Page 85 of Life After You

He needs me.

He will… He…

I can’t.

The car shifts. A gust of air brushes against me, chasing the suffocating heat. A breath of clarity slams into me.

I try to suck in air—choke on it.

Logan.

Memories flicker—his rough voice whispering my name, his lips brushing my forehead, the way he looked at me, like I was his world.

"I love you," he once told me.

I never said it back.

Please.

I don’t want to leave.

But I’m so tired.

The pain, sharp and unrelenting, begins to dull. My chest tightens with a different kind of ache. A need to cry. I can feel it, burning through me, but I can’t move.

The darkness tugs harder.

The white noise in my ears turns to static.

A final thought whispers through me.

I don’t want to see them. Not yet. It’s too soon.

The void swallows me whole.

Dark. Twisting. Consuming.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Logan

The diner smelled of smoked bacon, stale coffee and grease. It seemed like nothing compared to Patty’s. The food was that good I think it might have spoiled all other diners for me. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the cracked vinyl booths and checkered tile floor. It was the kind of place that didn’t try too hard to impress.

Trey slapped a laminated menu against the table, grinning like an idiot. “Alright, boys. I’ve made my decision. Today’s the day. I’m taking down the Gut Buster.”

Sam let out a low whistle and shook his head. “Man, that thing’s like a death wish on a plate.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault they put ‘free meal if finished’ in bold letters.” Trey rubbed his hands together. “A challenge is a challenge.”

Chace smirked, stretching his arms over the back of the booth. “You just want your picture on the wall.”

“Damn right.” Trey leaned forward, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “And when I succeed, I’ll be a legend.”

I barely hear them, my fingers drumming against the tabletop as I pull out my phone for the hundredth time this morning. Mac will be here tonight. Finally. The anticipation burns through me like a live wire, making it impossible to sit still. I already called her once on the way to the diner. No answer. Now, as the guys continue their back-and-forth, I press call again, bringing the phone to my ear.

Voicemail.

I exhale sharply, pushing the device back into my pocket, trying to ignore the slight disappointment creeping in. She’s probably busy packing, or maybe already on the way. Either way, by tonight, she’ll be here. With me. Where she belongs.

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