I come undone again, crying out softly, body clenching around him.
Logan groans, hips stuttering, and follows me over the edge—face pressed to my neck, breath hot and broken against my skin.
We stay like that for a long moment, tangled together, hearts pounding in sync.
Eventually, Logan pulls out gently and disposes of the condom. Then he’s back, sliding under the covers beside me, pulling me into his arms.
I go willingly, resting my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow.
His fingers trace patterns on my back—soft, soothing.
“You okay?” he asks again, voice gentle.
I nod against his chest. “Yeah. You?”
“Yeah.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Better than okay.”
I close my eyes, letting myself relax into his warmth.
The fear is still there—the grief, the uncertainty, all the terrible tomorrows.
But right now, in this moment, I’m not alone.
And that’s enough.
Logan’s hand finds mine beneath the blanket, fingers tangling together.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers into the dark.
And for the first time in months, I feel myself drifting into a peaceful sleep.
29
LOGAN
The first thing I notice when I wake up is the quiet.
Not the normal kind—the kind you get when a house is asleep and the day hasn’t started asking for things yet.
This is after quiet. The kind that settles in when something bad happens and nobody wants to be the first person to make a sound loud enough to admit it.
Sloane is curled in front of me, her back against my chest, blanket twisted around her hips. Her hair is everywhere—soft and dark, the kind of mess that looks accidental until you realize she’s the type of person who never does anything accidentally.
Her breathing is slow. Even. For the first time since last night, she looks like her body isn’t bracing for impact.
My arm is heavy around her shoulders, and my brain immediately starts doing what it always does when something feels too close to good.
Don’t.
Don’t get comfortable.
Don’t attach a meaning to this before she does.
Don’t forget whose house this is. Whose family this is. Who I owe everything to.
My throat tightens, and I stare at the ceiling because it’s easier than staring at her and letting myself think about what it felt like when she said don’t think.
When she chose a bad idea and dragged me into it with her.
