Page 34 of Holding Onto You (Burnt Ashes #2)

Kayla

T he bed is cold.

Too cold.

I stretch my arm across the mattress, reaching instinctively for warmth, for him. But Logan’s side is empty. Sheets rumpled, pillow dented—like he was here once and left in a hurry.

My chest tightens as I press my face into that pillow, his scent still lingering—soap and cologne and something undeniably him. I breathe it in like it might calm the sudden twist in my stomach. It doesn’t.

A muffled voice drifts down the hall.

Then another—lower, heavier.

I sit up slowly, pushing the blanket from my legs. The floorboards groan beneath my bare feet as I cross the room, drawn to the sound. The kitchen light glows softly through the half-closed door, warm and inviting—but the air feels off. Tense. Thicker than it should be this early in the morning.

“…she’s not going to take this well, man.”

Trey.

“I know.” Logan’s voice is ragged, worn thin like a frayed string. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. It’s front-page news. It means nothing to me, but to her…”

The words stop me in the hallway.

That chill slithers up my spine.

And just like that—

The dread begins.

It starts as a flicker, barely there, just the whisper of something wrong. But it spreads quickly, curling around my ribs, dragging my heart down with it. I don’t even know what’s happened yet. But my body does.

I move closer, just enough to see them.

The boys are gathered in the kitchen—phones in hand, coffee untouched.

Chace leans against the counter, brows furrowed.

Sam’s arms are folded tight across his chest.

Trey looks sick.

And Logan—Logan looks destroyed.

His fingers rake through his hair like he’s trying to tear something out. Regret, maybe. Guilt. A memory he wishes he could bury.

“I swear to God, I didn’t know they had footage,” he says, quieter now. “It was months ago. Before her. Before us. I don’t even remember the damn night. But now it’s everywhere.” His jaw tightens. “It looks bad. I know it looks bad.”

Trey shifts—and that’s when he sees me.

His eyes widen, flick to Logan.

Logan turns.

And the moment our eyes meet, I know.

I know.

His face pales. “Baby…”

There’s a tremble in his voice I’ve never heard before. Not on stage. Not in private. Not ever.

“I need you to know—I haven’t touched anyone since I found you again.

This… this video, this tape or whatever the Hell it is, it’s old.

I was drunk. Out of my mind. It meant nothing.

” His hands open at his sides, like he’s surrendering.

“My team’s on it. They’re trying to bury it, but it’s already out.

Front page of the damn tabloids. It’s blowing up. ”

He takes a step toward me.

I don’t move.

Can’t.

“It’s not what it looks like. Please believe me, baby. Please.”

I want to say something.

Anything.

But my voice is gone.

Because it’s not the tape.

Not really.

It’s the feeling. The knowing—that the rest of the world got a piece of him I’ll never be able to erase. That his past, his mistakes, have followed him here. To us. And they don’t knock before they break the door down.

My eyes burn, but I refuse to blink.

A single tear slides down my cheek.

Logan sees it.

His lips part like he might cry too.

Like he might beg.

But I don’t give him the chance.

I turn around—quiet, careful, composed in that fragile kind of way right before something breaks completely—and walk away.

No words. No screams. Just silence.

And that’s somehow worse.

It’s not always betrayal that breaks you. Sometimes it’s the silence that follows the truth.

Because he didn’t cheat.

But it still feels like he did.

The door clicks softly shut behind me.

I don’t even remember walking here—back to the bed we shared just hours ago. The sheets still carry the warmth of him, the ghost of his hands, his mouth, the way he whispered my name like it meant everything.

And now…

I sit on the edge, fingers trembling in my lap.

The room is still.

But my mind isn’t.

It plays on a loop—images I’ve never seen but can imagine far too clearly.

Logan.

With her.

Whoever she is.

Her nails dragging down his back.

His mouth on her skin.

His name gasped from someone else’s lips.

My stomach twists violently.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing it away. But the images only sharpen—flash after flash, static on a broken screen.

His face buried between her thighs.

His hands gripping someone else with no restraint, no tenderness.

Just heat.

Just desire.

A broken sound cracks from my chest, and I bolt.

I barely make it to the bathroom before I fall to my knees and retch, heaving out everything—confusion, betrayal. Pain. So much pain.

The porcelain is cool beneath my forehead, a cruel contrast to the fire under my skin. I breathe in shallow gasps, my hair clinging to damp cheeks. The taste of salt hits my tongue before I realize—

I’m crying again.

The door creaks open.

I don’t lift my head.

“Baby…”

His voice is soft. Fractured.

“Please?”

I clench my eyes tighter. The words leave me in a whisper that still cuts like glass.

“Leave.”

A beat.

“I can’t look at you right now.”

Silence stretches, sharp and hollow.

Then footsteps.

The front door opens…

And closes.

He’s gone.

But the ache he leaves behind isn’t.

I curl onto my side, cheek pressed to the cold tile, arms wrapped tight around my waist like they can hold me together. Tears slip freely now, pooling beneath me, each one heavier than the last.

I try to breathe through the pain.

But there’s no air in here.

Just heartbreak.

I don’t hear the footsteps this time.

Not until the soft scrape of denim against porcelain tells me I’m not alone.

Trey.

He doesn’t say anything.

He just sinks down beside me, back to the tub, and gently pulls me into his chest like he’s done this before—like he knows exactly what to do with someone broken.

I crumble in his arms, small and shaking.

And he holds me tighter.

Then it spills out of me, ragged and desperate.

“Why?” I whisper. “Why would he let this happen?”

I clutch his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping me from slipping through the cracks.

Trey lowers his chin to rest on the top of my head. His voice is low. Steady. True.

“Knowing Logan, he probably didn’t even realize there was a camera,” he says gently. “And as for the why… You already know why.”

I close my eyes as he continues.

“You’ve had your share of dalliances, as they say. They meant nothing. Not really. Not now. Not compared to what you two have. But they’re still there. His just happen to be… public knowledge.”

My throat tightens.

“Who was she?” I ask, voice barely audible.

He sighs, his hand tracing soothing circles on my arm.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“But—”

“No, Mac. It doesn’t,” he says again, firmer this time. “It was all in the past, baby girl.”

I swallow the lump rising in my throat.

“I know you want answers. And maybe one day you’ll get them. But knowing who she was won’t change how he feels about you now.”

Trey pulls back slightly, just enough to look into my eyes.

“You’re his world. His air. His whole damn future. And yeah, Logan’s made mistakes—we all have. But nothing from back then means anything compared to what he feels for you now.”

I try to look away. I can’t. His words hold me still.

“So be mad. Be livid. Take your time. Feel all of it—because your feelings? They’re real. And they matter. But don’t let that love go, Mac. Don’t throw it away over something that never meant a damn thing to him.”

I listen, but inside, I want to scream. I want to lash out and break something—anything.

Let him go?

No… I don’t think I ever truly considered that. Not really.

Trey pauses, eyes soft, full of something that aches.

“That kind of love… the way he looks at you? And you at him? I can only pray I find that one day.”

I break again.

Not from betrayal.

But from the weight of love—and how deeply it hurts when it’s real.

Trey doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

He just holds me through it.

Solid. Steady.

A quiet place in the chaos.