I shoot Logan a look across the crowd, but he’s already grinning, eyes crinkled, sun on his cheek.
“I’m not crying,” Logan calls back. “It’s called sweat. It’s hot as fucking balls out here.”
Cameron laughs, loud and real, and I feel the moment tug at me—how it should’ve been Pops standing here in his annoying sunglasses, camera held up, yelling “that’s my boy!” like he coached Cam all the way to this stage.
But it’s us.
It’s still us.
And somehow, it matters that we showed up anyway.
Afterward, Cameron gets pulled into photos and handshakes and a dozen “what’s next” questions that make his jaw work like he’s holding back the truth—because his next is professional basketball. Camps. Tryouts. A life that will take him away from here and back again in unpredictable bursts.
He squeezes me when no one is looking.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “You good?”
I nod like I’m convincing myself. “Yeah.”
His gaze flicks over my face, like he can tell I’m lying, and he’s letting it slide.
“We’re gonna be okay,” he says, voice low.
I swallow hard. “Yeah.”
And then he adds, softer, “You’re doing really good, Slo.”
My throat tightens. I hate compliments that see too much.
I roll my eyes on purpose. “Don’t get emotional. You’ll ruin your brand.”
Cameron snorts, then glances over my shoulder, and his expression shifts into something gentler.
“Logan,” he calls.
Logan steps in like he belongs here—which is funny, because he always has. He looks different than he did in winter. Stronger. More solid. Like his body is slowly remembering it’s his again. He’s still rehabbing. Still building. But you can see the progress in the way he moves—less cautious, less guarded.
Cameron slaps him on the shoulder. “Take care of her.”
Logan’s brows lift, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Always.”
I glare at both of them. “I’m standing right here.”
Cameron ignores me. “If you hurt her, I’ll kick your ass.”
Logan’s eyes gleam. “You already did.”
“That was nothing.” Cameron smirks. “And I can do it again.”
“Yeah,” Logan says, rolling his eyes. “I know.”
The ease between them is a relief I didn’t realize I was still praying for. Like some part of me is always braced for everything good to get taken away again.
But it doesn’t.
Not today.
By mid-June, Logan’s spending every night in my bed, and his room down the hall is basically forgotten.
