Chapter Twenty
Logan
I guess that's what you get
It's true what they say
As soon as you stop looking, it's right in front of your face
Cause there you were and there I was and here we are, I tell you what
True love, it happens like that
- ‘Happens like that’ Granger Smith
I could count on one hand how many times my mother had made pot roast in the last year.
So when I smell it from the driveway, rich and heavy in the air, I know tonight isn’t just dinner, it’s something else.
Pot roast is her peace offering, her olive branch, her way of signaling that whatever’s about to go down should be cushioned with comfort food.
Mac steps off my bike, boots hitting the gravel with a crunch, and looks up at the house like it’s haunted and holy all at once.
The porch light throws a warm glow across her face, softening the tension in her features, but I can still see the nerves in the way her shoulders stiffen.
She’s been here before, plenty of times growing up, especially with Shaina being her best friend, but tonight isn’t like those other nights.
Tonight, she’s not just “Mac from next door” or “Shaina’s friend.
” Tonight, she’s mine. My old lady. The woman I’ve claimed in front of the club, the family, and the world that matters to me.
“You ready for this?” I ask, resting my hand at the small of her back. I feel the warmth of her through the thin cotton of her shirt, the subtle shift of her breath when she glances toward the door.
Her lips curve into a small smile, but her eyes flick to the entrance again. “That depends. Are you gonna tell me why your mom called me by my full name when she invited me?”
I grin, a slow pull at the corner of my mouth. “That’s her version of rolling out the red carpet. Means she’s serious.”
She snorts, a little huff of air through her nose, but doesn’t pull away when I bend down and kiss her temple.
Inside, it smells like Sunday dinners used to smell before everything cracked wide open, before years of silence, before the arguments that left holes in the drywall and in our family.
There’s the rich scent of gravy, the earthy note of potatoes, and underneath it all, the faint smell of the lemon polish my mom still uses on the dining table.
My dad is already at the table, flipping through some bike magazine he never actually reads, the pages turning with deliberate slowness. My mom is in the kitchen, hovering over the gravy like it’s a live grenade that might go off if she looks away.
And Shaina, Shaina’s leaning against the counter with a half-empty wine glass, her cheeks flushed, her grin wide like she’s in on a joke nobody else knows yet.
“You brought her,” she sings out, popping a grape into her mouth. “I thought you were gonna wait until Christmas.”
“Why?” I say, tugging Mac into the room by her hand, not bothering to hide the way I keep her close. “I don’t want to spend a minute without her that I don’t need to.”
Mac blushes, the color blooming across her cheeks, and damn if that doesn’t do something to me every time.
My mom practically tackles her with a hug, calling her “sweetheart” and firing off questions about work, her parents, and whether she’s been eating enough, all in the same breath.
My dad gives her a stiff nod and what passes for a smile from him. That’s as warm as he gets.
For a moment, everything feels right. Normal. Good.
And then the front door creaks open.
I don’t need to turn around. I feel it in the pit of my stomach before I even hear his voice the air shifts, charged and restless, like a storm cloud rolling in. My jaw clenches on instinct.
Carter.
“Hope I’m not late,” he says, voice casual in a way that’s too careful, too smug. “I smelled the pot roast from the next town over and thought, hell, maybe I’ll stop by.”
He strolls in like he’s been gone a weekend instead of years. Same crooked grin, same swagger, but leaner now. Harder around the edges. The kind of sharp that cuts people on purpose. His eyes flick over everything in the room like he’s taking inventory.
My mother freezes, ladle hovering over the pot. My father stands up slowly, the chair scraping across the floor. Shaina’s wine glass stills halfway to her lips.
And Mac, God bless her, stays perfectly still beside me. Her eyes narrow just enough for me to know she’s clocking him, assessing, weighing her read on him in seconds.
I step forward before my dad can say a word. “You’re late by eight years,” I say, my voice flat, controlled. “You planning to explain where the hell you’ve been?”
Carter smiles like he’s missed me too, which is bullshit. “Nice to see you too, little brother.”
Then his attention shifts, slow and deliberate, to Mac.
He gives her a once-over, and the grin sharpens.
“And look at this. You finally made your move, huh? Could’ve sworn she was outta your league back then.
Can’t believe she gave you another shot.
” His breath smells faintly of alcohol, just enough for me to notice.
Mac stiffens, but her voice is steady when she fires back. “He definitely screwed up back then. Now? He’s the best I’ve ever had.”
Carter lets out a low whistle. “Feisty. I like her.”
I step closer, every protective instinct I have spiking. My voice drops into something edged. “Don’t.”
Dad clears his throat, the sound deep and gravelly. “This is not the time.”
“When is it, then?” I snap, heat rising under my skin. “You let him walk in like nothing happened. Like he didn’t disappear with a duffel bag full of someone else’s cash and no damn explanation.”
For the briefest second, Carter’s smile falters, but it’s back before I can savor it. Armor. That’s what it is.
“I came to eat,” he says. “Not to confess.”
“You always were good at skipping steps,” I mutter.
“Boys,” my mother’s voice cracks through the room like a whip. “Sit down. All of you. We are family. And tonight, we eat together.”
Shaina shoots me a warning look over the rim of her wine glass. Mac squeezes my hand under the table, her fingers warm and grounding, like she’s reminding me who I’m here for.
I sit, reluctantly, the muscles in my jaw still tight. Carter takes the chair across from me like he belongs there, like the last few years never happened.
Dinner is tense. Mom keeps asking Mac questions about her job at the club, and Mac answers politely, smiling in a way that hides the fact she’s reading every undercurrent in the room.
Dad mostly stares at his plate, chewing slow.
Shaina tries to keep conversation moving, tossing out bits of harmless town gossip like lifelines.
And Carter? He keeps watching me. Not eating much, just leaning back in his chair with that faint smirk, like he knows exactly how close I am to snapping. Like he’s waiting for it.
But every time I glance down the table at Mac steady, calm, sitting in this minefield with grace, I remember why I’m holding it together. This isn’t about Carter. Or proving anything to him. This is about us.
So I swallow it. For now.
But I know one thing for damn sure.
He may have walked back into this house. But he isn’t walking back into my life that easy.
As soon as the dishes hit the sink, Carter lights a cigarette in the backyard like he owns the damn night. The faint snap of the lighter cuts through the quiet, followed by the slow curl of smoke that carries the smell of trouble. He stands there like a man who has never been told no in his life.
Shaina storms past me, muttering, “You better go out there before Dad does,” her wine glass clinking in her grip as she disappears down the hall. Mom keeps her eyes on the sink, scrubbing the same plate for the third time, her knuckles white around the sponge.
I don’t want to follow him. Every part of me wants to leave him in the dark and let him collapse under the weight of his own mess like he always did. But I couldn’t, not with Mac here, not with her watching me stand still while something toxic hangs between us.
I glanced toward the hallway. She is there, leaning casually against the doorway but watching me with sharp, assessing eyes. She doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t have to. She is reading the air like she can feel every unspoken thing in it.
I step outside, the boards under my boots creaking in protest. The air is cooler than it has been all day, the damp smell of grass mixing with the sharp tang of Carter’s cigarette. The porch light flickers overhead, throwing him in a patchwork of gold and shadow.
“You got a reason for showing up now?” I ask, my voice low, steady, even though my pulse is already climbing. “Or just missed the pot roast?”
He smirks but keeps his gaze somewhere out in the dark. “You really think I’d come back here without a reason?”
I cross my arms. “Considering your track record of stirring shit up and disappearing while everyone else is left to clean it up? Yeah. I do.”
He takes another drag. “Stuff got too hot. I needed to disappear for a while.”
“Disappear?” The word feels bitter in my mouth. “You didn’t disappear, Carter. You abandoned us. You left Shaina crying, Mom worrying, and Dad barely talking. You left me holding the bag, sitting in a chair that was meant for you, without warning.”
“Thought I was doing you a favor,” he mutters.
I step in closer, the wood groaning beneath my weight. “You are the mess, Carter. And you don’t get to walk back in, crack a joke, and pretend you didn’t blow a hole in this family.”
His gaze finally meets mine, his smirk gone. “You think being the golden son means you understand everything? You have no idea what I got mixed up in.”
“Then tell me,” I shoot back. “For once in your life, say something real.”
He holds my gaze a moment longer before flicking the cigarette into the wet grass.
“I almost died, Logan,” he says flatly. “Couple times. I did things I can’t undo. Things I don’t want Mom to know. But I’m here now. You don’t have to like it. But I’m here.”
He brushes past me before I could answer, the back door groaning shut behind him.
I stay out there for a moment, fists clenched, breathing hard. The night humming with cicadas, but all I can hear is the echo of his voice and the reminder that nothing about him being back felt like healing.
Through the kitchen window, I catch sight of Mac. She is still in the doorway, arms crossed loosely now, her gaze steady on me. She doesn’t look angry. She looks… grounded. The kind of calm that could keep a man from throwing a punch he’d regret.
When I walk back in, she doesn’t ask me what he said. She just reaches for my hand under the table while everyone else pretends the tension isn’t sitting in the middle of the room.
We say our goodbyes not long after. The ride home is quiet, the hum of the bike doing the talking for us. Every time I feel her shift behind me, her arms tighten around my waist like she can anchor me there on the road, keep me from drifting back into the storm Carter kicked up.
When we get to my place, I don’t bother with small talk. I take her hand the second we are inside and lead her upstairs. My grip is firm, maybe a little too tight, like if I let go, I’d start pacing again and never stop.
She sits on the edge of the bed, toes brushing the floor, eyes following me as I wear a path into the carpet.
“Say it,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair. “I know you’re thinking it.”
She tilts her head. “Thinking a lot of things. But mostly? I’m wondering why you’re punishing yourself for someone else’s wreckage.”
I stop mid-step, the words landing heavier than I expect.
She walks toward me, slow and sure, with that steady fire in her eyes, the one that could burn through every wall I’d built.
“You’re carrying too much,” she says, resting her hand on my chest. “Him, the family, the club… you can’t fix what he broke, Logan. You can only decide how much more of yourself you’re willing to bleed for it.”
I close my eyes and leaned into her palm, letting the weight in my chest ease just enough to breathe. “He used to be my best friend. Before the lies. Before everything went sideways.”
“I know.”
Her arms slide around me, her cheek pressing against my chest, and I wrap her up like she is the only solid thing left in the world. I breathe her in until the noise fades.
Just her. Just this.
“You grounded me tonight,” I say quietly. “I was about to lose it. And then you said I was the best you ever had, and I swear to God, Mac, I wanted to marry you right there.”
She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “Then do it. Marry me.”
I blinked. “What?”
“I’m serious.” Her grin softens, but her voice stays steady. “I’ve waited for you my whole damn life, Logan. I’ve seen the best and worst of you. I’ve lost you, couldn’t move on from you, and then found you again. So if you’re really all in…show me.”
It was like a dare I already knew I’d take.
My heart thuds hard enough that I feel it in my throat. I pull her in and kiss her, slow, deep, and anchoring. The kind of kiss that says yes. The kind that says always.
We fall onto the bed like gravity wants us tangled together. Clothes forgotten, hands finding home. But it isn’t like the pond, it isn’t lust driven by memory.
It is two people holding on for dear life.
It is claiming. Choosing.
And when we collapse into each other, breathless and bare, I whisper against her skin, “You’re mine, Mac. Always have been.”
And I know with certainty no matter what comes next with Carter, with the club, with everything threatening to splinter, this is where I began again.
With her.