"Logan is sorry."
He flinches at the sound of my name.
"What the hell's he sorry about?"
"I don't know," I tell him.
"But you were really pissed off that night,
so I figured I should apologize."
Mickey puts his head in his hands
when he hears my answer.
"I didn't mean to yell at him."
"You always yelled at me."
I pause to let Krista translate.
"Why would you stop when I died?"
"I did not always yell at him!"
Krista raises her hand.
"You're yelling at him right now."
"Well-he-"
Mickey chokes out six
or seven
incoherent syllables
before lurching to his feet.
He stomps away,
down the boardwalk.
Fast enough for drama
but slow enough to follow.
"Sorry."
I hunch my shoulders
as Krista stands, sighing.
"Stop saying 'sorry.'
Mickey should be saying that."
"He won't."
I get up to join her.
"He's a douche."
"Your turn to talk,"
Krista tells me