Page 27 of Holding Onto You (Burnt Ashes #2)

Kayla

T he house is quiet, but my thoughts are anything but.

The windows are cracked open just enough to let the night breathe through, carrying the scent of pine from the meadow.

I lie on Logan’s side of the bed, legs curled up, his oversized t-shirt swallowing me whole.

It smells like him—faint musk and cedar and something warm I can’t name.

It anchors me and unravels me all at once.

My hair is still damp from the bath he ran me, twisted up in a loose, messy bun that’s slipping every time I shift on the sheets. I try not to move. I don’t want to ruin the shape of his pillow, the way his side of the bed dips from how he sleeps curled toward me.

I should feel comforted. I should feel safe.

Instead, I’m a restless storm of too many feelings, spinning too fast to hold onto just one. There’s something about an outsider messing with my peace that makes my blood boil.

Anger curls hot in my chest.

At Lola—for stealing something so precious. So Braden. His words. His thoughts. His heart. Who does that? Who walks into someone’s home and takes something sacred? Something that doesn't belong to them? That shouldn’t belong to anyone else? Or… were they more serious than Logan let on?

No.

No, he said they weren’t. I’m almost certain he did…I think.

I feel like I’m crawling out of my skin, frustration biting at the edges of everything. At Lola. At myself. At this broken version of me who let this interference steal the moment I’ve been waiting for. The moment Logan’s been silently holding his breath for.

I remembered him.

Not all of him. The past few years are still a mess in my head, all tangled threads and missing pieces. But I remembered us.

The way he kissed me in bed, soft and slow like the world had narrowed down to just our skin and breath. The way I laughed when he fell out that stupid window. The way I ran into his arms like the sky was falling and none of it mattered as long as I had him.

I should’ve clung to him. I should’ve cried into his neck and told him everything. Let the floodgates open. Let myself feel it all with him. Love him like I promised I would when I didn’t even remember saying it.

A low rumble cuts through the night.

Braden’s dodge charger.

The sound slices through my chest like a hot wire, and I freeze—knees pulled to my chest, my fingers fisting the hem of his shirt.

I don’t move. Don’t breathe.

Because I don’t know what he’s about to walk through that door and say. Did she admit it? Does she still have it? Was it really her?

What if she’s gone?

What if that piece of Braden I’ll never get back just… vanished?

The sound of the engine dies. A silence heavier than before sinks into the house. My heart pounds.

I don’t know if I want the truth. But I know I need it.

I need him.

Sometimes the most beautiful part of falling apart is the person who chooses to hold you together.

The door creaks open, and then he’s there.

Logan stands in the doorway, shaking the night off his shoulders, lost in thought. His black hoodie hangs open halfway, the soft gray tee beneath clinging to his chest in a way that makes my pulse stumble. His dark hair is a mess from the ride, wind-tousled and damp at the edges.

I sit up slowly in bed, legs tucked beneath me, knees hugging the hem of his shirt.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just quietly closes the distance between us, looking at me with a weight in his eyes I haven’t seen since the hospital.

“I went to her place,” he says finally, voice quiet. “It’s abandoned, baby. Like…no one’s lived there for months. The yard’s overgrown. Mail’s spilling out of the box. Curtains drawn. Dead silence. Something’s not right.”

I nod. I know. I know.

Because I cried when I realized Braden’s journal was gone. I panicked. Ripped through the bed, the sheets, the house—searching. Like I could summon it back through sheer desperation.

But that grief has passed. And what’s left?

Him.

Logan, who crossed state lines in the middle of a tour. Who sat beside my hospital bed when I didn’t know him. Who never forced my memories—just waited with quiet hope and open hands.

Who stayed.

Tears rise again, but they’re different now—softer. Deeper.

Not for the journal.

But for the boy who loves me in a way that rewrites every page I thought I knew.

“I cried for Braden,” I whisper, voice thick. “I cried for losing that part of him again. But now... I’m crying for you.”

His brows pull together.

I reach out, laying my hand over his chest, right above his heart.

“Because you didn’t have to come back for me. You didn’t have to sit in that sterile hospital room or walk me through memories that weren’t yours to carry. But you did. You always do.”

His jaw clenches. “Mac…”

“I forgot us, Logan. But you didn’t. Not once. You held on for both of us. And that… that’s what love is.”

He moves then—slow and aching—and pulls me into his arms like I’m the only thing tethering him to this world. I curl into him, tears dampening his shirt, fingers fisting in the fabric.

We stay like that for a long time. Breathing. Existing.

Together.

The right person won’t just stay. They’ll hold you together when you forget how to.

Logan has.

He always has.

I feel him breathe against me—slow, steady, like he’s still holding back.

But I don’t want him to hold back. Not now. Not with me.

Not when I finally remember what it feels like to crave him.

I shift slightly in his lap, my thighs bracketing his. He stills beneath me, sensing the change in my energy, the heat pulsing from me like a second heartbeat.

I lean back just enough to look at him. His eyes are on mine—blazing, uncertain. Hopeful.

My fingers rise slowly, brushing the zipper of his hoodie. I don’t speak. I just tug it down, the sound of metal teeth parting slicing through the quiet like silk being torn. He lets me. His lips part on a soft breath, lashes low.

The hoodie slides off his shoulders. I push it past his arms, palms dragging down his biceps—firm, warm, flexing under my touch. I’ve never really felt him like this before. Never been the one exploring.

It’s addictive.

His intense gaze never leaves mine, not even for a second—as if blinking might break whatever this is building between us.

I reach for the hem of his t-shirt next, running my hands underneath, letting my fingertips glide up his skin—hot, tight, tattooed.

His muscles twitch when I pass over his ribs, and he exhales a curse under his breath that only makes me burn hotter.

“Mac…” he rasps.

I lift his shirt higher, mouth hovering just over his skin as I whisper, “Let me see you…”

He does. He lets me.

The shirt is gone, tossed somewhere across the room, and my eyes drink him in like he’s art I’ve stared at before but never truly seen. His chest is a canvas of ink and scars, hard and lean and entirely beautiful.

I trace the edge of his angel tattoo, fingers brushing over the script beneath it.

“ My brother in this life and the next… ” I murmur, repeating the Spanish aloud like it belongs to me too.

His throat works around a swallow. “You remember that?”

“Yes.”

And God, do I.

I kiss just below his collarbone, tasting salt and skin, dragging my lips down his chest until he’s trembling beneath me, eyes closed like he’s breaking apart and I’m the one pulling him to pieces.

His hands come up, but he doesn’t rush me. He never does. He just holds me, breathing hard, letting me take what I need.

My fingers ghost over the rose on his hand, then his knuckles— Love. Hate. My lips follow, brushing over each word like a promise.

He groans. “You’re gonna kill me, baby…”

I smile against his skin, kissing his wrist. “Not before I worship every inch of you first.”

He pulls me back to his mouth, and when we kiss, it’s all tongue and teeth and desire.

But this time… this time it’s mine.

My hands. My mouth. My moment.

Because it’s him.

It’s always been him.

His hoodie and shirt are long gone now, strewn across the floor in the kind of careless abandon that comes only when urgency eclipses everything else.

He’s spread beneath me, chest rising hard and fast, hair a dark, messy halo against the pillow.

And those eyes—God—those eyes never leave mine. Intense. Blazing.

My fingers skate down his stomach, every muscle twitching under my touch. I press a kiss to his chest, then another lower. He gasps softly, his hand sliding into my hair. Not guiding. Not demanding. Just there.

I press kisses down the trail of inked muscle, my breath brushing his skin as I sink lower. He twitches beneath me, hips tense. Waiting. Watching.

I pull his waistband down, freeing him slowly, watching the way he bites his bottom lip as I wrap my fingers around him. My thumb slides over the tip, and he groans deep in his throat.

Eyes lock on mine. There’s no wall between us—just heat and awe and something deeper that steals the breath from my lungs.

I don’t rush.

I explore.

Every movement is slow, intentional. My mouth finds him, warm and wet, and he bucks beneath me, breathing my name like it’s a curse and a prayer all at once.

My hands anchor his hips. I work him slow, then deep. His thighs quake, abs flexing under my palm. He moans, head pressing back into the mattress, hand fisting the sheet.

“Eyes on me, baby,” he growls, voice thick and possessive. “I want to watch you take me. Just like that—fuck—just like that.”

His voice is hoarse, broken. Beautiful.

I hollow my cheeks, taking him deeper, letting the rhythm build and roll. His body bows up from the bed, and I feel him unraveling beneath my hands.

“You feel too good,” he pants. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

I pull back just enough to meet his eyes again. “Then let me.”

I take him again, letting him fall apart in my mouth.

When I finally crawl back up his body, his arms catch me like instinct. He kisses me like he’s starving, like he just found air again.

I smile, breathless, heart racing. I sink deeper into his arms, the heat of his skin seeping into mine like wildfire.

He smiles, slow and wicked. “I want to taste you. Hear you scream my name. Feel you come apart under my hands.” His lips brush mine, slow and searing, before trailing down my neck, nipping softly at the pulse point.

I arch into him, breath hitching. His mouth finds my skin, gentle at first, then demanding.

His hands roam, exploring, igniting fires wherever they touch.

I let my head fall back, exposing my throat, losing myself in the wave of sensation rolling through me.

His voice is a low growl in my ear. “You’re mine. Every gasp, every tremble—it’s all for me.”

I’m trembling now, caught between the raw hunger and the sweet ache of something deeper—trust, surrender, love. My hands slide into his hair, pulling him closer, needing him.

Then, with a softness that takes my breath, he lifts me, sets me down gently on the bed, never breaking eye contact.

“I want to show you,” he says, voice husky. “Let me make you feel how much you mean to me.”

His mouth descends, worshiping every inch, tasting, teasing, coaxing sounds from deep inside me—soft moans, breathless whispers of his name. His hands never stop, mapping me, claiming me, making me his until my voice is raw, and my body is completely spent.

The world narrows until it’s just us—two souls entwined, burning bright in the dark.

When he finally pulls back, I’m trembling, lost in the haze of sensation and emotion.

“I love you, Logan Dale,” I say, voice trembling but sure.

“Not for the way you kiss me or hold me, though God… that too. But for all the things you never even knew you were doing. I fell for the way you saw me—when I was lost. For the way you stayed, when I couldn’t find the strength to ask you to.

I love you because you loved me before I ever knew how to love myself. ”

His smile breaks across his face like dawn, and he cups my cheek, eyes shining. “I’m yours—for now, for always, as long as the stars still shine. Every breath, every part of me, belongs to you.”

I pull him close, our bodies fitting together like they were made for this. His steady heartbeat hums against my ear, a lullaby only I get to hear. The world fades away until there’s nothing left but us—soft breaths, warm skin, and the quiet promise of forever.

“Goodnight, rockstar,” I whisper.

He presses a gentle kiss to my temple. “Goodnight, angel.”