"I'm really here."
We stand still, not moving, neither of us willing to be the first to let go. He pulls back just enough to study my face.
"Come sit with me?" he asks, gesturing toward the couch. "I can barely stand up."
We settle into the familiar cushions, my body finding its place tucked against his side as if we were never apart. His arm drapes around my shoulders, fingers idly stroking my upper arm. The gentle touch sends shivers across my skin.
"So," I prompt when he remains silent, "tell me about the hearing."
He exhales, his chest rising and falling beneath my cheek. "It was... not what I expected. Jessica withdrew the emergency motion."
I lift my head to look at him, surprised. "Just like that?"
"Not exactly." A smile plays at the corners of his mouth. "The judge asked me directly about the 'instability' in my home, and I just... told the truth. All of it. About trying to compartmentalize my life—being one person with Tyler, another on the ice, another with you. And how that approach was actually causing the instability."
His fingers find mine, intertwining. "I said Tyler needs me whole—the same person everywhere. And that you're part of that wholeness."
God, I needed to hear that.
"What did Jessica say?"
"That's the crazy part. She pulled me aside after and said Tyler's been asking for both of us every day. 'When can I see Daddy and Reese?' And then she said what I'd said about being whole made sense." He shakes his head slightly, still disbelieving. "She said she wasn't against me, just worried I couldn't be the dad Tyler needs."
"That's..." I search for the right word. "Huge."
"Yeah." His thumb traces circles on the back of my hand. "She wants mediation instead. Clear boundaries, expectations. But she's not fighting me anymore."
I process this information, the implications slowly sinking in. "Tyler asked about me?"
Logan's expression softens. "Every day, apparently."
I swallow hard. "I miss him too."
"I know. And I'm so sorry I tried to keep you apart. Both of you." His free hand gently turns my face toward his. "I was scared, Reese. So fucking scared of having everything I never thought I deserved."
"You were yourself again out there tonight," I tell him, changing the subject before emotion overwhelms us both. "I could see it in every move you made. That play at the end—the turnover, the pass to Kovy—that was the Logan I know."
He smiles. "Because I stopped fighting myself. No more compartments. No more walls."
"I want all of you," I say, shifting to face him fully, my hands rising to frame his face. "The fears, the struggles, everything. That's the deal."
"Deal," he whispers, eyes locked on mine.
And then we're kissing—not the frantic collision I half-expected, but more deliberate. His lips move against mine with careful intention. I part my lips, inviting him deeper, and his tongue meets mine in a slow, thorough exploration that makes my parts tingle.
His hands slip beneath my shirt, palms warm against my skin as they trace the curve of my waist, the ridge of my spine. I tug at his shirt, needing to feel him, and he breaks the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head. The sight of his bare chest—familiar yet somehow new again—and I’m getting wet.
"Bed," he murmurs against my throat, where his lips have found the sensitive spot just below my ear. "I need you in our bed."
Our bed. I like the sound of that.
Logan stumbles into the bedroom on sore exhausted legs and pulls the bed covers down in one motion with pillows going everywhere. He grabs me and lays me down, and climbs on top of me, pushing me deliciously into the mattress. Our clothes disappear in a slow unveiling, each newly exposed inch of skin worshipped with hands and lips.
"Missed you," he whispers, trailing kisses slowly down my stomach. "Missed this so much." He kisses the insides of my thighs while he simultaneously massages them, then he moves higher, making me arch and gasp. "I missed hearing you make that sound."
His tongue finds my clit—one flat, deliberate lick that makes my hips jerk off the mattress. 'Please,' I whimper, but he holds me down with one forearm across my hips, tongue circling without increasing pressure. Torture. Perfect torture. My fingers twist in his hair, thighs shaking as pressure coils tighter in my core. 'Logan, I'm going to?—'
He pulls back, breath hot against my wet pussy, and the denial makes me whine.
