Page 13 of Holding Onto You (Burnt Ashes #2)

Logan

S he looks so damn sexy wearing nothing but a t-shirt it should be illegal.

Mac sits across from me at the little round table in her kitchen—knees tucked up, fork in hand, hair messy from sleep, face still carrying that soft, just-woke-up glow.

I slide her morning meds beside her plate, followed by a fresh glass of orange juice.

She raises an eyebrow at me, lips twitching.

“I called an Uber this morning,” I say, leaning back in my chair with a grin. “Couldn’t have you surviving on nothing but stale cereal and freezer burn.”

She snorts, shaking her head, and I swear I could sit here forever just watching her smile like that. There’s a light in her eyes I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath for. I think she may have grumbled something about no such thing as bad cereal, but I found her dawn grizzlies adorable.

The kitchen is small, worn in the best way. The cupboards creak. The table wobbles if you lean too hard on one side. There’s a weird little collection of magnets on the fridge and a smudge of flour on the counter from where I spilled it earlier.

I don’t realize she’s stopped eating until the air shifts.

She’s gone still—fork frozen halfway to her mouth, her gaze locked on something over my shoulder. I turn slightly, following her line of sight.

The back door.

Or more specifically, the wicker basket tucked beside it, overflowing with battered plastic Nerf guns. Bright orange and neon green. I’d forgotten they were even there.

She stares like she’s seeing ghosts.

My stomach drops. “Mac?”

She doesn’t hear me.

Her shoulders tense. Her eyes glaze over, distant. Her breathing changes—shallow and sharp—and I know that look. I’ve seen it too many times in the mirror after Braden died. When your body’s here, but your mind is somewhere else entirely.

I reach across the table, hand covering hers gently. I rub my thumb along her knuckles, slow and steady. “Baby?”

She blinks once. Then again. And again. Her eyes flick to mine—wide, glassy.

Then she laughs.

It’s stunned, breathless. She presses her hand to her mouth, eyes lighting up like fireworks. “Oh my god, Logan…”

I lean in, heart pounding. “What is it?”

“I had a memory.” Her voice cracks with joy. “It was us. Well… all of us. Braden, you, me… the guys. Sam, Chace, Trey.”

I can’t breathe.

She goes on, eyes darting to the basket again. “We were having a Nerf war in the meadow. You found me hiding out back, behind the trees. I took out Braden—”

“And I took out Trey,” I finish for her, voice rough.

She gasps. “Yes! And I said… I said…”

“How do you always find me?”

Tears spill down her cheeks as she nods, laughing and crying all at once. “Yes. That’s it.”

And fuck, I’ve never wanted to kiss her more than I do right now. But I don’t. I just hold her hand a little tighter, like maybe if I anchor her hard enough, she’ll never slip away again.

She’s still staring at me, glowing.

Like I just handed her the moon.

“Tell me more,” she whispers, voice soft, hopeful. “About that day. That memory.”

I shift slightly in my seat, letting go of her hand only to watch her tuck into her pancakes again—eyes bright, cheeks flushed, hair falling over her shoulder. I swear, I’d recite every memory I’ve got if it means keeping that look on her face.

So, I start talking.

“It was Trey’s idea—well, as much as anything is when he’s just finished practice and itching to stir up chaos.

” I say, the corner of my mouth tugging into a smile.

“Braden went along with it, mostly ‘cause Trey was complaining he was about to get scurvy if we didn’t grill up some meat and veg.” I chuckle under my breath, the memory washing over me like a warm breeze.

“Braden decided, since we were already out back, we might as well turn it into a full-blown barbeque. No planning. No warning. Just him doing what he always did—looking after all of us—like a family.”

I pause glancing at her, the ache in my chest flaring before softening.

“We almost called it off because of all the damn mosquitos. But Braden…”

Her fork pauses, head tilting like she can almost see it, feel it. I keep going, the memory unspooling so vividly in my chest it almost hurts.

“He had this wild grin on his face,” I say, chuckling. “Told everyone to pick a gun—no teams, no rules. Just ‘last man standing gets the first burger off the grill.’ You always loved those dumb plastic guns, so he gave you the biggest one. Said he wanted you to have a fighting chance.”

She grins around her next bite.

“He gave you a five-minute head start while we all stayed in the house. It was Braden’s version of fair.” I lean my elbows on the table, my voice dipping, eyes locked on her. “We all drew names from a hat to decide who followed who. He always liked making it feel official.”

“Let me guess,” she says, swallowing. “You cheated?”

I shake my head slowly. “No. I got lucky. I pulled your name. Which meant I got to leave right after you.”

Her breath catches, a tiny intake of air that hits me straight in the heart.

“You weren’t exactly quiet,” I tease gently, a smile pulling at my lips. “You tore through the back meadow like a hurricane. Footsteps snapping twigs, little yelps every time your feet sank in mud. I found you easy.”

Her smile grows, eyes shining.

“But I didn’t go straight to you,” I add, my voice softening. “I waited. Watched from about ten feet back, hidden behind that old, twisted oak. You were crouched low, Nerf gun aimed at the trees, completely focused. Hair wild. Eyes gleaming. God, you looked so alive.”

I pause for a second, letting the memory settle. “The others started to leave the house. I could hear them—Chace’s war cry, Sam yelling rules that no one was gonna follow, Trey finally being let loose was then complaining about getting dirt on his sneakers.”

She laughs quietly.

“And then I moved,” I say, watching her carefully. “Crept up behind you. Slid my arm around your waist and pulled you back against me. You squealed—nearly clocked me with the Nerf gun.”

Her smile is so big now, I swear it could light up the whole damn room.

“And then I said…” I let the silence stretch just a beat. “You got me, angel? We take them out together?”

Her eyes mist over, the memory coming into full bloom. “And I said… How do you always find me?”

“Damn right you did.” My throat tightens as I study her. “And I told you… it was because I never stopped looking.”

She sets her fork down, blinking fast.

And for a moment, we’re not sitting in her quiet kitchen.

We’re back there, in the meadow. Laughter in the air. Nerf guns in hand. Her body against mine. Braden somewhere in the trees, probably yelling something inappropriate. The boys charging like idiots. And her—always her—looking at me like I’m something special.

Our moment is interrupted by three hard raps at the front door. Not tentative. Not friendly. Just… sharp.

The sound pulls me out of the past like a whip crack.

Mac’s hand slips from mine as she turns her head, frowning toward the front of the house.

I stand slowly, my chair scraping the floor, pulse kicking up for a reason I can’t name. “I’ll get it.”

I head to the door, rubbing the back of my neck as I swing it open.

A familiar figure I haven’t seen in a few months, since I came here looking for Mac, leans against the frame.

Lola.

Her black hair’s pulled into a too-tight ponytail, thick hoops weighing down her ears.

There’s a swipe of red lipstick that feels aggressive more than polished.

She's dressed like she expected company—or wanted to make a statement. Either way, it’s jarring this early.

Her smile is painted on, but the eyes—those are wild. Unsettled.

“Logan,” she says, her voice smooth but lacking warmth.

“Morning, Lola. You off to work?” I ask.

“Sure,” She grumbles, barely looking at me. Classic Lola—mornings have never been her thing. She stands there stiff as hell, like just being upright is a personal offense. Her whole body radiates irritation, like the sun had the nerve to rise just to piss her off.

“You found her then?” she mutters, then raises her voice. “Hey Mac!”

Mac is frowning, brow pinched as she tries to place her to no success.

Braden and Lola dated on and off for a few years, but it was never serious for Braden.

I knew that. Hell, she knew that. He tried to end things more than once, but Lola always found a way to reel him back in.

A sudden crisis. A family problem. A surprise at his door.

She was good at playing victim when it suited her.

Braden never wanted to hurt people, so he stayed longer than he should have.

But even back then, she wasn’t like this. She hadn’t seemed to be carrying this black cloud around with her.

“She’s… doing okay?” she asks, her words slow, deliberate. “After everything?”

“She’s finding her way,” I say carefully.

Her smile tightens again. “That’s good. I was worried after the articles about her, I feared the worst.”

The pause between us is thick with everything unsaid. Was she pissed that I had not made an attempt to get in contact after Mac’s accident? Or was she just resentful at having to go to work?

Then she leans in slightly, lowering her voice. “You know, Braden used to say you’d burn the world down for her. Said it with a laugh… but he meant it. We were so blessed to know the Smith’s, right?”

“I certainly think so.” I say, offering a smile back to Mac.

“Really? Didn’t you lose her once almost twice already?”

My throat closes for a beat. The hairs standing up at the back of my neck.

Lola studies me like she’s trying to peel back skin and see what’s underneath. “I wonder what you’d do if the world burned you first.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Lola?”

A flicker of anger flashes behind her eyes—real, pure. She covers it with a casual shrug, like it didn’t happen. “Well. Tell her I stopped by. I’d love to catch up.”

She turns, walking back down the steps with a sway that’s more calculated than natural. But before she reaches her car, she pauses. Glances over her shoulder.

“She’s wasted with you, Logan. She’s not safe. You’re not safe…You’re just going to leave her again.” Her voice is velvet-wrapped steel.

Then she’s gone.

My knuckles ball up, popping, as anger surges. Did she just threaten me? Threaten us? A hand, soft and warm touches the small of my back, my breath hitches, and I calm down in an instant.

I close the door with a slow exhale.

“Everything okay?”

“Lola,” I say, scooting her back into the kitchen, settling into the chair opposite her. I reach for her juice and pass it to her, along with her tablets. “She noticed we’re home.”

“Lola?” Mac frowns, clearly sifting through blurry memories.

“Bradens ex, but she seemed upset about something. Said some weird shit, then left.”

“So, they were serious?”

“I mean, they were on and off. It was never serious for him.” I pause. “I don’t think she ever got the memo though.”

Her brow furrows as she reaches for her glass. “I don’t remember her.”

“You’re not missing much.” I sigh. “Maybe that’s not fair. You two were sort of close… just by proximity…but just now? She seemed…different,” I admit. “Angry and surly for one thing.”

Mac blinks slowly, concern flashing in her eyes.

“She looked seriously troubled, made some weird comments about us being together.” I say quietly. “And I don’t think it’s just grief. I think there’s something wrong with her. Just…be careful around her, okay?”

She sets her fork down, her hand reaching across the table again. This time, I’m the one who takes it—gripping it tight.

“I don’t want you to worry,” I say, brushing my thumb across her knuckles. “I’ve got you. Always.”

“Well, Dr. Dale…” Mac murmurs, eyes glittering with amusement as she pops the last bite of one of her pancakes into her mouth. “You cooked me breakfast, gave me my medicine. What’s next on the agenda?”

I smirk, pushing my chair back with a scrape. “Hmm… physical therapy?”

She gasps, half-laughing, half-scandalized. “You’re terrible.”

“You love it.”

Before she can protest, I slide my hands under her thighs and sweep her up into my arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She squeaks, her arms looping around my neck instinctively, face going flushed.

“Logan!” she hisses near my ear. “I’m not wearing—”

The front door bursts open.

“Who made pancakes?” Trey’s voice echoes down the hall.

“Are those the good kind? With chocolate chips?” Chace’s head pops around the corner.

“You didn’t even knock,” I call, groaning as I spin us toward the living room.

Sam shrugs as he strolls in like he owns the place. “You never lock the door, man. What if you were being robbed?”

“Pretty sure that’s what this is.” I nod toward Trey already stealing a pancake straight off my plate.

“Hey, Mac,” Chace says with a wave, grabbing a mug from the sideboard like he lives here. “You look… flushed.”

Mac presses her face into my neck with a mortified groan.

Trey chuckles, halfway through a mouthful. “Morning, sleeping beauty. Nice hair.”

None of them are paying the slightest bit of attention to the fact she’s barely wearing just an old T-shirt and absolutely nothing underneath. But I know. And based on the rising heat in her cheeks, so does she.

I grin down at her, then grab the old throw from the back of the sofa and wrap it around her like a cocoon, tucking the edges in with way more care than necessary.

“There,” I murmur against her ear. “Modesty intact.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Absolutely.”

Mac peeks out from the blanket, glaring at the guys.

Trey's already going on about needing bacon, Chace is checking the fridge, and Sam’s in a full-blown protein shake debate with himself.

She looks at me, wide-eyed. “Do they always just… show up?”

“Welcome back to the family,” I say, kissing her temple. “Privacy sold separately.”