Page 25 of Holding Onto You (Burnt Ashes #2)

The familiar routine soothes me. Spoonful of coffee. A splash of cream. A little cinnamon, just how I like it. I wrap my hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into my palms before I head upstairs, cross the hall and open the door to Braden’s room.

It doesn’t hit like it used to—not anymore. The ache is still there, always will be, but it’s softened, settled. Familiar.

I step inside and run my fingers along the edge of his dresser, tracing the wood grain like it might whisper stories back to me. A faded concert ticket, a cracked guitar pick. Little pieces of him, still scattered like breadcrumbs.

I crack open the window, letting the late afternoon breeze drift in. It carries the scent of autumn leaves and something floral from the backyard.

Climbing onto his bed, I tuck my feet beneath me and settle in with my coffee and the journal. The cover is warm against my fingertips, worn soft from time and touch. I flip it open, letting the pages fall where they want.

I breathe in the silence.

And then I begin to read.

July 14th

Logan came by today. I swear, the way he looks at Mac—like she’s his whole goddamn universe. He hasn’t said it out loud, not to me, not to her, but I see it. It’s already too late for him. He’s gone for her. And Mac? She's scared. But she feels it too. I know she does.

I freeze.

The words shimmer on the page, as if they’ve unlocked something in me—like a thread has been pulled loose, unraveling in slow motion.

There’s a flicker behind my eyes. A warmth. A flash of light through rain-smeared glass. The screech of tires on wet pavement.

And Logan.

Smiling.

Kissing me goodbye on the driveway outside of The Rosewood. Guitar case slung over his shoulder. His voice quiet, cracking on the words—

“I love you.”

And then me, too stunned, too scared, too late—

I never—

I jolt, breath catching, eyes wide. My voice echoing in my head.

I never…

I press a hand to my chest, right over the beat of my heart.

I never said it back. I never said it back. I never said it back.

My voice echoes in my head.

The room tilts slightly, not in a dizzying way—just enough to make everything real. That memory… it was mine.

It is mine.

My heart thunders in my chest as the ache in my temples starts again—softer this time, but pulsing in rhythm with something ancient inside me.

Truth.

Memory.

Love.

My fingers grip the journal tighter as the air in the room shifts—charged, like just before a storm.

Then it hits me.

One flicker at a time.

Logan.

Standing in a doorway, sunlight haloing him from behind, a to-go coffee in his hand and a wicked smile on his face.

I’m already running—fast, reckless—and he catches me as I throw myself into his arms, lifting me off the ground like I weigh nothing.

I can feel the warmth of his laugh against my cheek.

Gone.

Another flash.

He’s falling out a first floor window, limbs flailing, his expression a mix of panic and absurd determination. I’m above him, laughing so hard my stomach aches.

Gone again.

A nightclub. Lights strobing like lightning in a thunderstorm. His hands are on my hips. My arms are around his neck. We’re lost in each other. His forehead pressed to mine. A slow, private rhythm in the middle of chaos.

Gone.

A bed. Sheets tangled. His body over mine. His lips on my neck. That same voice, low and reverent, whispering promises I was too afraid to let myself believe at the time.

Gone.

But not lost.

Not anymore.

My breath trembles as I lower the journal, blinking through the sting in my eyes. My body feels like it’s been through a war, every muscle tight with something I can’t explain.

They're mine.

These memories—they’re mine.

Ours.

My heart pounds as I stare across Braden’s room, the echoes of Logan’s voice swirling through the air like ghosts finally finding their way home.

I jerk upright, heart in my throat.

The journal slides off my lap, my coffee sloshing dangerously on the nightstand—but I don’t care. I’m already moving.

Feet hitting the floor.

Hands shaking.

I burst out of Braden’s room, my breath catching in my chest as I sprint down the stairs two at a time.

“Phone—where’s my phone?”

I spot it on the kitchen counter where I left it earlier, screen down beside the brownie tin. I snatch it up with trembling fingers, unlocking it so fast I nearly drop it again. My pulse is thundering in my ears, and all I can think is—

I remember him.

I remember us.

And I need to hear his voice like I need air.

I press his name with a trembling thumb. The phone rings once.

Twice.

“Come on, come on—”

“Mac?” His voice is laced with concern. Background noise hums behind him—guitar strings, distant voices—but everything fades the moment I hear him.

I press a hand to my chest like I can hold my heart in place. “Logan…”

Something in my voice makes him go quiet. “Baby, what is it? Are you okay?”

I nod even though he can’t see it. My eyes sting. My throat tightens.

“I remember you,” I whisper.

Silence.

“I remember… pieces. You, in a doorway. Me running to you. You falling out of a damn window—Logan, I remember laughing at you while you panicked.”

A soft, choked laugh escapes me, half-sob, half-relief.

“I remember us dancing. I remember you kissing me in bed and saying something so stupidly beautiful, I think I forgot how to breathe. I remember how I felt.”

His breath catches on the other end. “Mac…”

Tears spill over, fast and unstoppable. “I remember loving you.”

I hear him exhale like he’s been holding it in for months. “Say it again.”

“I remember loving you, Logan.”

He doesn’t answer right away, but I can feel the emotion through the silence.

“I’m coming home,” he says, voice hoarse. “Right now.”

I hang up the call with a breathless laugh, swiping the tears from my cheeks with the sleeve of my sweater. My heart’s still racing, but in a different way now. I feel… lighter. Like something long-lost has finally clicked into place.

I hug the phone to my chest and whisper, “He’s coming home.”

I freeze, startled by a knock on the front door. The echo of it feels sharp against the quiet, like it doesn’t belong here. Frowning, I walk to the door and peek through the glass.

Lola.

I open the door fully as Lola pushes past me, arms spread like she’s been welcomed home.

“Oh—uh, hi,” I say, stepping back as she breezes past me like she owns the place, not even waiting for an invitation.

“Hey, sugar,” she says with that breathy, faraway smile. Her eyes are wide, shimmering with something I can’t place. Nostalgia? Madness? Both?

My stomach twists.

Logan’s warning rings loud in my mind.

Keep your distance from Lola, if you can. Something about her is…off.

He hadn’t gone into detail, but the way his jaw had clenched when he said it... I remember.

Lola turns slowly in the hallway, glancing around like she’s cataloguing every shadow. “God, it’s like stepping back in time,” she murmurs. “Everything still smells like him.”

I ignore her comment, and instead do the polite thing.

“I was just making a coffee,” I say cautiously. “Want one?”

She flashes me a grin. “God, yes. Been craving a proper one all day.”

I nod, swallowing the unease creeping into my chest. She follows me into the kitchen, eyes darting around like she’s ticking off memories on invisible notepads.

“It hasn’t changed much,” she says, sliding into one of the chairs at the table. “Well… you have, of course. You’re softer. Settled. Happy?”

I pause with my hand on the kettle. “Trying to be.”

Lola hums. “You remember the old days? Before the boys got all big and famous?” She laughs, twirling a piece of her hair. “We used to sneak out the back door here like it was some covert mission.”

I blink at her, and she carries on, smiling at some inner movie playing only in her mind.

“We’d call that sketchy pizza place that only answered half the time, and when the delivery guy knocked on the front door—Braden and Logan all puffed up and possessive—we’d vanish straight out the back.

God, we pulled that trick at least a dozen times.

” She sighs dreamily. “You and me, rebels until the end.”

I offer a tight smile, sliding her a mug of coffee. “Yeah… I kinda forgot about that.”

But I didn’t. Not completely.

I remember a younger Lola, always glued to Braden’s side. Laughing too loud at his jokes. Touching his arm when she didn’t need to. Claiming to be “like a sister,” but her eyes telling a different story. Even then, there was something obsessive simmering just beneath the surface.

She takes a sip of the coffee and moans like I’ve just handed her liquid gold. “Oh, wow. You do know how to make it strong.”

“I try.”

There’s a moment of silence, weighted.

Lola sips her coffee, eyes scanning the kitchen like she’s reliving every ghost of the past. Her gaze eventually lands on me, a faint smile playing on her lips — too polite, too careful.

“So,” she says, dragging out the word like it tastes sweet. “You and Logan, huh?”

I raise a brow. “Yeah. Me and Logan.”

She hums, tracing the rim of her mug with one finger. “Must be hard. I mean… trusting someone like him. All that fame. That body.” Her lips twist upward. “That face.”

My spine straightens, but I say nothing.

She leans in, voice dropping just enough to feel like a secret. “I don’t know how you do it. Loving someone the whole world wants. Knowing that temptation’s only ever a whisper away. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” Her eyes gleam, just slightly. “What happens the day he stops whispering back no?”

The words hit like a chill.

But I don’t flinch. I look her straight in the eye, voice low and even. “You trusted my brother, didn’t you?”

Her smile falters — just for a second. But I see it.

She shrugs, forced casual. “Braden was different.”

“Was he?” I tilt my head. “Or is that just what you told yourself?”

There’s a beat of silence between us, heavy and sharp-edged.

I don’t need her doubts. I don’t want her poison. And I sure as Hell won’t let her rewrite the love I have with Logan just because she never got the ending she wanted with Braden.

Not today. Not ever.

Then, casually, she says, “Mind if I use the bathroom before I go?”

I glance up from my mug. “Sure.”

She smiles, already rising. “Thanks, sugar.”

I watch her go.

I don’t know why my stomach sinks like it does, but something feels… off. Like I’ve just opened the door to something I can’t close again.

A long minute ticks by.

Then two.

Then three.

The front door creaks open again and a voice I know like my own heartbeat calls, “Mac?”

Logan.

Relief sweeps through me like a tidal wave, crashing over the uneasy stillness Lola left behind.

I move toward the hall just as she appears on the stairs, her eyes flicking over Logan’s frame with a familiarity that makes my skin crawl.

“Well,” she says with a slow, syrupy smile, “looks like I’m just in time to say goodbye.”

Logan’s smile is polite but tight. “Didn’t know we were expecting company.”

Lola doesn’t miss a beat. “Just catching up. Like old times.”

She steps out, brushing past him.

The door shuts behind her.

And just like that—she’s gone.