21. Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-One
Kayla
Being drawn to Logan isn’t just physical—it never has been. Yeah, he’s beautiful in that effortless, heart-stopping way that makes people stare, but that’s never been what gets me. It’s him. It’s the way he’s always been there, stitched into the fabric of my life like he was never meant to be anywhere else. The way he sees me—not just the version I show the world, but the girl I was before everything fell apart. Before the scars, before the loss, before I forgot what it felt like to be whole.
It’s in the way he looks at me, like I’m still that girl. Like I’m still worth something. He doesn’t just know my past, he was in it. Every scraped knee, every late-night whisper, every time I thought I couldn’t take another step—Logan was there. Holding me together when I didn’t even realize I was falling apart. And even now, after all these years, after everything I’ve lost, he’s still here. Still looking at me like I’m more than the wreckage.
That’s why it’s more than physical. It always has been.
But do I want to unwrap him like a present the second I get my hands on him? Absolutely. God, I ache for him.
I can already picture it—tracing his abs with my tongue, feeling his heat beneath me, his body hardening at my touch…
I shift in my seat, dragging in a slow breath, forcing my gaze out the window of the black Discovery. The seat beneath me is warm, a nifty feature I never knew I needed, and the air billowing from the vents is thick with heat, coaxing my body into relaxation. I want to sleep, let time slip away, so when I wake up, I’m there—because this anticipation is absolute torture. And not in the divine kind of way.
Clay glances at me, a small smile playing on his lips, like he’s trying to guess what’s got me so caught up. I don’t meet his gaze. Instead, I watch as the windows fog slightly from the lingering morning chill before he adjusts the dial, clearing them with a quick flick.
Old Town fades behind us as we cross the Willamette River, passing an old railyard, the Moda Center looming ahead. I wonder if the boys will ever perform there, or if it’s not that kind of venue. The road shifts beneath us, blurring between pavement, tram lines, and asphalt, and I’m immensely grateful Clay is the one navigating this urban sprawl.
Traffic thickens, slowing us down, and even though I still have hours before my flight, I feel time crunching in around me. Every stop, every hesitation, every red-light claws at my nerves, taunting me.
Damn it. Stop getting so wound up over something so mundane.
I touch my forefingers to the glass, leaving a print in the condensation. Outside isn’t nearly as toasty.
I was elated to speak to Logan. Just hearing him sound so happy I was coming on tour with him had my stomach in knots.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve seen you smile like that since we’ve met.” Clay says, amused.
“Honestly,” I say, flashing him a smile, “I can’t really believe it myself.”
Clay takes his hand off the gearshift and holds out his fist. “Fist bump for being happy?” he asks. I let out a tiny, excited giggle and knock my fist against his. “It’s good just to see you walking around without pulling the Kristen Stewart pout, you know? These last few days you were channeling your full Bella, the one where you look confused and in pain, like you have a problem with your bowels or something…” He starts chuckling to himself.
“I beg your pardon?” I say. My voice sounds a little higher, which only makes Clay laugh harder.
“Oh, you betcha!” Clay offers with a wink.
I fight off the smile threatening to break free and, instead, let the beat from the speakers take over. Reaching for the dial, I crank it up until the car vibrates with the thrumming bass of Titanium.
Clay immediately turns it down with a switch on the steering wheel.
“I really am glad to see you so happy, Kayla,” he says.
“You could have waited until the song was over,” I pout.
With a chuckle, he turns the music back up, letting it finish, his eyes steady on the road. When the last note fades, he lowers the volume again, arching a brow as if asking permission. I sigh, relenting, and adjust it for him.
“Thanks,” I murmur, smiling. “I… It’s hard to explain.” I hesitate, the words catching in my throat. It makes me feel conflicted, but I press on. “For the first time in a long time, I feel… good. Not guilty about being the one Smith left behind, I guess. I don’t know. It’s all so fucked. I don’t want to let go of the grief, but I also don’t want to let go of this—this feeling of being okay. Content. Happy. Loved. Like it’s actually okay to live my life without carrying that guilt.”
Clay nods thoughtfully. “Your family would want you to feel that, Kayla. My parents were a real mess, but if they weren’t around, I know they’d want me to be happy. Pretty much anyone whose life you’ve touched wishes you well.”
“You know that, right?”
I nod.
“Say it then.”
“Huh?” I blink at him.
“Say, ‘I am allowed to be happy.’”
I hesitate. “I’m allowed to be happy,” I mumble.
“Louder.”
I huff, feeling both ridiculous and a little angry, but I suck in a breath and yell it out to the universe.
“I’M ALLOWED TO BE HAPPY!”
“Damn straight you are.”
I am not going to cry. I take a few deep breaths, forcing myself to calm down.
Clay glances at me. “What were they like?”
His question catches me off guard. Feeling a little exposed, I answer honestly. “My dad was a bit of a doofus,” I say with a bitter smile. “He loved winding my mom up. He’d do this thing—” I snort, half sobbing as I go through the memory. “If she was cleaning, he’d start helping, but then he’d make a bigger mess right behind her just to piss her off. Like a cat knocking shit over.”
“What?” Clay laughs. “He sounds like a real character.”
“He was. But he also had endless patience. Braden and I could talk for hours about bugs, music, school—anything—and he’d listen like it was the most interesting thing in the world. He was just happy. A happy person. Like my mom. They had their fights, sure, but they cared about each other.”
“They treated Logan like another son… They knew what happened. Or at least, they suspected.”
Clay’s voice softens. “Logan went through some shit, huh?”
I nod. “Yeah. We all have. It makes us who we are, right?”
“As someone training to be a general practitioner and not a psychologist, I can say that seems to be the case. We’re all just scar tissue beneath the smiles.”
I let out a bitter snort. “That was profound. And didn’t sound like a fortune cookie at all.”
Clay smirks. “Thank you for listening to my TED Talk.”
We laugh, lighthearted, moving through a crossing—
A screech of tires.
I don’t hear the impact. I feel it.
The world shatters.
I’m slammed against the door, glass exploding across me, slicing my skin. My skull cracks against the doorframe. Pain. A searing, blinding pain. Then the airbag detonates, burning my arm as it knocks me back. It saves me—but only for a second.
Another impact. The car spins. A sickening, twisting force whips me around as another vehicle slams into us from behind. We’re shoved forward, the seatbelt biting into my body, my lungs compressing.
Blue. Green. Gray. The world tilts.
We’re upside down.
My head smashes into something hard, glass digging into my scalp. The semi that hit us grinds against metal, a deep, hellish growl. The car is shrinking around me, crushing, squeezing—
A scream rips through the chaos. Raw. Terrified.
Mine? Clay’s? I don’t know.
Something’s not right.
My mind sputters, thoughts slipping like sand through my fingers. I feel lost, so frustrated.
Scared.
I don’t want to die.
I just got back on track. I just—
Blackness. Sirens. Engines whinnying.
Maybe it’s worth it.
Giving in.
Maybe this is for the best.
I’ve been in pain for so long—losing Braden, my parents, my grams. Everyone. Everyone I’ve ever loved has left me.
I don’t want to be alone anymore.
Maybe… if I just stop… I can see them again. Be with them. That’s how this works, right?
The weight is gone. The pain is gone.
I feel light. Free.
Well… mostly.
There’s something else. A twisting deep in my gut—not the sharp ache in my side, but something different.
What is it?
What’s its name?
Pain?
No.
Discomfort?
There’s a sound… a noise I should recognize. But it slips away before I can catch it.
Wait—no. That’s not right.
Maybe it doesn’t matter.
Maybe nothing matters.
It’s over now. I can see their faces. The people I love.
I lov—
The tugging starts again.
A sharp, irritating pull, gnawing at the edges of me. Persistent. Picking at me like a vulture at carrion.
Go away, bird.
Go away with your stupid… wings…
Angel .
I know you.
Pain.
You are… Pain.
Everyone is… What was it he said? Scarrred something. Something. It was deep. A single word, curling, twisting. It’s not suggestive. It’s the purr of a predator.
Come here, kitty. Come say hello.
Light spills in, warm and inviting, but—no. Not right. Not now.
The car shudders. The world tilts.
A wave crashes in my ears, roaring, deafening. Sparks rain down, little burning stars. I blink, trying to focus, but my head feels wrong, my thoughts slipping between my fingers. My body is trapped, twisted at an unnatural angle.
There’s someone near me. Still. Too still.
Think.
My mind fights for reason, but it’s like wading through tar. The car rocks again.
Pain explodes—hot, white, violent. It steals my breath.
I try to scream. The sound never comes.
I don’t know where I am.
I try to move. Nothing listens.
Cold seeps in, carving through the numbness. A sharp, metallic taste floods my mouth—blood. The acrid stink of diesel and transmission fluid clings to the air.
The person. The still one.
They are made of—
No.
They are Clay.
My gaze finds him, blurred, unmoving. His chest should be rising. His fingers should twitch. He should—
Darkness claws at the edges of my vision, thick and heavy.
There are voices. A hundred of them. A hubbub of words spilling over each other. Too far away.
I’m sinking.
Fading.
Weightless.
I can’t die.
He needs me.
He will… He…
I can’t.
The car shifts. A gust of air brushes against me, chasing the suffocating heat. A breath of clarity slams into me.
I try to suck in air—choke on it.
Logan.
Memories flicker—his rough voice whispering my name, his lips brushing my forehead, the way he looked at me, like I was his world.
"I love you," he once told me.
I never said it back.
Please.
I don’t want to leave.
But I’m so tired.
The pain, sharp and unrelenting, begins to dull. My chest tightens with a different kind of ache. A need to cry. I can feel it, burning through me, but I can’t move.
The darkness tugs harder.
The white noise in my ears turns to static.
A final thought whispers through me.
I don’t want to see them. Not yet. It’s too soon.
The void swallows me whole.
Dark. Twisting. Consuming.