Page 75 of Life After You

My grip tightens around the phone. “I can still smell you on my skin.” It’s the truth. My shirt still carries the faintest trace of her perfume, something warm and sweet, like vanilla and home. I hear her breath hitch, and it takes every bit of self-control I have not to lose my fucking mind.

“I keep rolling over, expecting you to be there.” she admits.

My chest aches. “I don’t want to be anywhere that doesn’t have you in it.”

I hear her shift, the rustling of sheets, and I swear I can see her—one bare shoulder peeking out, messy hair sprawled across the pillow.

“Say my name again,” I murmur.

She hesitates, but when she speaks, it’s breathless. “Logan.”

Jesus Christ.

I press my forehead against the wall, my entire body burning. “I can’t do this, angel.”

“Do what?”

“Be away from you.” My voice drops lower.

Hungrier.

Rougher.

“I miss you too fucking much.”

Her breath catches again, “You just left.”

“I know,” I admit, voice strained. “I didn’t want to ask when I was with you, but I had the thought then… you seemed to be in a good place and I didn’t want to hurt you… but … but I I already feel like I’ve been gone too long.”

She’s quiet a long moment, then, barely above a whisper, she says, “What do we do?”

And that’s it. That’s the breaking point.

“Come with me.” The words spill out, the ones I’ve wanted to ask since I left.

“Logan…”

I push forward. Desperate. “I need you, angel. I don’t want to wake up in another city without you. I don’t want to call hearing your voice through a fucking phone when I could have you in my arms.” She doesn’t say anything, and my heart pounds like a war drum in my chest.

“I know it’s selfish, and if you say the words I’ll drop from the band, I know it’s a lot to ask,” I continue, voice shaking. “I know you have your life there. But, fuck, angel, I don’t care ifwe’re in a cramped tour bus, or some shitty motel, or we’re at the Rosewood—I just want to be with you.

She inhales sharply.

“I’ll come.”

The world stops spinning.

I close my eyes, gripping the phone like a lifeline. “Say it again.”

A tiny breathless laugh. “I’m coming with you.”

A rough, relieved exhale leaves my lips, half-laugh, half-growl. “Thank fuck.”

And just like that.

I can breathe again.

Chapter Nineteen

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