Chapter 51
Chapter
Fifty-One
Salem
I’ve never hated airports more than I do right now.
The week flew by too fast. Huck and Matty had to head back for the season, Tay and Christian went home.
Xed stayed with Hannah for an extra day, but they eventually flew back to Arizona, which left Logan and me alone all day yesterday.
We hadn’t even left the hotel, just spent the time naked in bed ordering room service and fucking every chance we got.
It had been nice… until reality struck this morning.
He hasn’t said much since our ride share pulled into the drop-off lane outside the Melbourne terminal.
Hasn’t said anything at all, really, not since our shared shower this morning.
His fingers drum against his knee nervously, and I’m doing the same thing with my thumbs, worrying the sleeve of my flannel until the threads start to unravel.
From the front of the van, our driver keeps glancing at us irritably in the rear-view mirror, clearly ready for us to get out.
“This doesn’t feel like enough time,” I finally say, throwing my seatbelt aside.
“It never is.” Logan reaches for the door handle without looking at me.
I follow him out, and we gather our bags in silence before standing on the curb to watch the van pull away.
When he finally looks at me, the longing in those honey-gold eyes makes it hard to breathe. “You’ll text me when you land?”
I nod, swallowing hard as I take his palm. He still has a few hours until his own flight, which he said he plans on spending at the airport bar. “You’ll take care of our fish?”
That brings a smile to his lips. “Sitka’s our fish, now?”
“He’s the closest thing we’ve got to a kid, so yeah. Joint custody.”
Logan chuckles and squeezes my fingers, using his grip on my hand to pull me close. “I’ll keep him safe until you come back to us.”
“I’ll always come back to you, Logan. No matter how far I go.”
“I know,” he whispers, kissing me soft enough that it aches.
We pull away from each other and grab our bags to head inside the building. When it comes time for us to part, though, we both pause.
Neither of us says it, but we’re both thinking the same thing—this feels too familiar. Another goodbye, another stretch of unknown time between us.
“I hate this part,” I murmur, gripping the strap of my bag tightly.
“Me too,” he rasps with glossy eyes. “But this time is different, right?”
I nod because it is, even if it still hurts like hell.
Logan steps forward to cup my cheek. “You have that folder tucked away?”
My heart lurches at the mere mention of the divorce papers, but I silently tug them from my bag.
He presses them to my chest as he searches my face. “Until you get home to file these, the ball is in your court. What we are is up to you.”
The weight of those words anchor themselves deep inside me. He’s not asking for answers now, not begging for promises I can’t keep. He’s just giving me a choice, the space to figure out if what we’re building can survive outside the warmth of sand and sun.
“Promise me something,” I say suddenly, needing to get this out before I leave. “Don’t let what we are to each other hold you back. If there’s ever a moment where you meet someone and they make you happy, take that chance. I’ll still be here. Whatever happens, we’ll figure us out after, okay?”
His expression fractures like I’ve yanked his beating heart from his chest. “You want me to move on?”
Shaking my head, I pull him in for a kiss. “No, I want you to live. I want you to find yourself, just like I’m going to do. If we’re meant to last, we’ll survive the space between.”
Logan swallows hard, his shoulders relaxing as he nods slowly. “Okay. Same goes for you, yeah? If someone makes you laugh or treats you like the best damn thing in the world… don’t shut them out because of me. I'll always be here.”
I give him a watery smile. “I won’t, but they’ll have to compete with Sitka.”
That earns me a shaky laugh, and he tugs me tight against his chest. “God, I love you.”
“I love you, too.” I press one last lingering kiss to his lips. “See you soon.”
And then I turn away, carrying our past, our maybe, and our what-ifs in my bag as I make my way to my terminal without looking back. Behind me, I know he’s still standing there, watching until I vanish from view.
I let the weight of his gaze carry me onto the plane, those papers feeling less like an ending and more like an intermission.
An opportunity to begin again, if we’re only brave enough to try.