9. Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Kayla
The ache in my wrist is the first thing I notice when I wake up, followed by the sterile scent of gauze and the faint traces of antiseptic clinging to my skin. For a moment, I’m disoriented. The unfamiliar ceiling, the lingering haze of pills—none of it feels real. Then it hits me. The emergency room. The X-rays. A sprain, not a break. I blow out a shaky breath, cradling my wrist to my chest.
A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. I wince as I get out of bed, the sharp twinge in my wrist a reminder of last night. “Shit.” I mutter, clutching it closer as I shuffle to the door, yawning into my good hand.
Dean leans casually against the frame, the lazy smile on his face enough to disarm anyone. In one hand, he holds a steaming mug; and clamped between his teeth, a single flower, like some corny romantic lead. I can’t help it –I laugh, the sound surprising me as much as him.
He takes the flower from his mouth and offers the mug with a flourish. “Morning, sunshine. Thought you could use a pick me up.”
I roll my eyes but take the mug gratefully, letting the warmth seep into my uninjured hand. “Patty called, huh?” I ask, already bracing for the answer.
“Four times,” he says smirking. “She’s worried about you. And before you ask, no, she didn’t expect you in. I told her I’d check on you.” I nod taking a sip of coffee. The bitterness settles something restless inside me. Dean watches me carefully, his easy smile fading.
“You okay?”
I freeze. My first instinct is to say yes, to brush it off. But the words stick in my throat. Instead, I shrug, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. Dean watches me for a beat, then strolls to the window, hands in his pockets. “I take it those pain meds worked a little too well? It’s coming up on lunchtime.”
“What?” My heart skips as I leap out of bed, nearly sloshing coffee over the rim of my mug. The sharp movement sends a jolt through my wrist, but I barely notice in my rush. Dean steps forward just in time to grab the mug I thrust as him.
“Easy,” he says, his voice laced with amusement. “What are you doing? Relax. It’s not the end of the world.” Ignoring him, I yank open my wardrobe and start rifling through the hangers, the rattling metal echoing my panic. “Those freaking painkillers knocked me out completely,” I mutter. I grab a tank top and shorts, tossing them onto the bed. “Can you call Patty? Tell her I’m taking a quick shower, and I’ll be there soon.” Dean quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. “Already told her I’d bring you in when you woke up. She practically swore me to secrecy not to wake you, but…by her fourth call to check if you were still alive, she said a coffee delivery was mandatory.” I nudge him aside with my shoulder to reach the dresser, pulling out underwear as if he isn’t standing there watching me. “Five minutes.” I call over my shoulder, waving vaguely. He lingers, looking like he wants to say something, but eventually shrugs and ambles toward the door. Two minutes later, I’m out the shower, towel-drying my hair as steam curls around me. I dress quickly, fumbling with my tank top and wincing at the tug on my wrist. Mascara and lip-gloss go on in a rushed, uneven swipe. Satisfied enough, I barrel down the stairs, through the parlor, and straight past Dean, pausing only to press against the door with my injured hand.
“MOTHERFUC—” I yelp, recoiling.
Dean is at my side in an instant, his hand light on my back. “Forgot about your hand, eh.” he says, with an exaggerated sigh.
“For a moment…” I admit through gritted teeth, pulling it against my chest.
“Want some painkillers?”
“What, so I can pass out at work? No thanks.” We both laugh, the tension breaking. Dean tilts my chin up with a knowing smile.
“She’s really not expecting you in today, you know?” he says, softly.
“Oh, stop being such a wimp and start the car.” I retort, brushing past him. He chuckles and heads toward the car while I follow, tucking my wrist close for comfort. Ten minutes later, we pull up outside Patty’s diner. The sight of the familiar building should bring relief, but my chest tightens instead. I know she wasn’t expecting me, but the thought of taking advantage of her kindness weighs heavy.
As I step out of the car, a low, familiar rumble freezes me in place. The sound rolls past shaking the glass panes of the diner’s windows. It’s impossible not to recognize it—a deep, guttural growl from an engine my brother spent years rebuilding. Braden’s car.
A shiver runs through me, gooseflesh prickling along my arms. Of course, it’s not really his car. It can’t be. My rational mind knows this, but my body reacts anyway. Memories press in—the sight of his grease-streaked hands, the warm scent of motor oil lingering in the garage. He’d refused to touch a penny of the money our parent’s left us, insisting every part he bought with his own earnings.
I swallow hard, willing the past to loosen its grip. Not now. Not here.
“Oh, heavens! Look what the cat dragged in.” Patty’s voice rings out behind the counter, pulling me back to the present. Dean steps inside ahead of me, his tone cold but playful. “Bought her in one piece.” he says, glancing back with a grin. “Are you going to give her a written warning, or just fire her outright?”
“Dean.” I mutter, elbowing him sharply. Patty doesn’t acknowledge his jab, bustling out from behind the register to greet me. “How are you, dear?” she asks, her tone warm but her eyes sharp with concern.
The door jingles as it swings open behind me, but I barely notice. Patty’s warm hand is on my shoulder steering me toward the counter. “Sit. You shouldn’t overdo it.” Her voice fades into the background as I nod absently, still shaking from the sound of the engine earlier. I reach for the coffee pot, more for something to do than out of any real need. My thoughts are already swirling, Braden’s name like a whispered echo in my mind.
“Mac?”
The mug in my hand slips, the crash of ceramic against the floor echoing in the silent diner. I freeze, my breath catching in my chest as if the room has suddenly lost all its air.
That voice.
I turn slowly, feeling my pulse thunder in my ears, afraid that if I move too quickly, this fragile moment will shatter.
And there he is.
Logan stands by a side booth, framed by soft afternoon light streaming through the windows. His hair is shorter than I remember. His bronze skin has a sun-kissed glow, a testament to his Spanish heritage, contrasted sharply by his electric blue eyes. They were arresting, like a sky after a storm, framed by thick, dark lashes, that made them seem even more intense. His shoulders seem broader, his presence overwhelming the room. For a second neither of us moves. It’s as though time itself has stopped, trapping us in this endless stretch of silence. He says my name again, softer this time, like a prayer.
And then something inside me snaps. I’m moving before I can think, crossing the space between us in long, frantic strides. His eyes widen for a moment, his hands coming up instinctively, and then I’m throwing myself into his arms.
The force of it almost knocks him back, but Logan steadies us both, his arms locking around me like a vice. I bury my face in his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt with trembling hands.
“Logan,” I whisper, my voice breaking on his name.
His scent hits me—familiar and achingly missed. The tears I’ve been holding since leaving finally spill over, hot and unrelating. Sobs rack my body, and Logan just holds me tighter, his fingers threading through my hair.
“I’m here,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve got you, angel.”
I pull back slightly, enough to look up at him. His face is raw, etched with the weight of grief and something else. Relief, maybe? Guilt? Love? I see it all in his eyes, and it makes my heart ache in ways I can’t begin to describe.
“I didn’t think…” My words choke off, my throat closing up. I shake my head trying to form an apology I know he deserves, but none of it feels enough. “I’m sorry,” I manage, the words barely audible.
Logan’s brows draw together, and he shakes his head. “Don’t. Don’t do that. You don’t have to –” his voice falters, and he exhales sharply. “I’ve missed you so much, Mac.”
Something in his tone breaks me all over again. I feel the weight of Braden’s absence pressing down on us, an invisible specter in the space between our bodies. It’s impossible not to feel the guilt, the shame, for how things fell apart—how I let them fall apart.
“I thought you hated me,” I admit, my voice trembling. “After everything, how I walked away after Braden’s…how I couldn’t find the words to text you…”
Logan’s grip tightens, his forehead dropping to mine. “Hate you? Never. I could never hate you.” His voice cracks and I feel his breath on my face. “I’ve been so scared you’d never let me back in.”
The intensity of his words sends a fresh wave of emotion crashing over me. For a moment, the pain of Braden’s loss and the joy of seeing Logan again tangle together, overwhelming me.
“I’m sorry.” I whisper again, tears spilling faster now. “I’m so sorry, Logan.”
His hands cup my face, his thumb brushing away the tears. “Stop. You don’t have to apologize. Not to me.” I shake my head, my lips trembling. “But I do. I do, because I’ve missed you, and I was too scared to...” My voice breaks, and I bury my head in his chest again. “I’m so scared, Logan.”
He kisses the top of my head, his voice soft but steady. “Me, too. But I’m here, angel. We’ll figure it out together.” For the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself believe him.
Dean clears his throat behind us, and I reluctantly pull away, though Logan doesn’t let go of me entirely. His hands stay firm on my waist, grounding me in a way I didn’t know I needed.
I turn to face them, my cheeks warm as I struggle to find my voice.
“This is Logan,” I say, the words catching in my throat. “Logan Dale. He was my brother Braden’s best friend. And mine too. Since we were kids... My brother, he passed...”
Logan’s fingers tighten slightly on my waist at the mention of Braden, and I feel his steadying presence behind me. Patty’s face softens as she comes out from behind the counter.
“I’m so sorry about Braden. I can’t imagine what you’ve been going through.”
Logan nods, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “Thank you.”
Dean steps forward, his posture a little stiff, like he’s not sure what to do with his hands. “Dean,” he says curtly, nodding in Logan’s direction. “I’ve been helping Kayla out while she’s been... getting back on her feet.”
I open my mouth to explain, but Logan’s attention shifts to Dean, his blue eyes sharp and assessing. His hand moves to the small of my back, a simple gesture, but one that says more than words ever could.
“Appreciate that,” Logan says, his voice calm but carrying an edge I’ve only ever heard in his more protective moments. “She’s been through a lot.”
The air feels heavier, a silent tension weaving its way into the space between them. Dean nods, but his jaw tightens slightly. “Yeah. Of course.”
I clear my throat, my voice shaky as I speak. “Logan was there when Braden...” My words falter, and I close my eyes, taking a steadying breath. “When Braden passed, but he had to go back on tour right after. He didn’t have a choice.”
Guilt bubbles up, and I stare at the floor, unable to meet anyone’s gaze.
“Angel, stop,” Logan says, his voice soft but firm as he turns me toward him. His hands come up to rest on my shoulders, and when I finally look up, his eyes are filled with something I don’t deserve.
Understanding.
“You don’t have to explain,” he says, his tone steady and grounding. “Not to them, not to anyone. You hear me?”
My throat tightens, and I nod, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. “I just—”
“Shh.” He pulls me into his arms again, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to carry all of this alone anymore.”
For a moment, I let myself lean into him, let myself believe his words. The room is silent, the weight of it all pressing down on me. Patty busies herself at the counter, wiping an already clean surface, while Dean shifts awkwardly behind us, the scrape of his boot on the floor breaking the stillness.
Logan finally lets me go, but his hand slides down to my lower back again, staying there, a silent reassurance. He glares warily at Dean, his expression unreadable but somehow unyielding. “Thanks for being here for her.” His voice is polite but firm, with no mistaking the subtle edge in his words.
Dean hesitates for a moment, then nods. “Yeah. No problem.”
I take a shaky breath and step back, rubbing at my eyes. “I should get back to work,” I mumble, trying to gather what’s left of my composure.
“No,” Logan says immediately. His tone isn’t sharp, but it leaves no room for argument.
I frown, crossing my arms. “I can’t just—”
“You can,” he interrupts, his gaze steady on mine. “And you will.”
Patty clears her throat, chiming in, “He’s right, Kayla. Take the rest of the day. We’ll be fine here.”
I blink at her, torn between gratitude and frustration. “Fine,” I mutter, throwing Logan a half-hearted glare.
He just smirks, that lopsided grin that has no business looking so good, and holds out his hand. “Good. Let’s go.”
His eyes land on my injured hand, and I know the moment he notices the bandage. His expression darkens. “And you can tell me why the fuck your hand’s bandaged.”
He pauses, his gaze flicking back up to mine, something unreadable behind those blue eyes. “And while you’re at it, you can tell me how the hell you ended up here.”
I sigh, ignoring his offered hand, and brush past him, heading for the door. But before I can push it open, his hand lands gently on my lower back, guiding me like he always has.
Outside, the sun hits my face, and the cool breeze stings my cheeks. I glance up at Logan, and the way he looks at me—like I’m the only thing that matters in the world—makes my heart ache.
“Thank you for coming,” I whisper, the words barely making it past the lump in my throat. My heart beats so loud I’m sure he can hear it.
Logan’s gaze softens, and before I can say anything else, he reaches for my good hand, his fingers sliding between mine with a certainty that feels like home. Like they’ve always belonged there.
He looks at me with those eyes, blue and intense, his voice low and gentle as he says, “I’ll always come for you, angel. Always.”
The world quiets, the words sinking deep into my soul. And in that moment, I know he means it.