This one feels like peace.
Outside, I hear the low rumble of the guys still talking around the fire pit, someone cracking a joke, the distant sound of a guitar strumming a lazy tune. Laughter hums through the walls like a promise.
The party’s still going.
But here, in this moment, it’s just us.
Me. Him. And the love we nearly lost.
He draws back just enough to look at me fully. His eyes still glisten, but his smile—crooked and tender—is the one I fell in love with all those years ago. The one that makes me feel like I’ve come home.
“Can I take you outside?” he asks, brushing a thumb across my cheek. “Just for a little while. Sit with me by the fire?”
My lips twitch, something soft blooming in my chest.
“You really think I want to be seen looking like this?”
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he says without hesitation. “Messy or not.”
I shake my head, smiling through the tear tracks.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Let’s go.”
He links his fingers with mine. My heart flutters—nervous, uncertain—but something in me settles. His touch doesn’t erase the thoughts racing through my head, but it quiets them.
Scar tissue remains.
Damaged nerve endings still flinch. But healing doesn’t always come all at once.
Sometimes, it starts with a hand in yours. A soft pulse where numbness used to be. A flicker of memory—of what was, what might still be.
Whispers of hope stitched into the silence. Promises that maybe, just maybe, tomorrow won’t hurt as much.
And a heart—grazed, raw and trembling—
Still willing to feel.
Chapter 26
Logan
The fire pit crackles low, casting a warm amber glow across the porch, but the energy around it is anything but calm. Chace paces like he’s gearing up for a mafia war, muttering to himself and swearing he’ll be the best-dressed mob boss in the entire Pacific Northwest. Sam flexes for the hundredth time, his black tank clinging to every gym-earned muscle.
“I’m telling you,” he says, completely serious, “I am Vin Diesel. I just haven’t hit my Hollywood prime yet.”
Trey groans, hunched in his pirate get-up as the stuffed parrot on his shoulder slides down again. “This damn bird weighs afreakin’ ton. Why couldn’t you guys let my other costume fly? Ya’ll suck.”
I laugh, the sound catching me off guard. It settles in my chest like a welcome guest. “Should’ve gone with an eyepatch.”
“And hide one of my beautiful eyes? No. Also—thanks, Mac, for the eye shadow,” he mutters, adjusting the parrot like it’s a tactical weapon.
“What was his other choice?” Mac asks, tilting her head. Sam and Chace pause, exchanging a glance before sighing in unison.
“He wanted to be a sexual predator.” Sam deadpans.
“Ew,” Mac grimaces. “Which one?”
“The alien one.” Trey says wistfully, like it’s a missed opportunity for greatness.
