14. Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
Logan
Mac sleeps beside me, tangled in her sheets, breathing us in with every slow rise and fall of her chest. I should sleep too, but I can’t. I won’t. Not when I have this—her.
I’ve spent years loving her in silence, watching from the shadows, swallowing every fucking thing I wanted because of a promise I made to a ghost. But last night, for the first time, I let myself have her. And I’d do it again.
No regrets.
Not one.
I prop myself up on my elbow, careful not to wake her, and just look. I drink her in like I’ll never get another chance. Maybe I won’t.
Her skin is still marked from my hands, my mouth, my desperation. I trace the faintest bruise on her hip, right where my fingers held her too tight, a perfect imprint of how much I needed her—how much I still do. The sight of it sends a sharp ache through my chest, something raw and possessive and completely fucking helpless.
She shifts, curling toward me in her sleep, like she belongs here, like I’m not about to rip myself away from her all over again. My throat tightens.
I swallow hard and let my eyes roam her face, the way her lashes flutter slightly, the soft part of her lips, still kiss-bruised, still swollen from whispering my name like I was the only thing in her world that mattered.
And fuck—was I? Even for just one night?
I press my palm over my chest, like I can somehow hold myself together, but it’s useless. She’s already inside me. Always has been. Every song I’ve ever written, every fucking lyric—it’s her. It’s always been her.
I should regret this. I should hate myself for breaking my promise.
But as I watch her breathe, my heart beating too loud in my chest, I know the truth.
I’d break every damn promise I ever made if it meant keeping her.
The room is still dim, dawn creeping in through the thin curtains. My arm is slung low around Mac’s waist, my face buried in her hair, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s no rush to move. No screaming alarms. No brutal awareness of how fucking complicated everything has become.
Just her.
Just us.
Just this.
We talked for hours last night, too. Afterward, she had grumbled about seeing stars, and it stoked my ego, just a bit. Hours of whispered memories, of Braden, of us as kids. Sneaking out to skate under streetlights. Daring each other to jump from the dock into the freezing lake. The first time I ever played guitar for her.
It felt like before.
Mac is warm against me, her bare skin soft under my fingertips as I trace slow, lazy circles on her shoulder. The early morning light slips through the curtains, catching in her hair, turning it to gold. She’s here. Really here. And for the first time in years, everything feels right.
A soft knock at the door shatters the quiet.
Fuck off. What can anyone possibly want this early in the morning?
I tense, and so does she.
Mac shifts, making a sleepy sound that goes straight to my chest, and before I can say anything, Clay’s voice filters through the wood.
“Morning, lovebirds. Everyone’s in the kitchen. Made breakfast if you want some. Doubt you got any sleep.” The last words are muttered, but I catch them anyway.
A smirk tugs at my lips. Yeah, he’s not wrong.
Mac groans and buries her face against my chest, her hand blindly swatting at me like this is somehow my fault. “Too early,” she mumbles.
I chuckle, voice still rough with sleep. “You gonna tell him that, or should I?”
She huffs but doesn’t move, and I swear I could stay like this forever—wrapped up in the girl I’ve loved half my life, in a bed that smells like her, in a moment that feels like home.
But reality doesn’t wait.
Another knock, this time with less patience. “Mac, I know you’re awake. Logan, if she doesn’t come down, I’m blaming you. The guys are up and demanding to plan the day… Something about an escape room.”
She groans again, pushing up onto her elbows, and damn. Even half-asleep, hair a tangled mess, eyes barely open—she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
She doesn’t notice me staring, too busy glaring at the door. “Clay, if you don’t leave in the next three seconds, I’m coming for your head.”
Silence. Then footsteps retreating down the hall.
Mac flops back onto the pillows, eyes closed, a triumphant little smirk on her lips.
I grin. “Ah, angel. Never change.”
She rolls her eyes but laughs, and for a second, I forget about the tour. The band. The uncertainties hanging over us like a storm cloud. Do we have to play nice and socialize or can we just be?
I don’t ever want to leave.
But if we don’t get up soon, the guys are gonna eat all the food, and I’d rather not have to wrestle Sam for the last piece of bacon.
I nudge her shoulder. “C’mon, angel, get up.”
She groans into the pillow. “No.”
“There’s food.”
“I don’t care.”
I smirk. “Clay said he’d eat your share.”
Nothing.
I narrow my eyes. “Okay, fine. You leave me no choice.”
Her body goes still. Like she knows me well enough to realize I’m about to do something stupid.
“Logan,” she warns, voice muffled against the pillow.
I grin. “Last chance, sweetheart.”
Nothing.
So, I strike.
Fingers at her ribs. Digging mercilessly into her sides, her stomach—where I know she’s most ticklish.
She screams.
"Logan, NO—”
She twists, laughing, trying to escape, but I don’t stop. My hands move to the backs of her knees, absolute hell for her, and she loses it, thrashing like a wild animal.
"You asshole! Stop—oh my God—” a couple of her mad flails have her feet rocketing towards my face, but I manage to move out the way, just.
She gasps between uncontrollable laughter, kicking out, flailing—until she gets too close to the edge of the bed.
And then—
THUMP.
She’s on the floor. A heap of tangled limbs, messy hair, and a betrayed expression.
I lose it.
I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe, hanging over the edge of the bed to look down at her.
Mac scowls up at me, cheeks flushed. “You are so dead.”
I smirk. “You’re up, though.”
She lunges, grabbing my arm, trying to drag me down with her, but I’m stronger, so I just laugh harder, dodging her grip.
She glares. “One of these days, Logan Dale, you’re gonna regret that.”
I grin, reaching down to help her up, still chuckling. “Doubt it, angel. Now get your cute ass downstairs before we’re forced to starve.”
She grumbles, climbing to her feet, but I see it—the way her lips twitch, fighting a smile. She sighs a little, and I frown.
“Is everything alright, did you hurt yourself falling to the floor?”
“Just a little sore from last night.”
And as she brushes past me, shoving me playfully in the chest, I know I’ll never get tired of this.
Of her.
Of us.
Mac’s hand is warm in mine as we walk into the kitchen, her fingers squeezing lightly like some kind of silent warning to behave.
Yeah, not likely.
She’s still in her tiny pajamas, hair a little messy from sleep, but she doesn’t seem to care. The guys are already here, standing around drinking coffee, Clay and Dean chatting with them. The smell of bacon, eggs, and fresh toast fills the air, and my stomach growls.
Chace looks up first, smirking. “Look who finally decided to show up.”
Sam takes a slow sip of his coffee. “Sleep well?”
Mac glares at them both. “Shut up.”
“I gotta say, I’m a little hurt.” Trey snags a piece of bacon off Chace’s plate before he can swat him away.
“Oh?” I ask, fixing my angel—Mac—a coffee before making my own. She notices and sleepily wanders around, stacking food onto a couple of plates like she’s foraging for survival.
“Neither of you invited me for coaching advice,” Trey says, shaking his head like it’s a true betrayal.
Mac steps up beside me, setting the plates down before burying her face in my chest for a second. Then, without warning, she leans back and launches a pepper shaker at Trey. Sam snatches it midair, shrugs, and sprinkles some on his eggs.
“Thanks, Mac. Morning Mac is always helpful,” he mutters, digging in.
I grin, tugging her closer. “What’s the plan for today?”
“Escape room,” Trey announces, looking way too excited. “We need to settle, once and for all, who’s got the best brainpower here.”
Sam snorts. “It’s not you.”
Trey flips him off. “I’ll have you know, I’m a genius under pressure.”
Chace raises an eyebrow. “Dude, last time we did one, you panicked and threw a chair at the wall.”
Trey scowls. “That was different. I thought the wall was made of paper, like in Shawshank.”
“You broke their clock.”
“It could’ve been a bomb.”
Mac laughs, and I squeeze her hand before letting go to grab the plate she filled for me while the debate continues.
“Either way, we’ve got a lifetime ban in VC. But this Portland escape room sounds cool,” Chace says. “And if we’re gonna be in town, I wanna check out the Shanghai Tunnels.”
Mac perks up. “Oh yeah! Those are supposed to be super creepy.”
Trey immediately shakes his head. “Nope. Absolutely not.”
Chace smirks. “What’s wrong? Afraid of ghosts?”
“Ghosts?” Trey clucks his tongue. “I just don’t wanna be in a musty, dusty tunnel.”
Sam sneaks a hand behind Trey and taps his shoulder. Trey practically jumps out of his chair, damn near dropping his food. We all crack up.
“How about we check out some music? Some local talent?” Trey tries to steer the conversation elsewhere.
Chace grins. “Come on, Trey. Where’s your adventurous spirit? You can’t be that scared of the Shanghai Tunnels. Of the ghosts that haunt them.”
Trey points a warning finger. “Not ghosts. Demons. There’s a difference. Ghosts are just lost souls. Or echoes replaying some tragic shit. But demons? Demons will wreck your entire life.”
Sam sighs. “Trey…”
“Nah, man, I’ve seen things.” Trey leans forward, dead serious. “You don’t mess with that shit. One wrong step, and boom—possessed. Next thing you know, you’re crawling on the ceiling, spitting out Latin verses, and Logan has to call me back to my body with a Fender Stratocaster while a priest does his thing. And I still end up dying. Exorcisms are super fucking dangerous, man.”
I laugh. “I mean, you kinda sound past saving already.”
Trey glares. “Not funny.”
I shake my head, setting the full plate down before grabbing Mac by the waist and lifting her up onto the counter. She gasps, hands gripping my shoulders as she settles.
“Logan!”
I smirk, handing her the plate. “Eat.”
She rolls her eyes but takes a bite, humming in approval. I lean back against the counter next to her, drinking my coffee as the guys continue arguing about what’s more dangerous—a haunted underground tunnel or a dive bar in an area we aren’t expected or necessarily welcome.
Mac kicks her legs where she sits on the counter, her plate balanced on her lap as she digs into her food. Two thirds through my coffee, I consider downing the rest when my wrist is nabbed by Mac as she takes a slow, deliberate sip, watching me over the rim like she’s waiting for me to react.
I narrow my eyes. “Really?”
She hums in satisfaction. “Mmm. Perfect.”
I shake my head, fighting a grin as I turn back to my plate. “Keep it, thief.”
Trey, still grumbling about actual demons, sighs. “So, we do the Escape room then music, right?”
Chace scoffs. “How about winning team picks. You’re a mad genius and work better under pressure and all that, right?”
“The hell I am.” I fight back a laugh at Trey’s dip in confidence.
Mac sets down my stolen coffee, placing her hands in her lap. Then, with zero warning, she unleashes the look—wide eyes, lips slightly parted, head tilting ever so slightly to the side.
Trey tenses. “Oh, no. Nope. Not fair.”
She leans forward, blinking up at him. “Trey…”
His jaw locks.
Chace laughs. “Dude, she’s got you.”
Trey throws his hands up. “Damn it, Mac! You can’t just use the puppy dog eyes whenever you want something!”
She blinks again, sweet as anything. “It won’t be the same if we don’t all go. Besides, you’re going to win, right?”
Even Sam smirks, sipping his coffee. “Yeah, man. You got this. Can’t break up the family.”
Clay, who’s been watching this whole exchange like its prime entertainment, leans against the counter. “She’s got a point. You guys are all in or none of you are.”
Dean nods. “Besides, I wouldn’t mind checking them out.”
Trey groans into his hands, dragging them down his face. “I hate all of you.”
I grin, slapping him on the back. “That’s the spirit.”
He grumbles something under his breath, but Mac beams and reaches out to squeeze his hand.
That’s all it takes.
I grab my fork, finally getting a bite of my own food while the guys start figuring out the schedule—escape room first, and the tunnels tonight, because whoever is on his team is going to tank it for sure.
Mac reaches for my coffee again, and I just shake my head.
Yeah. She’s trouble.
And I love every damn second of it.