“Because I didn’t want you to feel like you were on a timer or to feel like a guilty party in the decision that I needed to makefor myself,” he says quietly. “You’ve lived on timers for months, years even. I didn’t want to add another one.”
My chest aches.
He leans in slightly, voice dropping.
“And because I meant it,” he adds. “Every kiss. Every laugh. Every time I held you. I wasn’t faking. I wasn’t pretending.”
My lips tremble.
I hate that I want to believe him so badly.
“Plus, do you really think I’d let Cam lay one on me if I planned to dip out?”
A laugh escapes me, and Logan’s eyes warm like he’s been waiting for that sound. Like it’s proof of something.
“Don’t,” I mutter, wiping my face. “Don’t make me laugh right now.”
“I’m not trying to,” he says, voice soft. “I’m just…glad you’re here.”
I blink. “Why?”
His gaze holds mine, steady.
“Because you cared enough to come,” he says. “You’re mad because you want me. Because you’re not numb anymore.”
My throat tightens.
I swallow hard. “I’m terrified.”
“I know,” he murmurs.
He shifts closer again, careful, and lifts his hand—slow, giving me time to flinch.
I don’t.
His thumb catches another tear.
“For the record,” he says. “You’re not the only one who fell.”
My chest cracks.
I grab his shirt with both hands like I need an anchor.
And then I kiss him.
Hard.
Not soft. Not careful.
A kiss that saysdon’t you dare leave me in the dark again.
For a second, he’s still, surprised by the force of it.
Then his hands come to my waist, steadying me like he always does, and he kisses me back like he’s been holding himself together with duct tape and I just tore it open.
When we pull apart, my breathing is ragged.
His forehead rests against mine.
