Hope twists painfully in my chest at the way he calls me baby. “I’m fine. It had to be done,” I say. “But that’s not why Icame back. Logan, I—”
“Logan.” A man hurries into the Blackstone cavern, visibly stressed. I recognize him as one of the vendors we also used for the Candlelight Tour. “Futon Drift’s sound tech needs you.”
“Just a minute,” he says, never taking his eyes off me.
“No, dude,” the man insists. “This guy is anal as fuck. You have to come now and tell him to calm down before he loses his shit.”
Logan groans. “Fuck.” He looks back at me. “Come with me?”
“Yes,” I say. I’d follow him anywhere.
He holds his hand out for me to take, and my heart tightens, painful and pleasurable like stretching a tight muscle. I missed him so goddamn much.
Logan follows the vendor out of the Blackstone gold cavern and to the stage, where another irritated man stands, holding some wires and a microphone. Logan gives my hand one more squeeze before stepping away to address the man’s tangle of wires.
“That was fast!” Emily says when she spots me. She looks relieved. “All made up, huh? Good for you. Here, take these. You’re up, Sierra.”
She shoves the cards and microphone into my hands and disappears.
The first poet stares at me. “Aren’t you going to announce me?” he asks balefully.
Welp. Guess the emotional reckoning with Logan will have to wait.
I click on the microphone. “Thank you, Candice, from Sagebrush Bank! First up, Tomas Ruiz with his poem, ‘Target Practice.’”
Logan reappears at my side. He’s so beautiful it makes my eyes sting.
“Your sister skipped out on us,” I explain as he looks around for backup. “I suppose I deserve it, leaving you guys in a lurch for this event. That was shitty of me. I’m so sorry.”
Almost like he can’t help himself, Logan reaches up and gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear—a tender gesture that makes my breath hitch.
It makes me feel reckless in the best way.
“This is chaos, but I can’t wait another moment,” I confess. “I’m sorry I let my shame outweigh what really matters. And what really matters is that I love you, Logan. I’m sorry I let my shame and fear upstage that, because what I feel for you? It’s so powerful. I’ve been half a soul since we parted. Look, I know I don’t deserve a second chance. Oh god, athirdchance, really.”
“Sierra, I—”
Tomas the poet steps off the stage and hisses at us, “Announce the next poet!”
“Fuck,” Logan mutters. He grabs the mic. “Emily LaSalle, please report back to the stage—we need an emcee.” He glances at the next card. “Our next poet is Izzy McClean with ‘Moonbeam.’”
“Sierra!” Izzy exclaims. Her lavender highlights glow under the strong stage lights. “You’re back! Hopefully for good this time?”
My heart beats heavily as I meet Logan’s eyes. “If Logan will have me.”
“Yes,” Logan says firmly as he wraps his arms around me. “Sierra belongs herewith me.”
The microphone picks up his words, and they reverberate through the cave straight into my heart.
A cheer echoes. “Yay, Sierra and Logan!”
“Ah, fuck,” he mutters. “Well, I just made this very public.” He looks at me, softer now. “Sierra, I love you too. I know we can’t—and shouldn’t—work through all our problems at this very moment, but I want us to try. Will you?”
“I will.”
Then Logan is kissing me as another cheer erupts around us.
“All right, you two, find another cave to make out in,” Izzy says as she steps up to perform.
