10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
Logan
The taxi dispatch says the taxi will arrive in ten minutes, leaving Mac and I standing outside with nothing to do. I start humming Enter Sandman, and Mac’s eyes fall on me, speculation shining in them.
“What?” I ask.
“Metallica? Really?”
“What should I be singing? Miley Cyrus?”
“I happen to like Miley...,” Mac says, flashing me a smile.
“I can’t believe you! You have such terrible, terrible taste,” I groan.
“This coming from the guy who has Power Ranger pajamas?”
“I’ll have you know, Power Rangers was the shit back in the day,” I say loftily. Mac laughs, that soft genuine sound that I haven’t heard in far too long. It does something to my chest—like it unclenches a part of me that’s been locked up for years.
“Oh, I know it was the shit,” she teases, nudging me lightly with her shoulder. “But I didn’t realize it was still your bedtime fashion statement.” I raise an eyebrow, smirking. “Your just jealous you don’t have matching pajamas. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your My Little Pony obsession. Her laugh comes again, and this time its louder, fuller, and I realize I’d do just about anything to keep hearing it.
“Okay, you got me there.” She says, shaking her head. “But at least I outgrew mine.”
“Oh, so now you’re too good for nostalgia?” I mock, crossing my arms dramatically. “Next you’re going to tell me you don’t know the entire theme song anymore.” She gasps, clutching her chest in mock offense. “Excuse me, I could still sing the whole thing, backwards and blindfolded, if I had to.” I chuckle, the sound blending with the faint hum of traffic down the street. God, it feels like old times—the weight of everything hasn’t completely crushed us yet. Her smile falters for a split second, and I catch it before she schools her face again.
“I missed this,” I say softly, the words slipping out before I can stop them. She looks at me, her eyes searching mine. “Me too.” She admits, her voice quiet. For a moment the air between us feels heavy again, like it’s holding all the things we’ve left unsaid.
“So, tell me about the Bruja you found yourself working for?”
Mac shoots me a look. “Be nice. Patty is the best.”
Be nice. Probably a solid plan unless I want to wake up covered in warts. Or worse.
“I’m not arguing with that. She looked into my soul at a glance—powerful and wise.” I pause, eyeing her. “So, what’s the story? How’d you end up working for her?”
Mac exhales, her fingers toying with the hem of her sleeve. “I kind of… stumbled into Patty’s. Literally. I was a mess when I got here, Logan.” Her voice softens, and my chest tightens.
She hesitates, then shakes her head like she’s brushing something off. “I was looking for work, and it turns out, people don’t really want to hire someone with no past references and no clue where they’re headed next.”
I clench my jaw, hating the thought of her struggling alone.
“But Patty?” Mac huffs a small laugh. “She took one look at me, made me sit down, and put a plate of food in front of me before I could even ask for a job.”
Of course she did.
“She just… knew,” Mac continues. “I don’t know how else to explain it. She sees things in people, beyond what they show the world.” Her lips tilt into a small smile. “She asked if I needed a fresh start. When I said yes, she handed me an apron and told me my shift started the next morning.”
I huff out a breath, shaking my head. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.” Mac shrugs. “And later that day, she pointed me toward The Rosewood. Said I needed a place where I wouldn’t feel like a guest but part of a home.” She pauses, her expression unreadable. “She was right.”
I study her, the way her fingers tap lightly against her thigh. “She looked after you.”
“She still does,” Mac says. “She watches out for everyone who steps into that diner, but with me… I don’t know, it’s like she sees the cracks I try to cover.” She shakes her head, laughing softly. “She doesn’t let me get away with much. If I come in looking tired, she’ll shove a cup of tea in my hands before I even sit down. If I get lost in my head, she’ll snap me out of it before I spiral.”
Sounds like she’s done more for Mac in a few months than I managed in years.
“She’s a good woman, Logan,” Mac says, her voice softer now. “She gave me a chance when I needed it the most.”
I swallow against the lump in my throat. “Yeah,” I murmur. “Sounds like she’s got a good read on people.”
Mac nods, smiling at some distant thought. “Yeah. She really does.”
I watch her for a second, taking in the way she tucks her hair behind her ear, the ease in her posture when she talks about this woman who gave her a place to land. And for the first time since I found her, I realize—she didn’t just survive. She found something. A home. A little piece of stability.
And it’s thanks to Patty.
“Alright,” I say, clearing my throat. “I gotta meet this Bruja properly. And, more importantly—” I point a finger at her. “—I need more of those eggs.”
Mac laughs, shaking her head. “Yeah, yeah. Come on, city boy. I’ll bring you back later and get you fed. You should try her brownies if you think the eggs are good. I could eat a whole tray full.”
I narrow my eyes. “Now that sounds like a challenge.”
Mac smirks. “Trust me, you’d lose. Patty’s brownies are the real deal.”
I can’t help but grin. “Guess I’ll just have to see for myself.”
The distant rumble of the taxi’s engine breaks the spell. Mac clears her throat, turning to glance down the street. “Looks like our chariot awaits.”
“Yeah,” I say, even though I can’t tear my eyes away from her. She shifts on her feet, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and I know the moment’s gone. But as we climb inside the taxi, her shoulder brushing against mine, I can’t help but think it’s not entirely lost either. We’ve still got time. I watch Mac cradle her injured hand as she scoots across the seat, her face scrunching up in pain with every movement. Without thinking I reach for her, gently taking her bad hand in mine. Her skin is impossibly soft under my touch, fragile in a way that tugs at something deep in me.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened to your hand?” I ask, my voice low.
“There’s nothing to tell.” Her tone is dismissive, but her eyes betray her.
Outside the taxi window, the city blurs past—trees and buildings, kids running on the sidewalk, dodging the coffee-drinking, phone-scrolling crowd. My mind drifts, caught between the present and memories of Braden and me as kids, racing ahead while Mac struggled to keep up, her laughter ringing behind us.
“So, did you fall?” I prod, bringing myself back to the moment.
“No,” she sighs, like she knows she’s losing this battle. “It was…a photographer. You know, one of those vultures that usually hounds you and the guys. Words were exchanged, and I punched him. That’s all.”
“Jesus, angel…” I breathe out, gripping her hand a little tighter.
“No harm done.” She tries to say lightly, but her voice wavers.
“Obviously there was. Look at your fucking hand.” My stomach twists at the sight of the bruising. “What happened? Were you sticking up for pretty boy?” “Logan!”, she snaps, like I just cursed in church. I fight to keep a straight face, but a grin breaks through. “What? Were you his knight in shining armor?”
“No.” She retorts with a huff, her lips twitching like she’s trying not to smile. “He was mine.” Her eyes darken slightly, glinting with mischief. “I was a damsel in distress, and he swept me up in his big, thick arms. Afterward we had mad, passionate sex.”
“What?” I blurt out, my stomach plunging as my blood goes cold. The look on her face is priceless as she bursts out laughing. “Relax, Logan. I’m joking. He wasn’t even there until the end. Patty clobbered one of them over the head with a napkin dispenser, and I slugged the other. Then they ran off like cowards.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, relief flooding through me. It sounds like a nightmare, but all I can focus on is the fact that her joke wasn’t real.
“It’s not funny, Logan.” She says, her voice softer now. “I was really scared.” I try to keep a straight face, but I lose it. “Like hell you were scared. Admit it—you were more worried about losing your job.”
“Well…” she hesitates, her lips twitching like she’s fighting a grin. “Maybe.”
I can’t stop laughing now, the tension finally breaking. “You’ve always been like that—so sensible.”
“Sensible?” she repeats, indignant. “I punched a man twice my size!”
“I said sensible. I didn’t say smart.”
She glares at me for half a second before we both dissolve into laughter, the sound filling the small space between us.
“I missed you, angel.” I say, my voice quieter now. I don’t even think about it as I reach for her, pulling her into me. Her head tucks under my chin, and I breathe her in—the soft, sweet scent of wild orchids and honey, threaded with rose petals. It hits me like a punch to the gut, the way it always has. It’s home. She murmurs something against my chest, her voice muffled against my shirt. I think it’s I missed you, too , but I can’t be sure. And honestly. I don’t care. Having her in my arms again is enough.
“So, this is the place?” I glance up at the house, it’s New England charm on full display. The kind of place that probably looks cozy under a blanket of snow but comes with a nightmare of shoveling. Mac narrows her eyes at me.
“Yeah. This is the boarding house.”
“Seems nice.” I let the words hand, waiting for what I know is coming.
“It is…” she starts, but there it is—her tone drops.
“But?” I prod, arching an eyebrow.
She frowns crossing her arms. “But we have a problem.” I step closer, tilting her chin up so her eyes meet mine. “What’s wrong, angel?” I soften my voice.
“I don’t have my key to get in.”
I blink. “You’re right. That is a problem. Stay here.”
Before she can argue, I jump off the porch and start circling the house. The back is quiet, just trees swaying, and the faint hum of distant traffic. I spot a kitchen window left slightly ajar. Jackpot.
Climbing up onto the sill, I wrestle it open wider. My fingers stretch for the handle on the bay window just out of reach. The rush of breaking into the place isn’t lost on me. Sweat beads on my brow, more from the thrill than the effort.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Mac’s voice startles me, and I lose my grip. I crash three feet down into a flower bed with a graceless oomph .
“Oh, my god, Logan! Are you okay?” She’s kneeling next to me in an instant, her hand warm on my shoulder. Her touch sends a spark through me, even as I groan in pain.
“You know,” I mutter, rolling onto my back, “You really shouldn’t sneak up on a man breaking into a house. It’s dangerous.”
She bursts into laughter, her face lighting up in that way that makes everything else fade to the background. The sun catches her dark waves, turning some strands gold. She’s beautiful—so damn beautiful it hurts to look at her sometimes.
“For you, maybe!” she teases, her laughter still bubbling out of her.
“Apparently,” I grumble, dragging myself to my feet. “So, angel, what’s the plan? Or did you just want to catch me by surprise so you could have your wicked way with me in the flower bed?” Her cheeks flush deep red. “I came to tell you the windows are locked from the inside.”
I blink. “So that whole exercise was pointless, huh?”
“Yep.”
“Next time warn me in advance. I know I’ve got a cute ass, but I’d rather not damage it.” She snorts, shaking her head, and we head back to the front of the house, settling on the porch swing. I brush leaves and dirt off my jeans while she stares out at the street, quiet for a moment.
“So…” I say after a moment, “What’s so special about Portland? Why’d you have to come here?”
She tilts her head back, a wistful smile curling her lips. “Darts.”
It takes me a second but then it clicks. “Darts,” I repeat, grinning.
It was her and Braden’s thing. When they couldn’t agree on a destination, they’d throw a dart at a map. No arguments. No takebacks. It’s how our band picked our first venue, too. I never questioned it back then. Still don’t.
“Thought you remembered, and that’s how you found me,” she muses, studying me. I let out a laugh. “Sorry, Chica. I’m a little more modern than that!”
“How so?”
“Well, you had a map. I have GPS.” She narrows her eyes, holding up her phone. “You used the ‘Find Me’ app from Braden’s phone, didn’t you?”
I smirk, nodding. Her lips twitch, caught somewhere between annoyance and amusement. “You’re such a cheater.”
“Efficient.” I correct, leaning back and letting my arm rest behind her on the swing. For a moment, we just sit there, the past and present swirling between us. It’s quiet, but it feels like everything is shifting back into place.
“What?” I ask, noticing the way Mac’s looking at me. Her expression is unreadable, a mix of amusement and something deeper. She doesn’t answer, just shifts in her seat to face me fully. Her legs slide between mine, her knees brushing against me. The closeness sends a jolt of awareness through me.
“You’ve got something on your face.” she says softly, leaning forward.
I furrow my brow. “What? Dirt? A bug? Tell me!”
She smirks, shaking her head, but she doesn’t elaborate. Instead, her hand reaches out, her fingers brushing my forehead. “Hold still.” she murmurs.
Her touch is light but deliberate, her fingertips skimming over my brow as she moves some hair aside. Then her hand trails down my left cheekbone, slow and careful, like she’s memorizing the contours of my face.
“You had some dirt…and a flower petal.” she says, her voice faltering as she rake’s her fingers through my hair, her palm grazing the back of my neck.
The breath I didn’t realize I was holding escapes in a shallow exhale. Her touch feels too good, too natural, and when she starts to pull away, I catch her wrist.
“Wait,” I say softly.
Her eyes widen slightly, her lips parting as her breath catches.
I should stop.
Braden’s voice—the one that’s haunted me for years—echoes in the back of my mind. Promise me, Logan. Promise me you’ll never touch her. Never cross that line.
I swore I wouldn’t. I swore on my fucking life.
But I can’t stop. Not now.
“What are you—” she begins, her voice barely above a whisper.
I silence her with the press of my hands, cupping her face like she’s something breakable, something sacred. My thumbs graze her cheekbones, and she trembles beneath my touch. It undoes me. Every shred of restraint I thought I had left crumbles to ash.
My gaze drops to her lips—full, soft, perfect . A single breath separates us, and I swear I can taste her already, feel the heat of her skin radiating against mine.
She doesn’t pull away.
She tilts her chin, just a fraction, just enough.
A low sound rumbles in my chest as I lean in, the space between us vanishing, the air thick with something dangerous, something electric.
I’ve wanted this for as long as I can remember. And fuck, I don’t think I can stop myself anymore.
Just as I’m about to kiss her, her phone chirps, sharp and obnoxious, shattering the moment.
Mac jerks back, blinking like she’s waking from a dream. She pulls her phone from her pocket, her cheeks flushed a deep rose. “H-hello?” she stammers, her voice unsteady.
I lean back against the swing with a groan, throwing my arm over my eyes. Great timing, technology .
As she moves to the edge of the porch to take the call, the sun catches in her hair, illuminating the strands like spun gold. She looks like something out of a dream, framed by honeysuckle vines swaying gently in the breeze.
I try to refocus my thoughts, but my mind drifts back to the road. I don’t know how long I can stay before Phil tracks me down, ready to drag me back to the tour. My contract is clear—and I can’t just vanish, no matter how much I want to.
“That was Clay. Dean’s brother,” Mac says, interrupting my spiraling thoughts as she sits back down near my feet, “He’ll be here in about an hour to let us in.”
I nod, the weight of unspoken words heavy between us. After a moment, I pat the space beside me. “C’mon, angel. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
Her eyes narrow, a flicker of suspicion crossing her face.
“Relax,” I tease with a smirk, “I’ll be the perfect gentleman. Scout’s honor.” She huffs a laugh, but doesn’t argue, moving closer and lying down beside me. Her head rests on my arm, and I don’t care that it’ll probably go numb in a few minutes.
The swing sways gently beneath us, the vines and roof offering shade from the sun. A breeze rustles the honeysuckle, carrying its sweet scent, mingling with hers—wild orchids and vanilla.
The silence stretches, but it’s comfortable, like we’re in a bubble separate from the world.
“I didn’t want to leave you, Logan.” She finally whispers, her voice soft, but heavy with meaning. “I’m sorry.”
I press a kiss to the top of her head, the warmth of her hair grounding me.
“ Te perdono , angel.” I murmur. “There’s that word again. Sorry. I think we might have to make it into a new shot tradition, what say you, angel?” She snorts and nods. I felt so peaceful in that moment so content with my pulse steadying. I was going to tell the guys I had found her soon enough, but for now, with nothing to do, I was content.
I’m not angry anymore. She’s here. She’s safe. And for now, that’s enough.