Page 35 of Life After You

“I didn’t want to make you leave your tour. I knew you’d come if I told you I was struggling, and I couldn’t do that to you. Not when you’ve worked so hard for this. I didn’t know what to do, who to speak to, where to go… I was suddenly alone.” My breath shudders, and I shake my head, biting my lip to keep it from trembling. “In a house full of ghosts.”

His jaw clenches.

“That house was never just a house,” I whisper. “It was them. My mom, my dad, Grams, Braden… Every single room, every single hallway… I could still hear them. And I couldn’t stay there, Logan. I couldn’t wake up every day surrounded by memories of everyone I’d lost. I felt like I was being buried alive in a place that should have felt like home. It was a mausoleum, and I couldn’t take it anymore, I was deafened and afraid in a house of echoes.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks, but he stays silent.

I wipe at my eyes, exhaling unsteadily. “I wanted you. Needed you. So fucking badly. But I was scared. Scared of what it meant. Scared of all your commitments, your tour, your band, your life. You were everywhere and everything, and I was just… drowning.” My voice cracks. “So, I left. I thought if I could just get myself together, then—eventually—I’d find a way to reach out again.”

I look down, twisting my hands together. “But the more time that went by, the harder it was. And then one day, I looked at my phone and realized I hadn’t called you in weeks. Then months. And I thought… maybe you were better off without me.” My lips tremble as I force out the words. “Maybe if you forgot me, you could escape the pain.”

Silence.

Thick, heavy, suffocating silence.

I slowly lift my gaze, and the devastation on Logan’s face shatters something deep inside me. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides like he’s barely holding himself together.

He takes a step closer, the floor creaking softly beneath his weight.

Logan’s breathing is uneven, but it’s his eyes that destroy me—burning, desperate, filled with something so raw it steals the air from my lungs. “Better?” His voice is hoarse, breaking on the word. “Mac, nothing about these past months have been better.”

I open my mouth, but no words come out.

He shakes his head, his gaze locking onto mine, pinning me in place. “It was hell for me too, you know?” His voice is lower now, rougher. “Not knowing where you were. If you were okay. If you needed me and I wasn’t there.” He lets out a sharp breath, raking a hand through his hair before gripping the back of his neck like he’s trying to steady himself. “I didn’t want to leave you. After Braden…” His voice cracks, his eyes glistening. “After he died, I just wanted to be there. For you. In whatever way you needed me. None of the other shit mattered. The band, the commitments, the tour… none of it was ever as important to me as you.” Logan steps closer, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine. “It’ll never be as important as you, Mac.” His voice is soft but unwavering, like he’s carving the words into my soul. “You’ll always come first. Always.”

My breath shudders as I stare up at him, drowning in those unwavering blue eyes. The air stifling, thick with unspoken words, years of history, and something so much deeper than friendship.

I want to tell him I’m sorry, like it could somehow erase the misery. But even well-meant, the words feel hollow.

That I never meant to hurt him—it matters less than the fact that I did. I thought I was doing the right thing. I see now that I wasn’t.

But the words won’t come.

I just stare, lost in his gaze, as mine—already misty—begin to overflow.

He reaches out, slow and hesitant, like he’s afraid I’ll pull away. But I don’t. I can’t.

His fingers brush my jaw, his touch featherlight, and I swear my heart stops. He tilts my chin up, forcing me to hold his gaze, his thumb grazing the corner of my mouth in a way that makes my entire body tremble.

"You’re the most important person in my life, Mac." His voice is barely a whisper, but to me, he’s deafening. "You always have been."

My pulse stutters, then quickens, sorrow shifting into something else—something raw, something electric.

His gaze drops to my lips.

And just like that, I feel undone.

For a second—just one—I think he’s going to kiss me.

And God help me…

I wanthim to.

The bed dips beside me as he sits down.

The warmth of his body, the familiar scent of cedar and something undeniably him, the sheer gravity he carries—it all pulls at me, wrapping around my chest and squeezing.

I don’t stop him when he shifts closer. When his arms slide around me, pulling me onto his lap. I’ve needed this. Needed him.

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