And for once, I don’t move. I don’t rush in to adjust or fix or over-perform.
I just stand still and take it in.
The glitter in the air and the chaos I wrestled into order. Every panic spiral, every whispered doubt. Every moment I thought they’d win, because they always seem to.
But not tonight.
Tonight, the curtain is rising because I made it rise.
And this moment, on this stage, with this messy and magic thing I built? It’s mine.
I’m not a stand-in, not a shiny distraction. Not some teacher-on-display for the PTA to praise or pick apart.
I bloomed anyway.
I split concrete.
And Logan—God, Logan—he’s not here because he had to be, he’s here because he chose to be. Not as a player, not as my brother’s teammate.
Just him.
My smile widens as I keep watching the kids, because for the first time in a long time, I know exactly who I am.
Not someone’s sister. Not someone’s mistake or someone’s trophy. Not some flighty teacher with a problem to solve or a standard to meet.
Just me.
On a stage.
With the boy watching me who never once asked me to shrink, only shine.
Chapter thirty-nine
All my little scraps of truth
Lulu – 3 months later
The bed is warm and the sheets are tangled around my legs, still soft with sleep and the ache of a man who apparently thinks “Olympic break” means “see how many times I can make her come in one night.”
Spoiler: it was a lot.
My thighs are sore and my brain is foggy, and I’ve decided I amnota morning person in the instances where I’ve been manhandled all night.
So when Logan’s voice rumbles near my ear, far too smug and wide awake for someone who made me ride his face mere hours ago, I groan into the pillow.
“Rise and shine, beautiful.”
I grumble something incoherent that’s probably a threat.
“Come on,” he coaxes, all fake sweetness and soft hoodie rustles. “You’ve dragged me to a hundred sunrises. Time to return the favor.”
I peek out from under the covers, squinting up at him. His hair’s still damp from a shower I didn’t hear. His Storm hoodie hangs loose on his frame, sleeves pushed to the elbows, and he’s already got Dusty’s leash in one hand.
He’s grinning.Grinning.
“No,” I croak. “Absolutely not.”
“You promised.”
