“I knew you’d come back to me,” I murmur, brushing my lips across her forehead, her temple, the corner of her mouth.“I didn’t know how long it would take, but I knew. My heart’s always been waiting for yours.”
I can’t stop touching her.
My fingers sweep along the curve of her jaw, drift into her hair, settle over the thudding beat in her neck like I need to memorize it all over again—just in case this moment decides it isn’t real.
But it is.
She's here.
And she remembers.
"Can you…" I pause, dragging in a breath as I pull back just enough to look her in the eye. “Would you read it to me? The part that brought you back?”
I smile, soft and reverent. “I’d love to hear what gave me you again.”
Her lips part in a small breath. That fire I know so well flickers in her eyes—bright, brave, broken open.
“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
She takes my hand, leading me upstairs, her fingers laced tight in mine like she’s scared to let go.
We walk into Braden’s room. She moves with this strange mix of reverence and familiarity now. Like the edges of grief are softening into something she can hold without it tearing her apart.
She crosses to the bed, reaching toward where she said she'd left it—Braden’s journal.
Only. It’s not there.
She freezes.
Brows furrow. Eyes scan the blankets, the pillows, the nightstand.
“Logan,” she says, her voice suddenly thin. “It’s gone.”
She spins, checking the floor, the dresser. “It was right here. I left it right here.”
The air shifts, sharp and tight.
Every muscle in my body locks. My jaw clenches.
“Are you sure?”
“I had my coffee here. I was reading it right there on the bed.” Her voice pitches higher, panic setting in. “I went downstairs to call you. I—I left it here…”
And that’s when it hits me.
The only other person who was in this house.
Lola. But why?
Shit.
Mac paces at a loss, one hand twisted in her hair, the other pressed to her lips like she's trying to stop the panic from spilling out.
I sit on the edge of Braden’s bed, watching her fall apart in the place he left behind.
“It has to be here,” she mutters, dropping to her knees beside the bed to check underneath it. “Maybe I moved it… Maybe—”
Her voice cracks, raw and desperate. “It can’t just be gone.”
