Page 31 of Life After You

“Yeah,” I say, even though I can’t tear my eyes away from her. She shifts on her feet, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and I know the moment’s gone. But as we climb inside the taxi, her shoulder brushing against mine, I can’t help but think it’s not entirely lost either. We’ve still got time. I watch Mac cradle her injured hand as she scoots across the seat, her face scrunching up in pain with every movement. Without thinkingI reach for her, gently taking her bad hand in mine. Her skin is impossibly soft under my touch, fragile in a way that tugs at something deep in me.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened to your hand?” I ask, my voice low.

“There’s nothing to tell.” Her tone is dismissive, but her eyes betray her.

Outside the taxi window, the city blurs past—trees and buildings, kids running on the sidewalk, dodging the coffee-drinking, phone-scrolling crowd. My mind drifts, caught between the present and memories of Braden and me as kids, racing ahead while Mac struggled to keep up, her laughter ringing behind us.

“So, did you fall?” I prod, bringing myself back to the moment.

“No,” she sighs, like she knows she’s losing this battle. “It was…a photographer. You know, one of those vultures that usually hounds you and the guys. Words were exchanged, and I punched him. That’s all.”

“Jesus, angel…” I breathe out, gripping her hand a little tighter.

“No harm done.” She tries to say lightly, but her voice wavers.

“Obviously there was. Look at your fucking hand.” My stomach twists at the sight of the bruising. “What happened? Were you sticking up for pretty boy?” “Logan!”, she snaps, like I just cursed in church. I fight to keep a straight face, but a grin breaks through. “What? Were you his knight in shining armor?”

“No.” She retorts with a huff, her lips twitching like she’s trying not to smile. “He was mine.” Her eyes darken slightly, glinting with mischief. “I was a damsel in distress, and he swept me up in his big, thick arms. Afterward we had mad, passionate sex.”

“What?” I blurt out, my stomach plunging as my blood goes cold. The look on her face is priceless as she bursts outlaughing. “Relax, Logan. I’m joking. He wasn’t even there until the end. Patty clobbered one of them over the head with a napkin dispenser, and I slugged the other. Then they ran off like cowards.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, relief flooding through me. It sounds like a nightmare, but all I can focus on is the fact that her joke wasn’t real.

“It’s not funny, Logan.” She says, her voice softer now. “I was really scared.” I try to keep a straight face, but I lose it. “Like hell you were scared. Admit it—you were more worried about losing your job.”

“Well…” she hesitates, her lips twitching like she’s fighting a grin. “Maybe.”

I can’t stop laughing now, the tension finally breaking. “You’ve always been like that—so sensible.”

“Sensible?” she repeats, indignant. “I punched a man twice my size!”

“I said sensible. I didn’t say smart.”

She glares at me for half a second before we both dissolve into laughter, the sound filling the small space between us.

“I missed you, angel.” I say, my voice quieter now. I don’t even think about it as I reach for her, pulling her into me. Her head tucks under my chin, and I breathe her in—the soft, sweet scent of wild orchids and honey, threaded with rose petals. It hits me like a punch to the gut, the way it always has. It’s home. She murmurs something against my chest, her voice muffled against my shirt. I think it’s I missed you, too,but I can’t be sure. And honestly. I don’t care. Having her in my arms again is enough.

“So, this is the place?” I glance up at the house, it’s New England charm on full display. The kind of place that probablylooks cozy under a blanket of snow but comes with a nightmare of shoveling. Mac narrows her eyes at me.

“Yeah. This is the boarding house.”

“Seems nice.” I let the words hand, waiting for what I know is coming.

“It is…” she starts, but there it is—her tone drops.

“But?” I prod, arching an eyebrow.

She frowns crossing her arms. “But we have a problem.” I step closer, tilting her chin up so her eyes meet mine. “What’s wrong, angel?” I soften my voice.

“I don’t have my key to get in.”

I blink. “You’re right. That is a problem. Stay here.”

Before she can argue, I jump off the porch and start circling the house. The back is quiet, just trees swaying, and the faint hum of distant traffic. I spot a kitchen window left slightly ajar. Jackpot.

Climbing up onto the sill, I wrestle it open wider. My fingers stretch for the handle on the bay window just out of reach. The rush of breaking into the place isn’t lost on me. Sweat beads on my brow, more from the thrill than the effort.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Mac’s voice startles me, and I lose my grip. I crash three feet down into a flower bed with a gracelessoomph.

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