Page 67 of Logan
The sting in my eyes sharpens, but I let the tears sit there. I don’t blink them away. Not this time. The world blurs alittle, the outlines of the café softening, but Shaina’s face stays sharp, unwavering.
“You’ve got battle scars now,” she says, her voice lowering. “But battle scars aren’t shameful. They’re proof you fought like hell. So…build a new normal. One where you call the shots. Where you’re still soft and sharp. Where you take your damn time.”
I nod slowly, my voice catching when I say, “You really should charge for this kind of advice.” The attempt at humor cracks something inside me, but in a good way, letting in a little air where before it felt suffocating.
Shaina smirks, a small curve of her lips that feels like the first sliver of sunlight after days of rain. “Please. I only do this for a very select few people.”
I laugh, and this time it feels lighter. Less like something breaking. The sound actually reaches my eyes, loosens something that has been locked too tight.
“Logan’s lucky to have you,” I tell her.
She shrugs, but her eyes soften. “He’s not bad. But you? You’re the reason he keeps his shit together.”
Something loosens in my chest at that, not peace exactly, but a shift toward it. A small step away from the edge.
“I think I want to do something,” I say after a moment. “Speak about it. Help someone else. Maybe not now, but eventually.”
Shaina’s grin is slow, deliberate. “That’s how you really win, babe. You take the pain and turn it into power.”
And for the first time in a long time, I feel like maybe I can.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Logan
Thanks for the moon and the stars up above
Forgiveness of sin in Your undying love
Every twist, every turn, for the way You made sure
All my roads led to her
So tonight, I will fall down on my knees
'Cause Lord knows how lucky I am
I'm gonna shout at the top of my lungs
Thank God for this woman, amen
‘Woman Amen’ - Dierks Bentley
Two weeks later
I park the bike across the street from the hotel and kill the engine. The rumble dies out, leaving only the faint sound of traffic in the distance and the quiet creak of cooling metal. The silence after a ride always feels too loud, but today it feels suffocating, pressing down heavy as the building looms across the road.
She doesn’t get off right away.
Mac’s arms are still around me, but not tight like usual. It feels more like hesitation, like she is thinking about letting go but not sure if she wants to yet. I don’t move either. I let her breathe. Let her sit with it. That place across the road, with its stale paint peeling in strips, its chipped sign hanging crooked, its windows staring out like eyes half-closed in shame, the place that tried to swallow her whole.
But she made it out. And now we are here to finish it. On her terms.
I reach back and find her hand, her fingers cool against mine. “You ready?”
She is silent for a beat. I hear only the quick rhythm of her breath, then she nods once and swings her leg over, boots hitting pavement with a sharp finality. Her spine is straight, chin up, but I see it in her shoulders, the fight not to crumple, the weight she refuses to show the world.
I step in front of her, blocking the view, refusing to let her stare too long into the mouth of the beast. “You don’t have to do this, Mac. Say the word, I’ll ride us out of here and burn the place down on the way.”
