I push back from my desk and stand, because I can’t sit still. Can’t sit there staring at a dead screen while the deadline looms over us like a guillotine.
“Seventy-two hours,” I say. “We have seventy-two hours to compile the entire submission package, and we can’t access a single file.”
“I know.”
“Everything is on that server. The validation data. The clinical protocols. The security documentation. Three months of work, and we can’t?—”
“Audrey.” Logan’s voice is still calm, but there’s an edge to it now. “I know.”
“Then why aren’t you panicking?”
“Because panicking doesn’t fix servers.” He looks up from his phone. “I need to go to the data center. Physically. Whatever’s wrong, I can’t diagnose it remotely.”
“Now? It’s two in the morning.”
“Servers don’t keep business hours.” He’s already grabbing his jacket. “I’ll text you when I know what’s wrong. You stay here and?—”
“And what?” The words come out sharper than I intended. “Sit here staring at a blank screen? Twiddle my thumbs while our entire project is inaccessible?”
“Audrey—”
“This is my brainchild.” I’m pacing now, sneakers squeaking against the lab floor. “It’s so close to being born, and I can’t do a single thing to help because I don’t know how to fix a server—I only know how to use one. Right now I feel completely fucking useless.”
I hate how small my voice sounds. I hate the tears burning behind my eyes—not because the server is down, but because I need to bedoingsomething, and there’s nothing I can do.
“This was supposed to be the easy part,” I whisper. “The validation worked. The simulation passed. We were supposed to just be compiling documents and double-checking formatting and—” My voice cracks. “We were so close, Logan.”
“We’re still close.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t know what’s wrong with the server. What if it’s catastrophic? What if we’ve lost everything?”
“We haven’t lost everything. The data exists. It’s on physical drives in a physical location. The server being down doesn’t mean the data is gone—it means we can’t access it right now.” He takes a step toward me. “And I’m going to fix that.”
“What if you can’t?”
“Then we figure out our options. But I’m not going to stand here catastrophizing when I could be solving the problem.” Another step. He’s close enough now that I can see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands are flexing at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to reach for me. “What I need from you right now is to trust me.”
“I do trust you.”
“Then I need to go fix this.”
“I can’t just—” I press my palms against my eyes, trying to push back the tears that are threatening to spill over. “I don’t know how to stand here and do nothing. I don’t know how to let someone else handle it. I’ve always been the one who fixes things. My whole life, I’ve been the one who holds everything together, and right now I can’t hold anything because there’s nothing to hold, and I hate it.”
“Audrey.” His voice is softer now. “Look at me.”
I drop my hands. He’s right in front of me, close enough to touch, his expression somewhere between worried and determined.
“You’re not useless,” he says. “And you’re not doing nothing. You’ve already done the hard part—the part that actually matters. You built something that’s going to change people’s lives. The server going down doesn’t erase that. It’s just a technical problem, and technical problems have solutions.”
“But—”
He kisses me.
Not a desperate kiss. Not a frantic attempt to shut me up. Something slower. Deliberate. His hands come up to cup my face, thumbs brushing across my cheekbones, and he kisses me like we have all the time in the world. Like there isn’t a deadline bearing down on us. Like the only thing that matters right now is this—his mouth on mine, gentle and grounding and impossibly steady.
I resist at first. My body is still wound tight with panic, my mind still racing through worst-case scenarios. But Logan doesn’t let go. He just keeps kissing me, soft and patient, until the tension in my shoulders starts to ease. Until my hands, which had been clenched into fists at my sides, uncurl and find their way to his chest. Until the spiral slows, then stops, then dissolves into something quieter.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, and I’m reminded of the last time I spiraled in this same lab, after a different kind of crisis.Is this how you’re going to handle all our arguments?I’d asked.Making me come until I’m compliant?
