Page 74 of Life After You

This is the fifth show since I left her standing on that porch, tears in her eyes, her arms wrapped around herself like she was holding herself together. And fuck, it killed me to walk away. Still, its better than last time, she’s messaging all the time, and I get a little thrill whenever I pick up our chat thread.

But at least she’s still here.

Every night when the adrenaline fades and the noise dies down, she’s the voice in my ear, the anchor keeping me sane. Wetalk until the sun creeps up, our words slurred with exhaustion, but neither of us wants to hang up.

It’s not enough—but it’s something.

Still, nothing compares to touching her, holding her, breathing her in.

I miss her so damn much I can hardly think straight.

Trey claps me on the back as we head toward the stage. “Crowds fucking wild tonight,” he says, flashing a grin.

I nod, cracking my knuckles, trying to shake the weight pressing on my chest. I should be pumped, hyped, ready to kill this set—but all I can think about is how wrong it feels to be here without her.

I take my place, gripping the mic stand. The first notes of the opening song crash through the speakers, and the crowd erupts. I let the energy surge through me, pushing away the ache, letting the music take over.

For a little while it works.

But halfway through the set, the weight in my chest is back, pressing heavier, crushing me. I step back from the mic, running a hand through my hair, breath still ragged from the last song.

The fans chant my name. Waiting. Watching.

I exhale hard, gripping the mic stand. My voice comes out rough, thick with emotion.

“There’s someone out there I had to leave behind.” The words catch in my throat, but I push through, “And she owns me—heart and soul.”

The crowd loses their mind’s, screams erupting, flashing lights flickering like stars across the stadium. I swallow, holding back the fucking hurricane inside me. “This one’s for her.”

The band kicks in, pouring everything into this song, but I barely hear them. I close my eyes picturing her—Mac, standing there on the driveway, staring at me like I was taking her whole world with me.

And fuck, maybe I did.

The lyrics pour out of me like a confession, every word raw and unfiltered. The crowd sings along, but I’m singing for one person only. As the song fades out, I step back, chest heaving, hands trembling. Trey and Chace are watching me, waiting, because they know something is up.

And yeah—something is.

As soon as this show is over, I’m calling Mac…and I’m asking her to come on tour with me.

Because I can’t do this without her.

Because I’m fucking done leaving her behind.

The second Mac picks up, I exhale, like I’ve been holding my breath.

“Hey,” she murmurs, her voice soft and a little sleepy.

Fuck. I close my eyes, my fingers pressing into my forehead. I can picture her perfectly—curled up in bed, her dark lashes fanning over olive skin, those lips I should have kissed a thousand times more before walking away.

“You in bed?” I ask, my voice coming out rough.

“Mm-hmm,” she hums. “Where else would I be at…” a pause, probably checking her phone “One in the morning.”

I swallow. “With me.”

Silence.

Then, softer, “Logan…”

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