretted how Dad never saw it completed and driven out of the garage.

Personally I'd have driven it to the junkyard but no one asked my opinion.

"One man's trash is... Better off out of my house." Mom sighed and sent me a tired smile. "I hope you don't think I'm tossing out Dad too. I really do plan to keep as much as I can."

My head shook back and forth. "Nope, I don't have any attachment to anything other than pictures but tell me if you toss out anything of mine."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Mom replied dryly, cupped her chin in her palm, and propped her elbow on the table. "There's boxes and boxes of your and Jake's preschool art boxed up in the attic and waiting for you to go through."

"Ugh," I grunted quietly before both our attention was drawn to the front doorbell. With a push up to standing, I asked Mom, "Expecting anyone?"

"Not for me," was all she replied but her wide smile and sparkle in her eyes gave away how she already knew who was here.

"Guess I'll get it then," I murmured more to myself and walked down through the small kitchen in our California ranch house, where for some reason my bedroom looked smaller each time I came back from college, through the living room and down the four split foyer steps.

My mouth dropped open at the blonde-haired bombshell on the front step, not Harper's normal put-together look in a tight black leather coat, jeans, and a low-cut baby blue shirt but the large coffee can that she grasped in both hands. A wide, nearly Harper-sized gray suitcase sat on the front porch behind her.

Ha, probably just her makeup and sunglasses.

"Ugh... Don't tell me," I groaned but stepped aside and let Harper inside, where she dragged her giant-ass suitcase in behind her, parked it in front of the coat closet, and kicked off her ankle boots into a thudded clump.

"Most wonderful time of the year," she cast out in a sing-song voice and shook the can's paper contents at me like the shirtless homeless guy on the Boardwalk. "Got a new addition this year."

"Can't wait." I rolled my eyes up to the ceiling and climbed the stairs. "I'll get the matches."