Page 81 of Life After You

I pick up the beer I left behind, inspect it, then take a sip, finishing it off.

She’s not here yet, but she’s coming.

And that’s all that matters.

Chapter Twenty-One

Kayla

Being drawn to Logan isn’t just physical—it never has been. Yeah, he’s beautiful in that effortless, heart-stopping way that makes people stare, but that’s never been what gets me. It’s him. It’s the way he’s always been there, stitched into the fabric of my life like he was never meant to be anywhere else. The way he sees me—not just the version I show the world, but the girl I was before everything fell apart. Before the scars, before the loss, before I forgot what it felt like to be whole.

It’s in the way he looks at me, like I’m still that girl. Like I’m still worth something. He doesn’t just know my past, he was in it. Every scraped knee, every late-night whisper, every time Ithought I couldn’t take another step—Logan was there. Holding me together when I didn’t even realize I was falling apart. And even now, after all these years, after everything I’ve lost, he’s still here. Still looking at me like I’m more than the wreckage.

That’s why it’s more than physical. It always has been.

But do I want to unwrap him like a present the second I get my hands on him? Absolutely. God, I ache for him.

I can already picture it—tracing his abs with my tongue, feeling his heat beneath me, his body hardening at my touch…

I shift in my seat, dragging in a slow breath, forcing my gaze out the window of the black Discovery. The seat beneath me is warm, a nifty feature I never knew I needed, and the air billowing from the vents is thick with heat, coaxing my body into relaxation. I want to sleep, let time slip away, so when I wake up, I’m there—because this anticipation is absolute torture. And not in the divine kind of way.

Clay glances at me, a small smile playing on his lips, like he’s trying to guess what’s got me so caught up. I don’t meet his gaze. Instead, I watch as the windows fog slightly from the lingering morning chill before he adjusts the dial, clearing them with a quick flick.

Old Town fades behind us as we cross the Willamette River, passing an old railyard, the Moda Center looming ahead. I wonder if the boys will ever perform there, or if it’s not that kind of venue. The road shifts beneath us, blurring between pavement, tram lines, and asphalt, and I’m immensely grateful Clay is the one navigating this urban sprawl.

Traffic thickens, slowing us down, and even though I still have hours before my flight, I feel time crunching in around me. Every stop, every hesitation, every red-light claws at my nerves, taunting me.

Damn it. Stop getting so wound up over something so mundane.

I touch my forefingers to the glass, leaving a print in the condensation. Outside isn’t nearly as toasty.

I was elated to speak to Logan. Just hearing him sound so happy I was coming on tour with him had my stomach in knots.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve seen you smile like that since we’ve met.” Clay says, amused.

“Honestly,” I say, flashing him a smile, “I can’t really believe it myself.”

Clay takes his hand off the gearshift and holds out his fist. “Fist bump for being happy?” he asks. I let out a tiny, excited giggle and knock my fist against his. “It’s good just to see you walking around without pulling the Kristen Stewart pout, you know? These last few days you were channeling your full Bella, the one where you look confused and in pain, like you have a problem with your bowels or something…” He starts chuckling to himself.

“I beg your pardon?” I say. My voice sounds a little higher, which only makes Clay laugh harder.

“Oh, you betcha!” Clay offers with a wink.

I fight off the smile threatening to break free and, instead, let the beat from the speakers take over. Reaching for the dial, I crank it up until the car vibrates with the thrumming bass of Titanium.

Clay immediately turns it down with a switch on the steering wheel.

“I really am glad to see you so happy, Kayla,” he says.

“You could have waited until the song was over,” I pout.

With a chuckle, he turns the music back up, letting it finish, his eyes steady on the road. When the last note fades, he lowers the volume again, arching a brow as if asking permission. I sigh, relenting, and adjust it for him.

“Thanks,” I murmur, smiling. “I… It’s hard to explain.” I hesitate, the words catching in my throat. It makes me feel conflicted, but I press on. “For the first time in a long time, Ifeel… good. Not guilty about being the one Smith left behind, I guess. I don’t know. It’s all so fucked. I don’t want to let go of the grief, but I also don’t want to let go of this—this feeling of being okay. Content. Happy. Loved. Like it’s actually okay to live my life without carrying that guilt.”

Clay nods thoughtfully. “Your family would want you to feel that, Kayla. My parents were a real mess, but if they weren’t around, I know they’d want me to be happy. Pretty much anyone whose life you’ve touched wishes you well.”

“You know that, right?”

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