Page 26 of Holding Onto You (Burnt Ashes #2)

Logan

T he door clicks shut behind Lola, the sound oddly hollow in the silence that follows. Her perfume still lingers, too sweet, too strong—like a lie hanging in the air.

I barely have time to breathe before Mac’s arms wrap around me, her body slamming into mine with a force that steals my breath.

I catch her.

Of course I do.

I always will.

Her hands grip the back of my shirt like I might disappear. Her chest rises and falls too fast, and she’s shaking, her face buried in the crook of my neck.

“Mac?” I whisper, heart pounding. “What’s wrong?”

She pulls back just enough for me to see her eyes—wet, wild, shining.

“I remembered you,” she breathes, voice trembling. “Not just a flash or a feeling. Actual moments. Us.”

My heart stutters.

“What did you remember?” I ask, cupping her jaw, my thumb brushing the tear tracks down her cheeks.

Her smile breaks through, wrecked and radiant. “You. Standing in some doorway... a café maybe? I ran into your arms. You falling out a window—You kissed me… in bed. We danced.” Her fingers press against my chest. “I felt it, Logan. I felt everything. Like my heart caught up to my mind.”

God.

I pull her in tighter, burying my face in her hair, breathing her in. Vanilla, cinnamon, home.

“What triggered it?” I ask softly, afraid to break whatever spell this is.

She leans back, eyes soft and full of something I thought I’d never see again—recognition. “Braden’s journal. I was reading it in his room with my coffee, and… I don’t know. Something about his words, his voice—it unlocked something.”

A soft rain starts to fall outside, tapping gently against the windows. The old kitchen clock ticks behind us. The world keeps moving. But for me, it all narrows down to her.

My girl.

My muse.

My fucking miracle.

“I knew you’d come back to me,” I murmur, brushing my lips across her forehead, her temple, the corner of her mouth. “I didn’t know how long it would take, but I knew. My heart’s always been waiting for yours.”

I can’t stop touching her.

My fingers sweep along the curve of her jaw, drift into her hair, settle over the thudding beat in her neck like I need to memorize it all over again—just in case this moment decides it isn’t real.

But it is.

She's here.

And she remembers.

"Can you…" I pause, dragging in a breath as I pull back just enough to look her in the eye. “Would you read it to me? The part that brought you back?”

I smile, soft and reverent. “I’d love to hear what gave me you again.”

Her lips part in a small breath. That fire I know so well flickers in her eyes—bright, brave, broken open.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

She takes my hand, leading me upstairs, her fingers laced tight in mine like she’s scared to let go.

We walk into Braden’s room. She moves with this strange mix of reverence and familiarity now. Like the edges of grief are softening into something she can hold without it tearing her apart.

She crosses to the bed, reaching toward where she said she'd left it—Braden’s journal.

Only. It’s not there.

She freezes.

Brows furrow. Eyes scan the blankets, the pillows, the nightstand.

“Logan,” she says, her voice suddenly thin. “It’s gone.”

She spins, checking the floor, the dresser. “It was right here. I left it right here.”

The air shifts, sharp and tight.

Every muscle in my body locks. My jaw clenches.

“Are you sure?”

“I had my coffee here. I was reading it right there on the bed.” Her voice pitches higher, panic setting in. “I went downstairs to call you. I—I left it here…”

And that’s when it hits me.

The only other person who was in this house.

Lola. But why?

Shit.

Mac paces at a loss, one hand twisted in her hair, the other pressed to her lips like she's trying to stop the panic from spilling out.

I sit on the edge of Braden’s bed, watching her fall apart in the place he left behind.

“It has to be here,” she mutters, dropping to her knees beside the bed to check underneath it. “Maybe I moved it… Maybe—”

Her voice cracks, raw and desperate. “It can’t just be gone.”

I inhale slow, fighting the rising tide in my chest. I want to fix this for her. I want to promise it’s just slipped behind the dresser or fallen into some stupid crack in the floorboards, but I know better. I know Lola.

And suddenly, I know what she was really doing here.

But Mac doesn’t.

Not yet.

So, I stand and crouch beside her. “Hey,” I whisper, brushing my hand along her spine. “We’ll find it, okay?”

She turns to me, wide-eyed and trembling. “It was the only piece of Braden I had left that still felt alive, Logan. I didn’t even finish the page.”

I nod, heart breaking as I brush a strand of hair from her face. “I know, baby. I know.”

I pull her into my arms, and she melts against me—soft and warm and wrecked.

I don’t say what’s burning at the back of my throat.

That I think Lola took it.

Instead, I hold her tighter.

Outside, the wind rattles the windowpane. Distant traffic hums like background noise in a film that’s about to shift tone. I rest my chin on top of her head and just breathe her in.

She remembered me.

That should be enough for now.

But even the high of her remembering me is getting swallowed by a tide of confusion.

“You…” My angel rubs her face against me, hesitating before she speaks again, “You don’t think Lola took it, do you?” she whispers.

Fuck.

I don’t have an answer—nothing that will help, nothing that will ease this ache in her voice.

Lola’s been off lately… has been acting…

strained, maybe even volatile. Especially the last few times I saw her.

But I can’t accuse someone based on a gut feeling.

Innocent until proven guilty, right? Even if everything I have felt about her lately has felt… wrong.

I shrug, because it’s all I’ve got.

Mac backs toward the wall, her eyes wide and glistening with betrayal. “Why would she do that? It’s Braden’s… It’s mine… Right? It’s not hers. Why would she—” Her voice breaks apart mid-sentence, just as the first tear escapes down her cheek.

I’m across the room before I even realized I’ve moved, pulling her into my arms before she shatters completely.

She cries into my chest, her fists clenched in my shirt like I’m the last solid thing left in her world.

And God, I want to be that for her—her anchor, her safe place.

But this? I don’t know if it’s grief or fury or both, and I swear I wish women came with instructions or at least a damn user manual, so I’d know the right thing to say.

“She said she was going to the bathroom,” Mac mumbles, her voice muffled against me. “She must’ve come in here…”

I press a kiss to her temple, trying to keep the rage in check. It’s there, simmering just beneath the surface, quiet and deadly—like thunder rolling behind the clouds.

“She was obsessed with him even back then,” Mac breathes. “I didn’t see it. I thought it was just grief, but it’s not. It’s twisted. She’s twisted. It’s obsession.”

I tighten my hold. “We’ll get it back.” Anything more right now would be a waste of breath. Whatever Lola has taken, maybe I can reason with her—if I can keep my temper in check long enough not to do something I’ll regret.

Mac looks up at me then, eyes red and full of pain, her voice trembling. “I don’t want her having pieces of him. That journal… it’s ours. His and mine. It’s all I had left.”

I cup her jaw gently, guiding her eyes to mine.

“Of course, angel, ” I murmur. “I’ll talk to her. See what she has to say before we even think of the police, yeah?”

I don’t add that I want to have another look around first—just in case. I won’t have her second guessing herself. She’s come so far with her healing, her treatments. I won’t let this drag her backwards.

Outside, the wind stirs the trees. A dog barks in the distance. Somewhere in the house, a floorboard creaks like the ghosts of our past are stirring behind the walls. But right now none of that matters.

I’ll find Braden’s journal—one way or another.

Even if I have to tear the whole town apart to do it.

Mac's curled on her bed now, wrapped in a blanket that smells like her vanilla perfume. She doesn’t say much, but her silence speaks louder than words.

I try Lola’s number again, my thumb hovering over the screen.

Disconnected.

No ring, no voicemail—just a dead line.

“Still nothing?” Mac asks softly, her voice raw.

I shake my head. “It’s been disconnected.”

She closes her eyes, like she already knows.

I crouch in front of her and take her hands gently in mine. “I’m gonna find her, okay? You need to stay here, stay warm. I ran you a bath—go relax. Just for a bit.”

She hesitates, then nods. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

I press a kiss to her knuckles. “Too late. I fell in love with you.”

A tiny smile flickers. It’s enough to make me want to burn the whole damn world down for her.

I grab my keys.

The ride’s only ten minutes, but every second has my heart lodged somewhere between my ribs and throat. I don’t know what I’m expecting—Lola’s car out front, maybe. Her curtains fluttering. Lights on. Something normal.

But the second I pull up, my gut twists.

Her front garden is a jungle. Grass up to my waist. Weeds choking the path. The mailbox is stuffed, lid barely hanging on. Envelopes bleached and curled from weeks in the sun.

I kill the engine and climb out slowly.

Curtains drawn tight. No sound. No movement.

I rap my knuckles on the door. Once. Twice.

Nothing.

I knock again, harder this time. “Lola?” Silence.

I peer through a crack in the curtain near the front window—dust coats the glass.

No lights. No signs of life. Just darkness.

My skin prickles. She hasn’t been here for a while.

And if she has… she hasn’t wanted anyone to know.

I back up slowly, eyes sweeping over every inch of the property.

A rusted wind chime clinks from the porch.

One of the upstairs windows is cracked open just an inch, like maybe she needed air once but couldn’t bear to leave it wide.

I don’t know. All I know is the woman who might’ve taken Braden’s journal is gone.

She never said anything about moving. Then again, I never asked.

Maybe the guys know more… Or maybe it’s time to get law enforcement involved.

What the Hell is she playing at? Is it some sort of game?

And whatever this is—whatever game she’s running—how the fuck does she plan on ending it?