That’s my girl!
My eyes burn, I take a breath, and look at the headstone again.
“You would’ve been so annoying about it,” I whisper. “You would’ve told everyone within a ten-mile radius that your daughter’s team won.”
Logan makes a quiet sound beside me—half laugh, half ache.
I glance at him.
He’s looking at the grave like he respects it. Like he knows exactly how much of my life is buried here and how much of it is still standing.
I turn back to Pops.
“And…I’m okay,” I say, even though it’s not fully true. Even though it’s not fully false. “I’m getting there, anyway.”
My throat tightens.
“Logan’s still here,” I whisper. “He’s…he’s taking care of me.”
Then, because Pops always deserved honesty, I add, “And I’m letting him.”
Logan’s fingers tighten around mine.
I swallow hard and force the next words out, because they’ve been sitting in my chest for months like a stone.
“Thank you,” I tell Pops. “For loving me the way you did. For raising us. For making us brave.”
The wind brushes over my cheeks like a kiss.
I close my eyes for a beat.
When I open them, I feel lighter and heavier all at once.
Logan shifts closer.
I squeeze his hand and whisper, “I love you,” because Pops would want to hear that part. He’d want to know I didn’t let fear steal one more thing from me.
Logan’s eyes flick to mine, warm and stunned, like he’ll never get used to hearing it.
“What was that?” he murmurs. “Didn’t hear you.”
I lift a brow through the tears. “Might need your ears checked.”
Logan laughs, low, genuine, and it’s one of my favorite sounds in the world. “I love you, baby.”
I step closer to the grave and wipe my cheeks with the heel of my hand.
“Okay,” I tell Pops, voice steadying. “We’re going to go now. But…we’ll be back.”
I swallow.
“Love you,” I whisper.
Then I turn.
Logan’s hand finds mine again immediately, fingers threading through like it’s the easiest truth in the world.
We walk back toward the car.
