“I am.” She sniffs and offers a wobbly smile. “Though… Burnt Ashes? Really?”
I bark out a laugh—louder than I mean to—and she startles, her cheeks blooming red.
“That’s exactly why it worked,” I say, grinning. “Trust me, you don’t want to know some of the rejects. Crimson Dusk, Iron Soul, Audio Bastards—we had a phase.”
She laughs, a little softer now, and something in my chest eases.
“Braden was the start of everything. Burnt Ashes was his dream. Those garage sessions weren’t just noise to him. He had a plan, Mac.”
Her eyes widen, caught between wonder and sorrow.
“He met Chace in a statistics class. Sam? At the gym. And Trey just… stumbled in one day and never left.”
She laughs again, but it’s different now. Bittersweet. Like a memory brushing past without permission.
“So… how big are we talking?” she whispers.
“There’s a joke in there,” I tease, winking. Her eyes go wide, and she buries her face in the blanket, blushing. “But seriously? Sold-out tours. Venues packed from wall to wall. TV, radio, podcasts, music videos. We even charted in Europe. Phil’s been pushing for a world tour, but that all went on hold after…”
Again, I trail off. I don’t have to finish.
She knows.
Her breath hitches, and she blinks fast, twisting the blanket in her hands like she’s trying to keep herself from falling apart.
“I wish I could’ve seen you perform,” she whispers. “With Braden.”
“You did. A lot,” I say gently. “There isn’t a place on earth where you’re not welcome, Mac. You were there. Always.”
I swallow hard, my voice thick. “We’d just started our first major tour when we lost him. And I swear, Mac, the world was finally seeing what I already knew—Braden was sensational. On stage, people stopped what they were doing just to watch. It wasn’t just his voice. It was him. That thing you can’t teach. That fire. Off-stage? He was even better. He gave. To everyone. Fundraisers, charities, strangers who just needed help. He was the best person I’ve ever known.”
She sniffles, lips parting like she wants to speak, but the words don’t come. I meet her eyes, softening.
“I can’t believe I don’t remember,” she whispers. “I should remember. I need to.”
My heart splinters. I don’t know what hurts more—watching her forget or knowing she’s losing him all over again.
I pull my phone from my pocket and hold it up. “Would you… want to see some pictures?”
Her gaze darts to the screen, uncertain. Then she nods. “Yeah. I would.”
I shift closer, perching on the edge of the bed, close enough to feel the tremble in her body. She’s barely holding it together.
I don’t say a word—just open my phone and start scrolling. At least I try to. It takes me longer than I’d like. Somehow, I end up in the damn calculator again.
“Come on,” I mutter, stabbing at the screen like that’ll make it cooperate.
The body beside me starts to shake.
My stomach drops—I think she’s crying—until I glance over and see her laughing. Shoulders trembling, tears sliding down her cheeks, but this time from something warm.
“You really are my Logan, aren’t you?” she says between gasps. “You’ve always been useless with tech.”
Her words slam into me like a punch straight to the soul. My Logan.
God, how I’ve missed hearing that.
I grin, slow and real, letting her laughter wrap around me like a familiar melody.
