Page 85 of Holding Onto You


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Relief sweeps through me like a tidal wave, crashing over the uneasy stillness Lola left behind.

I move toward the hall just as she appears on the stairs, her eyes flicking over Logan’s frame with a familiarity that makes my skin crawl.

“Well,” she says with a slow, syrupy smile, “looks like I’m just in time to say goodbye.”

Logan’s smile is polite but tight. “Didn’t know we were expecting company.”

Lola doesn’t miss a beat. “Just catching up. Like old times.”

She steps out, brushing past him.

The door shuts behind her.

And just like that—she’s gone.

Chapter 18

Logan

The door clicks shut behind Lola, the sound oddly hollow in the silence that follows. Her perfume still lingers, too sweet, too strong—like a lie hanging in the air.

I barely have time to breathe before Mac’s arms wrap around me, her body slamming into mine with a force that steals my breath.

I catch her.

Of course I do.

I always will.

Her hands grip the back of my shirt like I might disappear. Her chest rises and falls too fast, and she’s shaking, her face buried in the crook of my neck.

“Mac?” I whisper, heart pounding. “What’s wrong?”

She pulls back just enough for me to see her eyes—wet, wild, shining.

“I remembered you,” she breathes, voice trembling. “Not just a flash or a feeling. Actual moments. Us.”

My heart stutters.

“What did you remember?” I ask, cupping her jaw, my thumb brushing the tear tracks down her cheeks.

Her smile breaks through, wrecked and radiant. “You. Standing in some doorway... a café maybe? I ran into your arms. You falling out a window—You kissed me… in bed. We danced.” Her fingers press against my chest. “I felt it, Logan. I felt everything. Like my heart caught up to my mind.”

God.

I pull her in tighter, burying my face in her hair, breathing her in. Vanilla, cinnamon, home.

“What triggered it?” I ask softly, afraid to break whatever spell this is.

She leans back, eyes soft and full of something I thought I’d never see again—recognition. “Braden’s journal. I was reading it in his room with my coffee, and… I don’t know. Something about his words, his voice—it unlocked something.”

A soft rain starts to fall outside, tapping gently against the windows. The old kitchen clock ticks behind us. The world keeps moving. But for me, it all narrows down to her.

My girl.

My muse.

My fucking miracle.