I perch on the arm of the couch with my own slice, watching him fit into this mess of secondhand furniture and human noise.
Six months ago, I was in Stockholm convincing myself I was better off alone. Straightening my hair, trading my glasses for contacts, building a version of myself that couldn’t be hurt because she didn’t want anything real.
I never imagined this. Logan in my childhood living room, surrounded by mismatched furniture that smells faintly of motor oil, laughing at something Tony said. Completely at ease in the chaos of my actual life.
I’m not the Scandinavian ice queen anymore. I’m just Audrey. Frizzy hair, messy family, pizza stains and all.
And that’s exactly who he wanted.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. A sustained, rhythmic vibration that usually means an automated alert.
I pull it out, my breath catching as I see the sender.U.S. Food and Drug Administration.
I don’t realize I’ve stopped breathing until the text on the screen registers.Application Status: Approved.
“Logan,” I whisper.
He’s mid-sentence, trying to explain the physics of a home run to Chris, but he freezes. He knows that tone. He’s across the room in three strides, his eyes scanning my face with terrifying intensity.
“Audrey?”
I turn the screen toward him. “We’re live. NeuraTech is a go. Full FDA approval.”
For a second, the room goes silent. Then, Logan lets out a sound—a sharp, ragged exhale that sounds like a system reboot.
“We did it,” he breathes, his eyes locked on mine. “Audrey, we actually did it.”
My brothers don’t need the technical details. They hear‘approval’and erupt. Mike and Chris let out a whoop, Tony starts pounding on the coffee table, and suddenly Logan and I are being pulled into a series of aggressive, rib-cracking Greene family hugs. He looks startled, his arms hovering awkwardly for a moment before he finally hugs back, a dazed, brilliant smile breaking across his face.
Amidst the shouting, my dad walks over. He’s been quiet most of the night, watching Logan with that discerning ‘Dad’ eye that usually makes boyfriends break into a sweat.
He waits for my brothers to let go, then steps up and gives me a tight hug. “Nice work, kid,” Dad says, voice gruff. He’s wearing his oil-stained work shirt, his hair a mess of gray and thick as ever. I can’t remember the last time he hugged me this hard. I blink against his shoulder, swallow the lump in my throat.
He pulls back to look at me, and his eyes are glassy. “I’m proud of you,” he says, then turns to Logan and claps him on the back with enough force to nearly dislodge a lung. “And you, son. You’ve both worked hard for this. I’m proud of you too.”
I see the exact moment the words hit home. Logan’s throat works as he swallows hard, his eyes shimmering with a sudden, raw brightness.
My dad just gave him the one thing his father never could.
“Thank you, sir,” Logan manages, his voice thick. He looks over at me, and the sheer vulnerability in his expression makes my eyes sting.
My phone starts vibrating again—a frantic stream of texts from the group chat.
Caleb:
SUBMISSION TRACKER JUST TURNED GREEN. I’M BUYING THE FIRST FIVE ROUNDS.
Bennett:
Get to the Alibi. Now. We’re celebrating until the sun comes up.
Dominic:
Congratulations. Well deserved. Now move your asses, I’m already halfway through a scotch (and I’m not even at the club yet)
“They want us at the Alibi,” I say, wiping a stray tear from my cheek and laughing as I show Logan the constant stream of messages.
Logan reads over my shoulder, then kisses the top of my head. “We should go,” he says, voice already steadier. “They’ll riot if we don’t.”
