Unfortunately, we don’t have time for him to order me onto the table so he can eat me out like last time. But he gives me a kiss so grounding I almost believe it will be enough to fix the world.
“You’re not in this alone,” he says. His voice is low, rough around the edges. “You never were. I’ve got you, Audrey. I’ll fix this. I promise.”
“OK.”
His thumbs are still moving against my cheeks, slow and soothing. “And I can promise that whatever happens with this deadline, whatever happens with the FDA, we figure it out together. That’s the deal. That’s always been the deal.”
I close my eyes. The panic is still there, lurking at the edges, but it’s not drowning me anymore. Logan’s hands on my face are an anchor. His breath against my skin is a reminder that I’m not alone in this room, in this crisis, in this life.
“OK,” I whisper. “OK. Go fix the server.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’m good now.” I open my eyes and manage a shaky smile. “Go be a tech genius. I’ll be here when you get back.”
He kisses my forehead—quick and firm—then pulls away, already shifting into problem-solving mode. I watch him grab his keys, check his phone, fire off a company-wide email about the situation.
At the door, he pauses and looks back at me.
“Try to get some rest,” he says. “I’ll text you updates.”
“I’m not going to rest.”
“I know. But try anyway.” The corner of his mouth quirks. “I love you.”
The words land soft and sure, just a fact of the universe—as constant as gravity, as reliable as code.
“I love you too,” I say. “Now go.”
He grins, a full-wattage smile, and then he’s gone.
I definitely don’t rest.
Instead, I make coffee. I pace. I check my phone approximately nine hundred times. I try to do something useful—print out the paper copies of our documentation checkliststhat are local on my drive, review the submission requirements for the thousandth time—but my brain won’t focus on anything except the silence from Logan.
At 3:17 a.m., a text:Found the problem. Power supply failure in the primary cooling unit. Replacing now.
At 4:02 a.m.:Cooling back online. Running system diagnostics.
At 4:48 a.m.:Diagnostics clear. Bringing servers back up. Should have access in 20.
At 5:14 a.m., my monitor flickers. The connection icon spins. And then?—
Files. Folders. Everything exactly where we left it.
I slump in my chair, relief flooding through me so fast it makes me dizzy.
When Logan walks back into the lab thirty minutes later, he looks like he’s been wrestling with industrial equipment. His hair is wild, there’s a smear of something dark on his jaw, and his sleeves are rolled up past his elbows. He’s carrying two cups of coffee from the place down the street that opens at five for the early commuters.
“Server’s back,” he says, handing me a cup. “All systems nominal. We’re good to go.”
I take the coffee and just stare at him for a moment. This man who spent four hours alone in a server room in the middle of the night because I needed him to. Who diagnosed a cooling failure and replaced a power supply and brought an entire system back online while I sat here feeling helpless.
“My hero,” I say. “You did it.”
“It’s what I do.” He drops into the chair beside me, exhaustion finally showing in the slump of his shoulders. “Although I’ll admit, the power supply was more corroded than I expected. Bennett’s going to need to have a conversation with his facilities team about preventive maintenance.”
“Logan.”
