Page 42 of Logan
I shake my head. “We’re staying here tonight. She’ll be fine. Celebrate with us, take a break. First thing in the morning though…”
He nods, and we head back into the noise, where shots are being poured and the bar’s already sticky from spilled beer.
“It’s about time for the toast, Pres!” one of the brothers shouts.
I laugh, taking the shot Mac hands me, standing behind her with my palm on the small of her back.
“Here’s to a long life and a happy one. A quick death and an easy one. A good girl and an honest one. A cold pint and another one.”
The room roars back, glass hitting wood as the toast is echoed and the shots go down.
I wrap my arms around Mac from behind, resting my chin on her shoulder and pressing a kiss to the warm skin of her neck. “Let’s get you a drink.”
I never thought I’d have an old lady. Sure as hell never thought it’d be Mac. But I’d be lying if I said I’ve ever been happier. I hate that I pushed her away when I did, that we lost years. But I’m done losing time. I’m going to make up for every second.
Chapter Nineteen
Mac
You're everything that I want, but I didn't think I'd find
Someone who is worth the wait of all the years of my heartbreak
But I know now I found the one I love
And I love the way
You can never find the right things to say
‘I Guess I’m In Love’ - Clinton Kane
The moment I see that old, beat-up Chevy parked outside the clubhouse, I know Logan is up to something. He never drives it anymore, says it’s “too soft” for a man who runs a motorcycle club. Normally, he prefers the loud rumble of his bike, the sound that turns heads before he even rounds a corner. But tonight, the truck sits there like some secret he’s dusted off, and he’s leaning against the hood like he doesn’t have a reputation to protect. His arms are crossed, a toothpick between his teeth, that cocky smirk playing on his mouth. There’s a gleam in his eyes that makes my stomach twist in a way I’m not ready to admit out loud.
“Get in, babe,” he says, flicking the toothpick away with a flick of his fingers. “We’ve got somewhere to be.”
I lift a brow, unable to hide my curiosity. “I didn’t even know you still had this. Where’s the bike?”
“Not tonight.” He pulls the door open for me like he’s auditioning for gentleman of the year, though the smirk stays firmly in place. “And don’t ask questions. You’ll ruin it.”
The interior smells faintly like leather and gasoline, with an undertone of something warm and familiar, him. The seat creaks under me as I climb in, the old truck giving a little shudder when he turns the key. We drive in silence, the kind that isn’t uncomfortable but full of unspoken possibilities, my mind turning over what exactly he’s up to.
It’s not until he turns down the winding dirt road to Miller’s Pond that it clicks, and my jaw drops. The headlights wash over the crooked pine tree we used to sit under, casting long shadows across the grass.
“You did not…” My voice comes out slow, cautious, almost reverent.
“I did.” Logan rounds the hood to stand behind me once I’m out of the truck, his voice dipping lower, rougher, threading into me in a way that makes my chest feel tight. “Figured it was time to remind you what it felt like before the club, before the brothers, before all the noise.”
The air smells of damp earth and water, the pond shimmering under the moon like a secret. My throat feels thick, and I turn, ready to make a smart remark, but his eyes are already on me. They burn the same way they did when I was sixteen—only now, that heat has grown into something heavier, deeper.
He takes my hand, warm and sure, leading me down the narrow path until it opens to the clearing. A blanket is spread across the grass, weighed down at the corners with small rocks to keep it from shifting in the breeze. On it sits two gas station sandwiches, a warm Coke, and a brownie wrapped in cellophane.
A laugh escapes me, soft but full of something that feels suspiciously like nostalgia. “You even got the brownie.”
His arms slide around my waist from behind, pulling me back into the solid heat of him. His lips find that spot just under my ear, brushing there with the faintest touch. “You said it was the only thing sweet about our first date. Besides me, of course.”
I shake my head, smiling. “You were a cocky little bastard then, too.”
“Still am,” he murmurs against my skin, his hands slipping just under the hem of my shirt, fingertips ghosting along the waistband of my jeans. “Except for the little part. But you know that.”
