Page 47 of Logan
Through the kitchen window, I catch sight of Mac. She is still in the doorway, arms crossed loosely now, her gaze steady on me. She doesn’t look angry. She looks… grounded. The kind of calm that could keep a man from throwing a punch he’d regret.
When I walk back in, she doesn’t ask me what he said. She just reaches for my hand under the table while everyone else pretends the tension isn’t sitting in the middle of the room.
We say our goodbyes not long after. The ride home is quiet, the hum of the bike doing the talking for us. Every time I feel her shift behind me, her arms tighten around my waist likeshe can anchor me there on the road, keep me from drifting back into the storm Carter kicked up.
When we get to my place, I don’t bother with small talk. I take her hand the second we are inside and lead her upstairs. My grip is firm, maybe a little too tight, like if I let go, I’d start pacing again and never stop.
She sits on the edge of the bed, toes brushing the floor, eyes following me as I wear a path into the carpet.
“Say it,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair. “I know you’re thinking it.”
She tilts her head. “Thinking a lot of things. But mostly? I’m wondering why you’re punishing yourself for someone else’s wreckage.”
I stop mid-step, the words landing heavier than I expect.
She walks toward me, slow and sure, with that steady fire in her eyes, the one that could burn through every wall I’d built.
“You’re carrying too much,” she says, resting her hand on my chest. “Him, the family, the club… you can’t fix what he broke, Logan. You can only decide how much more of yourself you’re willing to bleed for it.”
I close my eyes and leaned into her palm, letting the weight in my chest ease just enough to breathe. “He used to be my best friend. Before the lies. Before everything went sideways.”
“I know.”
Her arms slide around me, her cheek pressing against my chest, and I wrap her up like she is the only solid thing left in the world. I breathe her in until the noise fades.
Just her. Just this.
“You grounded me tonight,” I say quietly. “I was about to lose it. And then you said I was the best you ever had, and I swear to God, Mac, I wanted to marry you right there.”
She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “Then do it. Marry me.”
I blinked. “What?”
“I’m serious.” Her grin softens, but her voice stays steady. “I’ve waited for you my whole damn life, Logan. I’ve seen the best and worst of you. I’ve lost you, couldn’t move on from you, and then found you again. So if you’re really all in…show me.”
It was like a dare I already knew I’d take.
My heart thuds hard enough that I feel it in my throat. I pull her in and kiss her, slow, deep, and anchoring. The kind of kiss that says yes. The kind that says always.
We fall onto the bed like gravity wants us tangled together. Clothes forgotten, hands finding home. But it isn’t like the pond, it isn’t lust driven by memory.
It is two people holding on for dear life.
It is claiming. Choosing.
And when we collapse into each other, breathless and bare, I whisper against her skin, “You’re mine, Mac. Always have been.”
And I know with certainty no matter what comes next with Carter, with the club, with everything threatening to splinter, this is where I began again.
With her.
Chapter Twenty-One
Mac
Call the amateurs and cut 'em from the team
Ditch the clowns, get the crown
