Chapter 25
Dani
We’d spent all afternoon at the farm, enjoying the horses, tending to the grounds, creating new memories that made the idea of leaving even harder.
Eventually, we took the two-hour trek back to Logan’s and settled down for a quick dinner. Now I sat in the living room trying to keep my mind busy as Logan laid Harper down for bed.
The flickering hum of the TV filled the dimly lit room, mingling with the rich taste of the second glass of wine I didn’t need and Logan’s solid presence beside me.
Once Harper had wound down from the excitement of the ranch, Logan and I found ourselves aimlessly watching The Vampire Diaries.
I had begun binge-watching it on nights when Harper had gone to sleep, as I’d sit and text Logan after long days.
He insisted that I continue. At first, I was a bit embarrassed to admit I had been watching the show, but aside from a few joking comments, he didn’t seem to mind.
“Just one more episode,” I said, even though I wasn’t watching anymore.
He nodded, opening another beer. “Yeah. One more.”
Harper was asleep down the hall. I could still picture her—curled on her side, hair splayed across the pillow, bunny tucked under her chin. That knowledge softened everything.
Logan sat beside me, close enough that our knees brushed when he shifted. Not quite accidental anymore, but not acknowledged either. He filled the space on the couch without trying—broad shoulders, solid presence, the kind of man who didn’t fidget or fill silence just because it existed.
I told myself I was relaxed.
I wasn’t.
My gaze kept drifting to his arm, stretched along the back of the couch, displaying the exposed ink on his forearm, the dark line a contrast against his sun-warmed skin.
I’d noticed it before. More than once. But tonight, with the wine humming softly in my veins and the room wrapped in low light, it felt impossible not to.
The tattoo wasn’t flashy, no skulls or weapons, just clean lines.
I took a sip of wine and set the glass down slowly, like maybe if I moved carefully enough, I wouldn’t spook whatever fragile thing was happening between us.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
He glanced at me, one eyebrow lifting. “You ask that like you’re about to interrogate me.”
“Occupational hazard,” I teased. “But this one’s harmless. I promise.”
He nodded once. “Shoot, Counselor.”
My gaze dropped to his arm.
He was wearing a soft gray T-shirt, sleeves pulled snug around his biceps. I reached out before I could stop myself. My fingers brushed his arm, and I felt the subtle flex of his muscle beneath my touch. His body reacted instantly, not pulling away, but going still.
“This,” I murmured, tracing the edge of the ink with my fingertip. “What is it?”
His breath shifted, and his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“That one?” he asked.
“Yeah. I’ve been trying not to stare all night, but I’m failing.”
I hesitated, then reached out again slowly, giving him time to stop me if he wanted to. But didn’t pull away. Didn’t cover it. Just looked at it for a second, like he was deciding whether to let me in.
Finally, he shrugged. “Marine Corps thing.”
“That’s vague.” I tipped my head, studying the lines again. “It doesn’t look like the typical Marine tattoo.”
“No,” he said quietly. “It’s not.”
“What is it?” I asked softly, breaking the brief silence.
His voice dropped when he answered. “It’s a unit tattoo. Me, Hunter, Sean, Nick all have it.”
I glanced up at him. “The four of you?”
He nodded once. “Got it after we came back from Afghanistan. It was a bad one.” His voice dipped slightly, as though siphoning out the emotion.
“You lost someone?”
He didn’t look at me when he answered. “Yeah.”
The word landed heavily.
“I’m sorry.”
He let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped for years. “We all are.”
I didn’t ask who. I didn’t ask how. I could feel it in the way his body had gone still, that a door had closed out of habit.
“Hunter mentioned you guys were close,” I said gently.
“He was our baby,” Logan said, a ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Matt, I mean. He was the youngest, loudest. Thought he was invincible.”
His throat bobbed.
I became acutely aware of everything: the heat of his body, the faint scent of soap and salt, and the way his attention felt like pressure against my skin. A cool breeze from the open window contrasted with the warmth radiating between us, amplifying the tension in the room.
I pulled my hand back slowly, reluctantly, curling it around my glass to give myself something to hold onto.
“Sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay,” he cut in, voice rough.
Logan leaned forward to grab the remote, causing his hand to graze mine.
I inhaled sharply, and he froze.
For a second, just one, his hand stayed there. Not moving. Not retreating. Like he was testing the weight of it.
Then he pulled back.
“Sorry,” he muttered, already shifting further away.
“It’s fine,” I said quickly, even though my pulse was racing. “You didn’t—”
“I should probably take it easy,” he cut in, lifting his beer and realizing it was empty. He frowned at it. “Long day tomorrow.”
Tomorrow; when he had to leave to go back to work and finish out the rest of the two weeks at his post.
I nodded, forcing my body to relax. “Yeah. Of course.”
As I thought about tomorrow, a tightness gripped me, unwelcome and persistent. My fingers unconsciously worried the stem of my wine glass as if trying to unravel the knots inside me. Despite my attempt to brush it off, the disappointment settled in my shoulders, making them slump slightly.
When the episode ended, neither of us moved. Instead, he leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face. “You ever get that feeling where things are good, but your brain won’t let you just… sit in it?”
I glanced at him, a flicker of anxiety threading through me. I knew exactly what he meant; the silent fear that if everything was still, I’d have to confront how fleeting happiness could be.
“All the time,” I said, forcing a small laugh. Behind that laugh was the unspoken acknowledgment that contentment felt like a distant whisper I was always chasing.
He laughed softly.
I shifted closer without thinking, my shoulder brushing his arm. This time, he didn’t pull away right away. His hand rested on the couch cushion between us, fingers close enough that I could have touched them if I moved an inch.
And we just sat there like that, breathing the same air, the tension thick enough to taste. I could feel it, the pull. The way his body angled toward me even as his mind fought it.
When I laughed at something on screen, he turned to look at me. And for a heartbeat, I thought he might lean in.
For another, I hoped he would.
Instead, he stood abruptly.
It happened so subtly I almost missed the moment it turned. We found ourselves standing, not all at once or with any drama. Just our bodies responding before the mind caught up. The credits murmured forgotten in the background.
Logan was close. Closer than he had been all night.
I tilted my head up without thinking. He was tall enough that I always had to. And tonight, that small movement felt loaded. His hooded green eyes dropped immediately to my lips.
I could see it in him then, the conflict, the want. The restraint that was pulling tight across his shoulders like a wire about to snap. His jaw flexed once, and for a second I thought he might step back.
Instead, my legs pulled me closer.
The space between us disappearing until I could feel the pressure of his hands at my waist. Not gripping, just anchoring me there, thumbs pressing lightly into my shirt.
My pulse roared in my ears.
His breath brushed my cheek as he leaned down, slow enough that I could have stopped it, but didn’t. I tilted my face up, my fingers finding the front of his shirt, feeling his solid chest beneath my hands.
For a while, we hovered there with our noses almost touching, airy breaths mingling.
My eyes fluttered closed on instinct just as lips brushed mine, so lightly I barely noticed. I leaned in, chasing it just a fraction more, wanting to feel him fully, wanting to know if this pull was as real as it felt.
But he was already pulling away.
His hands dropped from my waist as if he’d burned himself. He stepped back, dragging a hand through his hair, his chest rising and falling faster than before.
“I’m—” He stopped, struggling for the words before swallowing hard. “I’m sorry.”
The word landed heavier than the kiss.
My heart was still racing, my lips tingling where his had been, my body slow to understand that the moment was already gone. “Logan. Please stop apologizing for touching me…”
Instead of a response, or the return of his lips on mine, silence rushed in to fill the space he’d left behind.
“I need to go to bed,” he added after a beat, voice rough. “Early flight.”
“Right,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
He hesitated, standing there like he wanted to say something else, like he was wrestling with it. His jaw tightened, eyes flicking back to me.
“Dani?”
“Yes?”
He exhaled slowly, controlled. “Goodnight.”
Then he walked down the hall and disappeared into his room, leaving the scent of him behind like a ghost.
I stood there long after, my body still humming, my heart doing everything it could to catch up.
???
The next evening, with Logan back in Florida and the condo back in its usual pace, I couldn’t stop thinking about that night.
About the way his hand had felt on my waist.
About the way he’d pulled away, like my lips were poisonous.
My phone buzzed while I was working at the dining room table next to Harper as she finished her homework.
My pulse spiked.
Logan: About the other night…
Three dots appeared, then disappeared.
I tried to wait out his response but the anxiety bubbled low in my belly so I responded.
Me: You don’t have to explain.
I meant it. Or at least, I wanted to mean it. I didn’t want him to feel cornered or obligated or pushed into something he wasn’t ready for. I’d spent too many years being on the other end, and I refused to be another reason someone shut down.
The dots appeared again.
Logan: I kind of want to.
I leaned back in my chair, heart pounding out of my chest.
Me: Okay. I’m listening.
The response didn’t come right away.
Minutes passed. I glanced at my phone, thumb hovering above the screen, each ellipsis stretching my anticipation like a tightrope. I told myself not to spiral – that he was probably working, or thinking, or just being Logan. Still, my chest stayed tight, like I was braced for impact.
Finally:
Logan: I’m not good at
wanting things halfway.
Logan: And I’m scared that if I let
myself want you the way I do… I
won’t know how to stop.
There it was. Raw. Unpolished. Exactly what I’d suspected and somehow more than I’d expected.
I closed my eyes for a moment, grounding myself, then typed.
Me: Wanting someone isn’t
the same as losing control.
Logan: It is for me.
Logan: I haven’t been with
anyone since losing Elena.
I stared at the words, my breath catching so sharply it felt like a physical thing.
Not shock, not exactly. More like the sudden weight of understanding clicking into place.
I thought of the way his hands had trembled slightly at my waist. The way he’d kissed me like it was both a want and a line he didn’t trust himself to cross. The apology that had come immediately after.
This wasn’t just about me.
It was about before me.
Me: Thank you for telling me.
Me: That actually explains a lot.
Logan: Yeah?
Me: Yeah. It didn’t feel like hesitation
because you didn’t want me.
Logan: I do want you.
That’s what’s getting to me.
I leaned back in my chair, eyes closing, letting that truth settle between us.
Me: I don’t expect anything
from you, Logan.
Logan: I know. But you deserve
everything. I just need patience
while I remember how to let
someone in without losing myself.
My throat burned as I listened to the gentle tapping of Harper’s pencil against her notebook, hoping it would ground me amid the flow of conflicting emotions I was feeling.
Me: I’m not going anywhere.
Me: And I’m not asking you to forget
her. She’s part of Harper and you.
Me: But wanting again doesn’t erase
what you loved before.
There was a long pause.
Then:
Logan: You don’t know how
much that means to me.
Me: I think I do.
My phone buzzed once more.
Logan: I wish I were there
right now.
Me: Me too.
I smiled softly, and the tension I’d been carrying eased.
And this time, when I set my phone down, the silence didn’t feel sharp.
It felt like space being made.