I inhale slow, fighting the rising tide in my chest. I want to fix this for her. I want to promise it’s just slipped behind the dresser or fallen into some stupid crack in the floorboards, but I know better. I know Lola.
And suddenly, I know what she was really doing here.
But Mac doesn’t.
Not yet.
So, I stand and crouch beside her. “Hey,” I whisper, brushing my hand along her spine. “We’ll find it, okay?”
She turns to me, wide-eyed and trembling. “It was the only piece of Braden I had left that still felt alive, Logan. I didn’t even finish the page.”
I nod, heart breaking as I brush a strand of hair from her face. “I know, baby. I know.”
I pull her into my arms, and she melts against me—soft and warm and wrecked.
I don’t say what’s burning at the back of my throat.
That I think Lola took it.
Instead, I hold her tighter.
Outside, the wind rattles the windowpane. Distant traffic hums like background noise in a film that’s about to shift tone. I rest my chin on top of her head and just breathe her in.
She remembered me.
That should be enough for now.
But even the high of her remembering me is getting swallowed by a tide of confusion.
“You…” My angel rubs her face against me, hesitating before she speaks again, “You don’t think Lola took it, do you?” she whispers.
Fuck.
I don’t have an answer—nothing that will help, nothing that will ease this ache in her voice. Lola’s been off lately… has been acting…strained, maybe even volatile. Especially the last few times I saw her. But I can’t accuse someone based on a gut feeling. Innocent until proven guilty, right? Even if everything I have felt about her lately has felt… wrong.
I shrug, because it’s all I’ve got.
Mac backs toward the wall, her eyes wide and glistening with betrayal. “Why would she do that? It’s Braden’s… It’s mine… Right? It’s not hers. Why would she—” Her voice breaks apart mid-sentence, just as the first tear escapes down her cheek.
I’m across the room before I even realized I’ve moved, pulling her into my arms before she shatters completely.
She cries into my chest, her fists clenched in my shirt like I’m the last solid thing left in her world. And God, I want to be that for her—her anchor, her safe place. But this? I don’t know if it’s grief or fury or both, and I swear I wish women came with instructions or at least a damn user manual, so I’d know the right thing to say.
“She said she was going to the bathroom,” Mac mumbles, her voice muffled against me. “She must’ve come in here…”
I press a kiss to her temple, trying to keep the rage in check. It’s there, simmering just beneath the surface, quiet and deadly—like thunder rolling behind the clouds.
“She was obsessed with him even back then,” Mac breathes. “I didn’t see it. I thought it was just grief, but it’s not. It’s twisted. She’s twisted. It’s obsession.”
I tighten my hold. “We’ll get it back.” Anything more right now would be a waste of breath. Whatever Lola has taken, maybe I can reason with her—if I can keep my temper in check long enough not to do something I’ll regret.
Mac looks up at me then, eyes red and full of pain, her voice trembling. “I don’t want her having pieces of him. That journal… it’s ours. His and mine. It’s all I had left.”
I cup her jaw gently, guiding her eyes to mine.
“Of course, angel, ” I murmur. “I’ll talk to her. See what she has to say before we even think of the police, yeah?”
I don’t add that I want to have another look around first—just in case. I won’t have her second guessing herself. She’s come so far with her healing, her treatments. I won’t let this drag her backwards.