Epilogue #2
I put the ice cream away first, because that’s manageable. That’s normal. That’s something I can do without my hands shaking.
The test goes into the bathroom drawer under the sink.
Hidden.
Because now I have to decide if I want to take it before Logan gets home or after.
If I take it now and it’s positive, I’m alone when I find out.
If I take it now and it’s negative, I’m alone when I feel the weird mix of relief and disappointment and guilt and—what the hell is wrong with me?
My chest tightens.
I close the drawer a little too hard. The sound snaps through the quiet apartment and makes me flinch like I got caught.
I pace.
I check my phone. No new texts.
I stare at the living room clock like it’s personally responsible for my anxiety.
I make it halfway down the hall before I turn back again, like the bathroom is calling me by name.
The front door opens, and my whole body goes still.
Logan’s voice carries in from the entryway, warm and tired, like he’s smiling even when he’s exhausted. “Slo?”
“In the kitchen,” I call, and my voice sounds normal enough that it’s almost insulting.
He appears a second later, still in the tail end of postgame clothes—hoodie, sweats, a beanie pulled low. He looks good in that effortless way that used to make me furious because he never tried and it always worked.
My mouth twitches.
Logan’s eyes find mine, and something softens in his face. He steps in close and presses a kiss to my temple. “Hey, baby.”
My heart does something stupid.
“Hey,” I whisper.
His gaze tracks over me like he’s taking inventory. “You okay? You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The one where you’re about to tell me something and you’re deciding if you want to run first.”
I let out a small breath that could almost be a laugh. “Dramatic.”
“That’s rich coming from you.”
I swallow. My palms are clammy, and my mouth feels dry.
This is the moment.
The kind that never feels like the right time, so you either do it or you don’t.
I open my mouth and close it again.
Logan’s eyebrows lift. “Sloane.”
I exhale and force the words out before I can back out.
“So…” I start, and immediately hate myself. “You know how I stopped birth control last year.”
Logan stills, not panicked, just alert. Like his whole body flips into pay-attention mode.
I keep going, because if I stop, I’ll spiral.
“And you know how we haven’t really been…careful.”
His eyes widen a fraction.
There it is—the click, the way he catches up.
My fingers twist together. “I’m late.”
Logan’s mouth opens, then closes again like he’s trying to find the right sentence, and they all feel too big.
“Okay,” he says, quietly. Calm on purpose. “Okay. How late?”
“Four days,” I admit. “Maybe five.”
He nods once, like he’s anchoring himself to a number. “Do you feel…different?”
I blink. “I don’t know. I’m tired, but I’m always tired. And I cried at a dog food commercial yesterday, but I also cry at commercials when I’m—”
“Alive,” he finishes for me, and the corner of his mouth lifts.
That makes me breathe, just a little.
“I bought a test,” I say. “It’s in the bathroom.”
His gaze flickers down the hall. Then back to me. “Do you want to take it now?”
My laugh comes out thin. “This wasn’t exactly the plan.”
Logan steps closer, slow and careful, like sudden movement might spook me.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “But we weren’t exactly stopping it either.”
My throat tightens.
He searches my face. “Hey. Whatever it is, we’re okay.”
“You don’t know that,” I whisper.
His eyes don’t waver. “I do.”
I nod once because I can’t talk around the lump in my throat.
His hand finds mine like it’s a reflex. Fingers threading through mine, warm and sure. He gives a small squeeze—steady, not desperate.
Just…here.
We walk down the short hallway together, our steps loud in the quiet apartment. The city hums outside the windows. A siren far away. Tires on wet pavement.
Life going on.
Logan pauses at the bathroom door and glances at me. “Do you want me in here?”
My throat burns. “Yes.”
His expression softens, and he follows me in.
I reach for the drawer with shaking hands. The box is right where I hid it, like my body knew I’d come back even if my brain tried to pretend it wasn’t real.
I set it on the counter.
Unopened.
Logan’s eyes lock on it, and something flickers across his face—nerves, hope, a quiet awe—like he’s trying not to scare the moment by wanting too much.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “Talk me through what you need.”
I blink at him. “I…need you to stop being good at this.”
That gets me the smallest laugh from him, like he’s relieved I’m still me.
“Can’t,” he says. “Turns out I’m great at just about everything. Sorry.”
I open the box. My hands don’t feel like mine.
I take the test.
I set it on the counter like it’s a tiny bomb.
Three minutes.
One hundred and eighty seconds.
An entire lifetime.
I lean back against Logan’s chest. His arms come around me fully now—careful and strong. He rests his chin on my head.
And for a second, I’m not scared.
I’m just…held.
“You wanna look together?” he asks softly.
“No,” I say immediately.
Then, “Yes.”
He huffs a quiet laugh into my hair. “That’s what I thought.”
He doesn’t move yet. He waits until my breathing slows. Waits until my hands unclench from his forearms.
Then he steps forward.
I keep my eyes on the tile because I can’t do this. I can’t do it.
The silence stretches.
And then—
“Oh,” Logan whispers.
My head snaps up.
His eyes are on the counter, frozen. Hand braced on the sink like he needs it.
“What?” I croak. “Logan—what does it say?”
He turns toward me slowly, and the look on his face hits like sunlight through cloud cover.
It’s excitement.
It’s disbelief.
It’s holy shit.
“It’s positive,” he says, voice cracking. “Sloane…it’s positive.”
My knees go weak.
I grab the counter. “Are you sure?”
He nods hard, eyes bright. “Yeah. There are definitely two lines.”
My body does this weird thing where it tries to laugh and cry at the same time, like it can’t decide what emotion belongs here. Logan crosses the space between us in two steps and cups my face, gentle like I might spook.
His thumb brushes under my eye, catching a tear I didn’t feel escape.
“This is scary,” he admits softly. “And I’m not pretending it isn’t. But it’s not bad news to me.”
My breath stutters.
“And we don’t have to have it all figured out tonight,” he adds. “We can be excited and nervous at the same time. We can be both.”
A laugh breaks out of me, wet and small. “You’re annoyingly mature now.”
He exhales, like it’s a relief. “It’s tragic, isn’t it?”
I stare at him, at the warmth in his eyes, at the way he’s looking at me like I’m not alone in this.
Then he swallows, once, hard—like he’s decided something.
“I need one second,” he says.
“Logan—”
“I’ll be right back,” he promises, and he slips out of the bathroom.
I’m left standing there, staring at the test like it might vanish if I blink.
Positive.
It doesn’t change.
It stays real.
I hear him in the bedroom, drawers opening, a soft thud, a muttered curse that sounds like he hit his shin.
Then he’s back, his hands behind his back.
His face is pale in a way that makes my stomach flip again, because now I’m nervous for an entirely different reason.
“Logan?” I whisper.
He steps closer, eyes locked on mine. “This isn’t because of that,” he says immediately, nodding toward the counter. “I mean…that’s incredible. But I’m not doing this because of it.”
My heart pounds.
He shifts his hands forward; a small black box sits in his hand.
My lungs forget how to work.
Logan lets out a breath, almost a laugh, like he can’t believe he’s doing this in our bathroom, with a pregnancy test on the counter and a city outside the window.
“Sloane Rhodes,” he says, voice low and shaking, “I’ve been carrying this around waiting for the perfect moment.”
He glances at the counter and huffs softly. “Clearly, I’m bad at timing.”
I let out a choked laugh. “That’s one way to say it.”
His mouth twitches, relief flickering.
Then he opens the box.
The ring catches the light like a small, steady promise.
Logan’s eyes are glassy. “I love you,” he says simply. “I’ve loved you in every way I knew how for a long time. And the only life I want, whatever it looks like, has you in it.”
My throat burns.
“I don’t have a speech,” he adds, and his voice cracks on the words. “I have a lot of feelings and very little composure.”
My hands fly to my mouth.
He exhales, steadying himself. “So…will you marry me?”
I’m crying. I’m laughing. I’m shaking.
And somehow the first thing that comes out of my mouth is, “This is so cheesy.”
His eyes flicker with a grin. “That’s not a no.”
“It’s not a no,” I choke out.
He steps closer, and I’m nodding, already reaching for him like my body knows the answer before my brain catches up.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, you idiot.”
Logan’s face crumples with something so raw I feel it in my bones.
He slides the ring onto my finger with hands that shake.
Then he kisses me—soft at first, like he’s trying not to overwhelm me.
But I grab his hoodie and pull him closer anyway, because I need him like I need air.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
Logan presses his forehead to mine. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay. Now we look again because my brain thinks it hallucinated that second line.”
I laugh through the tears. He turns us toward the counter, arm around my waist like he’s shielding me from the universe.
We stare at the test.
Positive.
Logan lets out a broken sound, half laugh, half inhale, like his chest can’t hold all of it, and then he kisses my temple.
“We’re gonna have a baby,” he whispers.
I rest my hand over my stomach without thinking, like I can hold the future in place.
And for the first time in a long time, I believe it.
Not quite ready to say goodbye to these two?
You can find Logan & Sloane’s bonus chapter here!