It’s excitement.
It’s disbelief.
It’s holy shit.
“It’s positive,” he says, voice cracking. “Sloane…it’s positive.”
My knees go weak.
I grab the counter. “Are you sure?”
He nods hard, eyes bright. “Yeah. There are definitely two lines.”
My body does this weird thing where it tries to laugh and cry at the same time, like it can’t decide what emotion belongs here. Logan crosses the space between us in two steps and cups my face, gentle like I might spook.
His thumb brushes under my eye, catching a tear I didn’t feel escape.
“This is scary,” he admits softly. “And I’m not pretending it isn’t. But it’s not bad news to me.”
My breath stutters.
“And we don’t have to have it all figured out tonight,” he adds. “We can be excited and nervous at the same time. We can be both.”
A laugh breaks out of me, wet and small. “You’re annoyingly mature now.”
He exhales, like it’s a relief. “It’s tragic, isn’t it?”
I stare at him, at the warmth in his eyes, at the way he’s looking at me like I’m not alone in this.
Then he swallows, once, hard—like he’s decided something.
“I need one second,” he says.
“Logan—”
“I’ll be right back,” he promises, and he slips out of the bathroom.
I’m left standing there, staring at the test like it might vanish if I blink.
Positive.
It doesn’t change.
It stays real.
I hear him in the bedroom, drawers opening, a soft thud, a muttered curse that sounds like he hit his shin.
Then he’s back, his hands behind his back.
His face is pale in a way that makes my stomach flip again, because now I’m nervous for an entirely different reason.
“Logan?” I whisper.
He steps closer, eyes locked on mine. “This isn’t because of that,” he says immediately, nodding toward the counter. “I mean…that’s incredible. But I’m not doing this because of it.”
My heart pounds.
He shifts his hands forward; a small black box sits in his hand.
