Chapter 38 Logan
LOGAN
I wasn’t lying when I said this would be the last time I sang this song.
It was too painful.
Every time I played the opening chords, it felt like reopening a wound that had never fully scabbed over. Like I was holding my heart up to the mic and asking it to bleed on cue, in front of thousands of strangers.
The lyrics came easily, not because I rehearsed them, but because they were etched into me, branded into every part of me that had once believed that Elizabeth loved me.
Elizabeth’s name was never in the lyrics, but she was in every line.
And now that she’d said no, there was nothing left to wait for. No maybe. No second chance. Just silence.
So yeah, I was done. Done hoping. Done wondering. Done dragging this song—and my heart—into every arena like maybe this time, it would feel different.
This was the last time. The final chorus was rising, building beneath my fingers, my voice raw from everything I wasn’t saying.
I closed my eyes.
And then a hush rippled through the crowd. I opened my eyes and looked up, and I froze. It wasn’t me on the Jumbotron anymore.
It was her.
I nearly dropped my guitar.
The crowd reacted in waves. There were confused murmurs and excited shouts. My pulse pounded in my ears as I stared up at the screen.
She looked… breathless. Eyes wide, lips parted, hair slightly messy like she’d run through a storm to get here. Also, she appeared to be wearing some Mardi Gras beads and a feather boa.
And then she grabbed a handheld mic from the AV cart. “Logan,” she said, her voice echoing into the stadium. “I’m sorry.”
A sharp pang hit me in the chest. I yanked the mic back up to my mouth. “Where are you?” The crowd laughed, but I was dead serious.
Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder. “Uh… in the tech section?”
I squinted into the crowd but didn’t see her. “I don’t see you!” I called, throwing a hand in the air like a frustrated teacher. “Wave or something!”
She must have climbed onto a chair because I caught a flash of her, waving her arms.
“There!” I pointed. The camera zoomed in on her face.
The crowd roared.
Elizabeth, still standing precariously on the chair, adjusted the mic she’d somehow commandeered. “Can I talk now?”
I grinned despite the nervousness buzzing in my chest. “Please. And will you please get off that chair before you fall?”
She looked out at the crowd, took a deep breath, and carefully stepped down from the chair.
My hands twitched around my guitar. I was too far away to catch her if she slipped, but every muscle in me tensed like I could somehow cross the whole stadium in time if she wobbled.
She didn’t. She stood tall, feet on solid ground, mic in hand.
The Superdome fell silent, the entire crowd holding their breath as she spoke.
“Logan,” she started, her voice steady now. “I know I don’t deserve another chance after everything. But I need you to know that I was wrong to walk away. I let my fear get the best of me, and I hurt you because I couldn’t trust myself to let you in.”
Every part of me ached hearing those words.
Elizabeth swallowed hard, then met my gaze through the camera lens. “But I’ve realized something. I don’t want to be scared anymore. And I don’t want to be without you. If you can forgive me, and if you’ll have me, I’m here. For real this time.”
The crowd erupted into cheers, but I barely heard them.
All I could hear was the echo of her voice in my ears, If you’ll have me.
I snapped out of my daze and turned to the tech crew. “Get her up here!” I waved toward the press section like a lunatic.
They hesitated.
“Come on!” I shouted, more frantic now. “SOMEONE go get her!”
Security scrambled, parting the crowd like the Red Sea.
Elizabeth didn’t wait. The second the mic cut out and the crowd erupted, she took off, jumping down from the raised tech platform.
She ran through the crush of people on the floor, the crowd stepping aside to let her pass.
At some point, she lost the feather boa, and to stop the Mardi Gras beads from jangling against her chest, she took them off and threw them to the people cheering her on.
By the time she reached the barricade in front of the stage, she was breathless and flushed. Security helped her onto the stage, and the roar of the crowd shook the Dome.
Elizabeth stood in front of me, still catching her breath, looking as gorgeous and stubborn as ever.
“Hi,” I said into the mic, my heart pounding.
Her gaze softened. “Hi.”
The crowd screamed.
I stepped closer, my voice quieter now. “You came.”
She swallowed, her hands twisting together. “I… I was wrong, Logan, about everything. I was scared, and I let that ruin us. But I—” Her voice broke, and she took a deep breath. “I love you.”
The noise of the crowd, the flashing lights, and the chaos of the night all blurred together.
All that mattered was her.
“Good,” I said, pulling her into my arms. “Because I’ve been waiting for you.”
And then, right there on stage in front of thousands of people, I kissed her.
The Superdome exploded into cheers, but all I cared about was Elizabeth—her hands tangling in my hair, her body pressing into mine, the way she sighed against my lips.
When we finally broke apart, I leaned into the mic, still holding her close.
“Actually,” I murmured into the mic, letting my lips brush against her temple, “I take it back.”
Elizabeth pulled back slightly, her brows furrowed. “Take what back?”
I turned to the audience, my grip tightening around her waist.
“This won’t be the last time I sing this song,” I said, my voice steady now. “I might be singing it every day for the rest of my life.”