Page 35 of Holding Onto You (Burnt Ashes #2)

Logan

I stand on the porch, staring at the door like maybe it’ll open.

Like maybe she’ll come out, eyes soft, lips parted, arms reaching for me.

But it doesn’t. And she doesn’t. The last thing she said before I left was, I can’t look at you right now.

And I don’t blame her. The ache in my chest is sharper than it has any right to be, considering I did this to myself.

I told myself it didn’t matter—those nights, those women—those meaningless moments.

Because they weren’t her. But the past doesn’t stay buried just because you want it to.

It festers. Rots beneath the surface until it stinks—until it forces its way up through the cracks and demands to be seen.

I drag a hand down my face and drop onto the porch step, elbows braced on my knees.

My pulse is a hammer in my throat. I should’ve told her sooner.

Should’ve laid it all out the second we got together.

But I let fear convince me I could outrun it.

The door creaks open behind me. I tense and spin around, hope flaring— But it’s not her. It’s Trey.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just steps out and lets the screen door click shut behind him.

Arms crossed, eyes scanning me. “She’s asking for you.” My heart jerks.

I shoot to my feet too fast, nearly tripping over the step. “What? Is she okay?”

“She’s calmer,” he says. “Still shook. But not crying anymore.” He glances back at the door. “I think she’s ready to hear the truth. From you.”

I swallow hard. “She hasn’t seen them yet?”

“No.” He raises a brow. “Which means you still have a chance to show her. To explain—before her imagination does more damage than the facts ever could.”

I nod slowly, heart in my throat.

“Just… don’t lie to her, man,” Trey adds. “Don’t sugarcoat it. She’s stronger than you think.” I nod again. Because he’s right.

She deserves the truth—all of it. Even if it guts me to give it to her.

Trey steps aside and opens the door. “Go,” he says simply.

“And don’t fuck it up.” I don’t look back.

I cross the threshold, every step heavier than the last, until I’m standing in the hallway—just outside the bathroom.

She’s still on the floor, back against the tub, knees drawn to her chest. Her eyes lift when she hears me—red-rimmed, wary.

But she doesn’t tell me to leave. So, I sit.

Right there on the floor across from her. My voice is low when I speak.

“There’s something I need to show you,” I say.

“And it’s gonna hurt.” Her lips part, but she doesn’t interrupt.

I take out my phone and pull up the photos—the ones that were sent anonymously to tear us apart.

But instead of letting her stumble on them later, I turn the screen toward her and hold it out.

“This is the past I should’ve been man enough to own before now.” Her hand trembles as she takes it.

And as her eyes scan the images, her breath catches—once, twice—and her shoulders curl inward like she’s bracing for a blow.

I slide closer. Not touching her—not yet.

“I didn’t cheat on you,” I say quietly. “But that doesn’t excuse keeping something from you that could hurt you, baby. For that… I’m sorry. So fucking sorry. I was scared it would ruin what we have. That you’d see that guy, instead of the one sitting in front of you now.”

She’s quiet, eyes locked on the screen.

And then, barely above a whisper—

“How many?”

I hesitate.

“Two. Same night. Same mistake. Different kind of regret.”

Her jaw trembles. Her fingers wrap around my phone like it’s burning her.

I watch the pain settle over her like armor she never wanted but now needs. I don’t touch her. I let her have the space to hate me if she needs to.

“I don’t know how many tapes exist,” I add, voice barely mine. “There could be more.” Her shoulders stiffen.

“I was angry. Lost. Pushing everyone away like it was the only thing I knew how to do. I made mistakes, baby. So many fucking mistakes.” I drag in a breath. “But none of them were you. None of them were us. What we have...” I gesture between us “—it’s the only thing I’ve ever been sure of.”

Her eyes lift to mine searching. I Don’t flinch. I don’t look away.

“I didn’t know what love was until you gave it to me,” I say. “And now that I have it, I’m not letting it go without a fight.” Her lip trembles.

She blinks, and a tear spills down her cheek.

“And now that we’re public people will dig. They'll twist shit, send things, try to blow this wide open. But none of it matters unless we let it. We’re stronger than their noise.”

I inch closer—slow, careful.

“We’ve survived worse than gossip. What we have—it’s rare, baby. The kind of rare people envy.” I reach for her hand. This time, she lets me take it.

“What did they mean to you?” she asks, voice so faint I almost miss it. “Those women.”

I tighten my grip on her hand.

“Nothing,” I answer honestly. “Not even a second thought. They weren’t names. Weren’t faces. Just pain—dressed in perfume and lipstick. A way to feel something when I couldn’t feel anything at all.”

Her eyes search mine, still full of hurt.

But something flickers there, too.

Hope.

“This isn’t easy for me either,” she whispers. “I feel like I’m breaking.”

“Then let me help you put the pieces back together,” I breathe.

I lift her hand to my chest, pressing it where my heart pounds like a war drum.

“This heart? It doesn’t beat right without you.”

Her lip quivers.

Her fingers tremble.

And then her shoulders shake.

And then…she breaks.

Tears fall hard and fast. She covers her mouth like she’s trying to trap the sob building in her throat.

But it comes anyway. And it guts me.

“I can’t—” Her voice cracks. “Logan, I can’t stop seeing it.”

I move to kneel in front of her close—but not touching. Because she hasn’t given me permission to hold her yet. And I won’t take anything she doesn’t offer freely.

“The thought of you with someone else…” She chokes on the words. “Your hands—your mouth—your touch bringing someone else pleasure….” She shudders, pain twisting her face. “It destroys me.”

My lungs forget how to work.

“I know it was before. I know it wasn’t us. But it feels like us. It feels like you gave away parts of you I thought were mine. And now I have to live with the ghosts of them inside me, clawing at my ribs every time I close my eyes.”

She curls in on herself, shrinking beneath the weight of it all.

And I swear—my soul splits.

“I hate that I feel this way,” she whispers. “I hate that I can’t separate it. But I can’t help it. I see it, Logan. I see you—with them. And it makes me want to throw up.”

My hands hover near her knees, desperate to anchor her—but how do you fix the kind of pain that bleeds from you past into someone else’s present?

“Mac…” her name falls from my lips like a prayer. “I’m so fucking sorry. For all of it.” She looks at me then. Eyes red, nose running, mascara streaked. Beautiful. Broken. Brave as hell.

“I need time,” she says. “To learn how to breathe around the memory of something I never witnessed but can’t unsee. To feel safe in your arms again.” I nod, even though it hurts like hell.

“I’ll wait,” I whisper. “As long as it takes. Just don’t shut me out. Don’t push me so far away I forget what your voice sounds like.” She doesn’t answer.

“Even if you don’t love me right now, I’ll keep loving you, Mac. Loud enough for both of us. Until the hurt fades and the truth wins.”