Page 16 of Holding Onto You (Burnt Ashes #2)

I can still smell the soil—damp, raw, and unsettled—on my jacket. Still feel the way the wind curled its cold fingers down the back of my neck as I stood at Braden’s headstone. I left him a shot of tequila. My words. My promise. But it doesn’t feel enough.

I glance out at the rearview mirror. The cemetery gates sit quiet in the distance, blurred by the sun-streaked glass. Gravel crunches somewhere as the groundskeeper’s excavator lumbers by, its yellow paint dulled by time and rust, like the whole place is slowly being reclaimed by the earth.

“I’ll bring her to you soon,” I say softly, like Braden’s still listening. “When she’s ready.”

The silence answers me, but it’s not empty. It’s full of memories—of him, of her, of everything we lost. I press my palms to the steering wheel, grounding myself.

“She’s not there yet, but she’s getting there,” I continue, voice low.

My chest tightens. A deep breath doesn’t loosen it.

“I wish you were here,” I whisper. “You always knew how to pull her out of her head. Out of the dark.” My jaw clenches. “You’d probably hate the way I’m handling this. Or maybe you’d understand. Fuck, I don’t know.”

I run a hand through my hair and drop my head back against the seat, eyes burning.

“I’m doing my best, Hermano,” I murmur. “I swear it.”

I fire the engine to life. It roars like it always does, loud and unrelenting—nothing like the quiet peace of the graveyard.

I steer the Charger down the narrow gravel path that snakes through Mountain View, a slow crawl past rows of weathered headstones and memories I can’t outrun. The bottle of tequila rolls against the passenger footwell with a dull thunk as I take the bend toward the exit.

Just as I reach the gates, a flash of silver catches my eye.

A sleek Mercedes coupe pulls in, its engine purring low beneath the hum of the groundskeeper’s excavator. It sticks out like a sore thumb—like a pearl dropped in the mud.

My grip tightens on the wheel as it passes me by. Behind the windshield, a familiar face tilts slightly in my direction—sunglasses, red lips, long black hair pulled tight into a ponytail. Lola. Again.

She gives a small, two-fingered wave from the steering wheel. Casual. Breezy. Like she hadn’t been apoplectic with rage earlier? Maybe she had some coffee, so was feeling more human?

I nod once in acknowledgement—tight, impersonal—and keep driving.

But my gut clenches.

I check my mirrors as I leave the gates behind.

She’s probably here for Braden too.

Whatever. She’s not my concern.

A few hours pass in a slow, dragging haze. I try to keep myself busy—grab a bite from a food truck, walk the seawall, pretend the weight in my chest isn’t growing with every minute she’s gone. But it’s there. Heavy. Gnawing. I keep checking my phone like a damn teenager.

Then it pings.

Mac: You still good to come get me? I’m ready x

My thumb hovers like I might text back, but I don’t.

I’m already moving.

By the time I pull up outside the salon, the sky’s washed in late afternoon gold, the kind of light that softens edges and makes the world feel less cruel.

I idle at the curb, heart thudding, eyes locked on the door like it might conjure her sooner.

People come and go, laughter spilling out into the street, but not her.

And then she appears.

And I forget how to breathe.

Mac steps out like a dream I thought I’d forgotten. Long, sun-kissed blonde hair falling in waves, a denim jacket hugging her shoulders, the hem of a floral maxi dress dancing around her calves. There’s something wild in the way the wind catches her—careless, free, as if it remembers her, too.

I’m frozen. Just watching.

Because in this moment, I swear, I see her.

My angel.

The girl who used to spin barefoot in the meadow behind her house, daisies in her braids and dirt on her knees. The one who dared me to jump the creek and kissed me after I fell in. The one who looked at the sky like it told her secrets and loved like there was no tomorrow.

She walks toward the Charger, and I’m still stuck somewhere between then and now.

She opens the passenger door, slides in, and turns to me with that familiar crooked grin. “Hey, rockstar.” she says, soft and sure, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

My voice fails. My heart doesn’t.

She frowns slightly. “Too much?”

I manage to shake my head. “No.” My voice comes out low, rough. “You’re... you’re beautiful.”

She bites her lip, ducking her head. “I feel like me again.”

I reach across the console and take her hand. My thumb brushes over her knuckles, anchoring myself to the feel of her. “You look like her,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “The girl who stole my heart in the middle of a field and never gave it back.”

She squeezes my hand. “I think she’s finally starting to remember how much she loved you.”

She squeezes my hand again, and for a moment, neither of us speaks. The world hums quietly around us—cars passing, the faint buzz of the city—but in here, it’s just us. A bubble we haven’t had in too long. Her fingers trace slow circles over mine, and I know that look in her eyes.

She’s thinking.

Feeling.

Deciding.

“Logan,” she says, and my name on her lips is a balm and a blade all at once. “Thank you… for waiting.”

“I’d wait forever.”

She breathes out a shaky laugh, and before I can say another word, she leans across the center console and kisses me.

Soft. Intentional. No hesitation.

My breath catches, every part of me tightening under the weight of that one touch.

Her lips are warm, familiar in a way I didn’t realize I’d missed so damn deeply.

She kisses me like it’s the first time all over again—sweet but certain, her hand slipping to my jaw like she needs to feel that I’m real.

I don’t move. I don’t dare.

This is hers to give.

When she finally pulls back, her forehead rests against mine, her breath mingling with mine, her smile small but sure.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw you in the kitchen,” she whispers.

“Yeah?” I whisper back, my voice rough. “Because I’ve been dying for it.”

She laughs again, this time a little lighter. Her hand lingers on my cheek.

“So, now what?” she asks.

I smile, heart full. “Now? We drive. Windows down. Your hair blowing like hell. And I fall for you all over again.”

Her eyes shimmer, lips curving. “You’re gonna make me cry, Logan Dale.”

“Then let me make you laugh instead,” I say, kissing her knuckles. “But first, I’m gonna kiss you back.”

And I do—slow, deep, and reverent.

Because this moment?

It’s everything.