My feet stumble forward. My coffee mug clatters to the floor, shattering on impact, but I don’t care. My hands hit his chest, fingers clutching at his shirt, and I fall into him like it’s the only place I’ve ever belonged.
He catches me instantly, arms locking around me so tight it steals my breath—but it’s the right kind of breathlessness. The kind that says you’re safe now. The kind that says I’m here. I’m not letting go.
And then I’m crying—really crying. Ugly, gasping sobs that shake through my entire body as I bury my face in his neck and let the pain tear its way out of me.
“I know you didn’t cheat,” I whisper, voice cracking on the words. “I know you never would.”
His grip tightens, and a broken sound escapes his throat—half relief, half agony.
I keep going, can’t stop, won’t stop.
“I just—God, Logan—it destroys me,” I choke. “The thought of you with someone else… the thought of your hands—your mouth—your touch—bringing them pleasure? I can’t breathe when I picture it. I hate that I picture it.”
He tries to speak, but I shake my head against him.
“No. Let me say this.”
My voice is jagged, bleeding.
“You’ve never made me feel like I wasn’t enough. Not once. And I know that whatever came before me—whoever came before me—none of it matters. Because we matter. This matters.”
I pull back just far enough to see his face—his ruined, beautiful face—and I lift trembling fingers to trace the trail of his tear.
“I’ll fight for you,” I whisper. “Of course I’ll fight for you.”
My voice breaks again, softer now. Fierce in the way only love can be.
“Because all you’ve ever done is fight for me.”
He closes his eyes, like the weight of my words nearly buckles him, and I press my forehead to his.
“I love you, Logan Dale. I love you. Not Braden’s best friend. Not the rock star. Not the man the internet wants to pick apart. You. The one who sees me—even when I’m in pieces—and stays anyway.”
He exhales a shaking breath against my skin, and I swear, for a second, the pain lifts. Just enough.
We stand there, tangled and raw, surrounded by the shattered remains of a coffee mug and the echo of truths finally spoken.
His arms tighten around me like he’s scared I’ll disappear if he lets go. But I’m not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.
Not when we’ve both bled this much to get here.
His lips brush my forehead, reverent and shaky, and I feel his voice more than I hear it.
“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs.
I tilt my face up, tears still clinging to my lashes. “Stop saying that.”
He searches my eyes, broken open but hopeful, like he’s scared to believe this is real. “I was so sure I’d lost you.”
“You didn’t,” I say, voice steady for the first time in days. “You found me. Again.”
His throat works around a rough sound—something like a laugh wrapped in a sob—and he rests his forehead against mine.
“I want to be better,” he whispers. “For you. For us.”
“You already are,” I breathe. “You’ve always been.”
And then we’re quiet again, but it’s different now. Not heavy silence. Not aching.
