Instead, I’m a restless storm of too many feelings, spinning too fast to hold onto just one. There’s something about an outsider messing with my peace that makes my blood boil.
Anger curls hot in my chest.
At Lola—for stealing something so precious. SoBraden.His words. His thoughts. Hisheart.Who does that? Who walks into someone’s home and takes something sacred? Something that doesn't belong to them? Thatshouldn’tbelong to anyone else? Or… were they more serious than Logan let on?
No.
No, he said they weren’t. I’m almost certain he did…I think.
I feel like I’m crawling out of my skin, frustration biting at the edges of everything. At Lola. At myself. At this broken version of me who let this interference steal the moment I’ve been waiting for. The moment Logan’s been silently holding his breath for.
Irememberedhim.
Not all of him. The past few years are still a mess in my head, all tangled threads and missing pieces. But I remembered us.
The way he kissed me in bed, soft and slow like the world had narrowed down to just our skin and breath. The way I laughed when he fell out that stupid window. The way I ran into his arms like the sky was falling and none of it mattered as long as I had him.
I should’ve clung to him. I should’ve cried into his neck and told him everything. Let the floodgates open. Let myself feel it all with him. Love him like I promised I would when I didn’t even remember saying it.
A low rumble cuts through the night.
Braden’s dodge charger.
The sound slices through my chest like a hot wire, and I freeze—knees pulled to my chest, my fingers fisting the hem of his shirt.
I don’t move. Don’t breathe.
Because I don’t know what he’s about to walk through that door and say. Did she admit it? Does she still have it? Was itreallyher?
What if she’s gone?
What if that piece of Braden I’ll never get back just… vanished?
The sound of the engine dies. A silence heavier than before sinks into the house. My heart pounds.
I don’t know if I want the truth. But I know I need it.
I needhim.
Sometimes the most beautiful part of falling apart is the person who chooses to hold you together.
The door creaks open, and then he’s there.
Logan stands in the doorway, shaking the night off his shoulders, lost in thought. His black hoodie hangs open halfway, the soft gray tee beneath clinging to his chest in a way that makes my pulse stumble. His dark hair is a mess from the ride, wind-tousled and damp at the edges.
I sit up slowly in bed, legs tucked beneath me, knees hugging the hem of his shirt.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just quietly closes the distance between us, looking at me with a weight in his eyes I haven’t seen since the hospital.
“I went to her place,” he says finally, voice quiet. “It’s abandoned, baby. Like…no one’s lived there for months. The yard’s overgrown. Mail’s spilling out of the box. Curtains drawn. Dead silence. Something’s not right.”
I nod. I know. Iknow.
Because I cried when I realized Braden’s journal was gone. Ipanicked.Ripped through the bed, the sheets, the house—searching. Like I could summon it back through sheer desperation.
But that grief has passed. And what’s left?
Him.
