25. Epilogue
Epilogue
Logan
It’s been almost six weeks.
Six weeks without her voice. Without her eyes finding mine like they always do. Without her laughter—the kind that used to make my chest feel too damn full, like my heart couldn’t contain it all.
Six weeks of silence.
I drag in a breath, leaning forward in the stiff hospital chair I’ve barely left, my forearms resting on the edge of her bed. Mac lies still, her face too pale against the white sheets, her body small beneath the weight of wires and machines. I hate them. Hate the steady beeping, the way they breathe for her, the way they keep her here but can’t bring her back to me.
I reach for her hand, threading my fingers through hers, needing the contact even if she doesn’t feel it. Even if she doesn’t squeeze back.
I don’t know how to do this without her.
I don’t know how to breathe when she’s not breathing with me.
I stroke my thumb over the back of her hand, my throat burning as I force myself to speak. “You’re missing everything, angel,” I murmur, my voice raw. “The tour’s a fucking mess without you. Sam’s health-freak bullshit is out of control. Trey’s on a rampage. Chace has been writing the most depressing songs I’ve ever heard. And me?” I swallow hard, lifting her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I’m just trying to hold on.”
I close my eyes for a second, exhaling slowly, grounding myself in the feel of her skin, the familiar softness of it.
“I’ve been here every day. Every damn day,” I whisper. “Singing to you. Talking to you. About us, about the future, about all the things we still have to do.” My voice cracks, but I don’t stop. “I promised you forever, and I meant it. But forever feels pretty fucking far away when you’re like this.”
I open my eyes, staring at the slow rise and fall of her chest, at the way the bruises on her skin have faded but the damage is still there, hidden deep where I can’t reach it.
“I need you to wake up, baby,” I rasp. “I need you to come back to me. I don’t know how to do this without you.”
Silence.
Just the soft hum of the machines, the steady beep of her heart, the reminder that she’s still here. Barely.
My fingers tighten around hers. “I love you,” I whisper. “I love you, and I’m not going anywhere. So, whenever you’re ready, angel… I’ll be right here.”
I drop my head against our joined hands, closing my eyes, breathing her in.
“I got you a gift,” I murmur, my voice hoarse from hours—days—of talking to her, even when she couldn’t answer.
I reach into the inside pocket of my leather jacket, my fingers closing around the sleek black box nestled inside. It’s cool against my palm, solid, real. Unlike the surreal nightmare of this hospital room—the steady beep of the monitors, the antiseptic sting in the air, the pale glow of fluorescent lights washing over Mac’s too-still form.
I swallow hard and place the box gently on the bed beside her, lifting the lid with careful fingers. My chest tightens. It looks even more perfect now than it did when I first saw it. Like it was made for her. Like it belongs to her.
I searched everywhere. Spent hours walking through high-end stores, rejecting piece after piece, until this one stopped me in my tracks. It reminded me of us. Of childhood. Of the meadow behind her parents’ house, where we used to run wild, her laughter ringing through the air. Of the daisies she used to pluck, tucking them into the intricate braids her mother wove into her hair, as if every single flower had been meant for her. As if the earth itself was offering them up to her.
I reach out, my fingers grazing the sautoir necklace—its delicate white gold chain glimmering under the dim hospital lights, three different styles of diamond daisies blossoming along its length.
$65,000. A number that means nothing to me.
I’d pay everything I own, sell my soul to the devil himself, if it meant she’d just open her goddamn eyes.
I exhale slowly, my hands steady as I unclasp the necklace and carefully maneuver it behind her neck. The fine chain disappears against her skin, the diamonds resting just above the collar of her hospital gown. My fingertips brush the pulse point at her throat—a weak, fragile flutter that makes my stomach clench.
She’s here. But she isn’t.
The door creaks open, and I don’t bother looking up as the nurse steps inside.
“Wow,” she breathes, peering over my shoulder. “That’s beautiful. Better than flowers.”
I don’t respond. Just smooth the necklace into place, letting my fingers linger for a moment longer than necessary.
She steps closer, resting a warm hand on my shoulder. “You sure have taken great care of her, Logan.”
I shake my head. “I haven’t done anything.” My voice is rough, barely above a whisper.
The nurse gives me a knowing smile. “You think that, but being here? Talking to her, singing, brushing the ends of her hair, cleaning her hands? That’s all helping. You’re doing more than you know, hon.”
I let out a shaky breath, my gaze locked on Mac’s face. So peaceful. Too peaceful.
“Then why isn’t she waking up?”
The nurse squeezes my shoulder. “Give her time. She’s still fighting.”
I nod, pressing my lips together. Fighting.
I just need her to win.
When the hospital called this morning, my heart fucking stopped.
For six weeks, I’ve been living in a nightmare. Six weeks of waiting, of whispering prayers I don’t even believe in, of pressing my lips to her cold, unmoving fingers and begging her to come back to me.
And now she has.
She’s awake.
I drop onto the couch, my elbows digging into my knees, my head hanging low as I try to remember how to fucking breathe.
Chace walks through the door, yawning, completely oblivious to the way my world just cracked wide open. “Mornin’,” he says, flopping down next to me.
“Mornin’…” My voice comes out rough, unsteady.
Chace studies me, his green eyes narrowing. “You off to see Mac?”
I swallow hard. “Just got the call.”
His posture stiffens. “Shit… is she— is she okay?”
“She’s awake.” The words barely make it past my lips, adrenaline and panic colliding in my chest. “They just called—said she’s awake.”
Fuck. What if she’s scared? What if she’s asking for me and I’m not there?
I shove to my feet, patting my pockets—phone, wallet, keys—before bolting for the door.
“That’s fucking awesome, Logan! Wait—I’ll drive. And call the others before they lose their shit.” Chace scrambles up, grabbing his keys.
I hesitate for half a second before nodding. The hospital is only ten minutes away, but it might as well be a lifetime. The whole ride there, my leg bounces, my fingers drumming against my thigh. My chest is too tight, my pulse a hammer against my ribs. I keep glancing at the clock on the dash, every second stretching too damn long.
When Chace pulls up outside, I’m out of the car before he even shifts into park.
“I’ll come up with the others… go on Logan, you’ve been waiting for this.” I nod, eyes misting up. I slam the door shut before sprinting toward the entrance.
The hospital doors slide open, sterile air rushing past me, but I barely register it. My mind is already upstairs, in her room. I take the stairs two at a time, my heart in my throat, my hands shaking as I round the last corner.
Then I see her doctor, June, stepping out of Mac’s room.
My body locks up.
Her eyes meet mine, and she smiles—fucking smiles—and for the first time in weeks, I can actually breathe.
“Ah, Logan. I’m glad you’re here,” she says, resting a hand on my arm. “She woke up about an hour ago.”
The words hit me like a freight train. I sway with the impact, my fingers curling into fists at my sides, my entire body trembling from the force of it.
She’s awake.
She’s awake.
She’s awake.
I was afraid I had been dreaming… that I imagined the whole thing due to lack of sleep.
June keeps talking, but I don’t hear her. My heart is a war drum, pounding too fast, too loud. Every inch of me is strung too tight, like if I don’t get into that fucking room in the next five seconds, I might actually break.
“She woke up about an hour ago,” she repeats gently. “The nurses were going to call you.”
I barely manage to nod, my throat too thick to speak.
“I’ll, uh… I’ll be right back with her chart,” she says, squeezing my arm before walking away.
But I don’t wait.
I can’t wait.
I push open the door, step inside.
There she is.
Mac.
Her eyes are open. Her beautiful fucking eyes. A little hazy, a little unfocused, but they’re there.
She’s here.
Alive.
Breathing.
Looking right at me.
“Hey,” I murmur softly. June walks back into the room, tugging at my shoulder with an encouraging smile.
Mac looks surprised to see me. “Hey.”
“It’s so good to see you awake at last, angel.” I say, gripping the end of the bed to keep myself upright.
“How are you feeling, Mackayla?” June asks.
“My head hurts,” she admits sheepishly, speaking like she’s recovering from a hangover.
“Okay…what about what I said earlier. Any luck?”
Mac looks at me flatly, then back at June, slowly shaking her head. June flashes her another reassuring smile before backing up. She nudges me to move with her, but that isn’t going to happen. I’m not letting Mac out of my sight. Not now…not ever.
“Let’s see if I can grab you something for your head,” Jue says, before turning to leave. I wait until the door clicks shut before stepping closer. “I was really worried about you,” I say.
Mac’s face lights up. “That’s sweet…,” she replies. My heart swells to twice its size. Just seeing her face light up like that makes the wait worth it. She’s awake, and she’s going to be okay. “But I bet you say that about all your patients,” Mac adds, her cheeks reddening.
“Only you, angel. It can only ever be you,” I say with a wink. As I sit on the edge of her bed and move to kiss her forehead, she puts her hand up to stop me.
“Cool your jets, doc.” she says, suddenly serious. “Can’t you lose your license for doing shit like that?”
“What?” I say, confused.
“Sexual harassment…it’s serious in your profession, right?”
A feeling creeps over me, cold and paralyzing. The room tilts.
“You…you do know who I am, right? Angel?”
Her expression shifts, nervous now. “You’re a doctor.” She says slowly, securing the blanket around her. I shake my head, barely breathing. The world tilts violently beneath me, like the floors been ripped away, leaving nothing but the black abyss below. My pulse thunders in my ears, drowning out every rational thought.
No. no, no, no.
This can’t be happening.
My hands tremble as I reach for the bed, needing something—anything—to steady myself.
My angel.
My Mac.
She’s staring at me like I’m a stranger, just another face in the room. My stomach knots so tight it’s physically painful.
“Mac,” I whisper, forcing the word out through the suffocating pressure in my chest. “It’s me. Logan.”
Her brows furrows, her lips parting slightly, but there’s no recognition in her eyes. Just confusion. Wary, guarded confusion.
“I—I’m sorry,” she stammers. “Should I know you?”
Something shatters inside me. It’s not just pain—it’s devastation, raw and unforgiving. I feel it crack through my ribs, splintering into something jagged, something unbearable.
I spent weeks by her side. Held her hand. Sang to her. Begged her to come back to me. And now she’s awake, and I’ve lost her anyway.
My angel is gone.
She doesn’t even know who I am.
And just like that, every wall, every ounce of strength I’ve been clinging to for weeks, shatters.
To be continued…
Keep an eye out for book two in my Burnt Ashes series, Holding Onto You , coming 2025.