His voice rumbles against my cheek. “Angel?”
“Yeah?” I mumble, muffled.
“I thought… for a second, you were asking for one.”
The silence between us thickens. Heavy. Charged. My heart stumbles and then races, ticking up into panic territory.
For a moment, neither of us says anything.
And then he starts laughing.
A full-bodied, unfiltered, Logan kind of laugh. The kind that shakes his chest and rumbles beneath my cheek. It bubbles out of him like he can’t hold it back.
And somehow, I’m laughing too. Maybe out of relief. Maybe because the tension snaps in two like a stretched rubber band. Or maybe just because his laugh is so contagious, so him, and God, I’ve missed the sound of it.
We’re both laughing now, curled into each other, breaths mingling, hearts racing, hands still clasped tight.
The soft rustle of a plastic bag crinkling breaks the silence as I fold the last of my clothes into the small overnight case Logan brought from the mystical boarding house. It’s early evening, the sky outside the window tinged with warm streaks of fading gold. Logan’s sitting on the edge of the bed, checking through a stack of discharge papers like he’s afraid if he misses one checkbox, they won’t let me leave tomorrow. His presence has become the only constant I trust. When the world feels too unfamiliar, I look at him—and things soften.
I take one last look around the room. Sterile. Cold. Impersonal. I’ve spent five weeks here, watching the bruises on my body fade and the holes in my memory refuse to fill. I don’t remember the accident. I don’t remember much at all. Just flashes. Feelings. Sounds.
Logan looks up and smiles at me, his blue eyes soft. "You okay?"
I nod, and just as I’m about to reply, there’s a gentle knock at the door.
Before either of us speaks, it opens, and a familiar woman steps in with a warm, crinkly smile that instantly makes my chest loosen.
“Evening, sweetheart,” Patty says, her voice as cozy as a knitted blanket. “Look at you, packing up already.”
Behind her, Dean follows with a casual wave and his usual worn denim jacket. And then Clay steps in—on crutches, still recovering. His leg and pelvis are braced up, but he walks like he’s determined not to let it slow him down. They stop by every so often during my recovery—always bringing laughter, stories and just enough chaos to make my days brighter.
Logan stands to greet them, pulling Patty into a one-armed hug first, then nodding to the guys. I hover by the bed, unsure what to do with my hands, my shoulders tucked in tight.
“You made it,” Logan says.
“Told you we would,” Dean answers, voice low and warm.
Patty turns to me, her eyes soft and kind. “Can’t let you sneak off without one last goodbye, now, can we?”
Her touch is gentle when she takes my hand, and I don’t pull away. I never do with her. She feels like safety. Like someone I’ve known my whole life, even if I don’t remember a single thing about her.
Dean offers me a quiet smile. “Not sure the place’ll feel the same without you bossing us around.”
I smile, just a little. “I am almost sure I wasn’t that bad…or mean.”
Clay grins and leans carefully on his crutches. “You’ve already kept us in line better than the nurses around here. They’re gonna miss you.”
“I didn’t think I’d… miss this,” I admit softly, eyes flicking to the view outside the window. “But I think I’ll miss you.”
A silence settles, thick with unspoken words. Logan’s fingers brush against my back, steadying.
“You’ve had half the town pulling for you, Kayla,” Patty says, her thumb gently rubbing over the back of my hand. “And notone of us is going anywhere. You’ve got a whole crew waiting to walk alongside you—however long it takes.”
My throat tightens. I blink hard, but a tear still escapes.
Dean steps forward and reaches into his jacket, pulling out a small silver keyring. He presses it into my palm.
“For your room at the boarding house,” he says. “Still yours. No pressure, no expectations. Just… home. Whenever you want it. Or if you get sick of the rock and roll glam lifestyle.”
