Page 4 of Holding Onto You (Burnt Ashes #2)

“I was happy just playing,” I admit, watching her close. “Didn’t matter if it was ten people or ten thousand. Music is music. Even the sugary pop garbage you used to blast at full volume had its moments—if it had rhythm and heart, I respected it.”

That earns me a small smile—crooked, dazed, lost. “Do you… want to take a break or something?” she asks, voice trembling.

I shake my head. “Only if you want to. I just don’t want to overwhelm you, angel.”

“You’re not,” she says quickly. “I’m good. I just… I’m trying to picture it. To force a memory, but… nothing.”

“Okay.” I nod, brushing my knuckles against hers. “Just so long as you’re sure.”

“I am.” She sniffs and offers a wobbly smile. “Though… Burnt Ashes? Really?”

I bark out a laugh—louder than I mean to—and she startles, her cheeks blooming red.

“That’s exactly why it worked,” I say, grinning. “Trust me, you don’t want to know some of the rejects. Crimson Dusk, Iron Soul, Audio Bastards—we had a phase.”

She laughs, a little softer now, and something in my chest eases.

“Braden was the start of everything. Burnt Ashes was his dream. Those garage sessions weren’t just noise to him. He had a plan, Mac.”

Her eyes widen, caught between wonder and sorrow.

“He met Chace in a statistics class. Sam? At the gym. And Trey just… stumbled in one day and never left.”

She laughs again, but it’s different now. Bittersweet. Like a memory brushing past without permission.

“So… how big are we talking?” she whispers.

“There’s a joke in there,” I tease, winking.

Her eyes go wide, and she buries her face in the blanket, blushing.

“But seriously? Sold-out tours. Venues packed from wall to wall. TV, radio, podcasts, music videos. We even charted in Europe. Phil’s been pushing for a world tour, but that all went on hold after… ”

Again, I trail off. I don’t have to finish.

She knows.

Her breath hitches, and she blinks fast, twisting the blanket in her hands like she’s trying to keep herself from falling apart.

“I wish I could’ve seen you perform,” she whispers. “With Braden.”

“You did. A lot,” I say gently. “There isn’t a place on earth where you’re not welcome, Mac. You were there. Always.”

I swallow hard, my voice thick. “We’d just started our first major tour when we lost him.

And I swear, Mac, the world was finally seeing what I already knew—Braden was sensational.

On stage, people stopped what they were doing just to watch.

It wasn’t just his voice. It was him. That thing you can’t teach.

That fire. Off-stage? He was even better.

He gave. To everyone. Fundraisers, charities, strangers who just needed help.

He was the best person I’ve ever known.”

She sniffles, lips parting like she wants to speak, but the words don’t come. I meet her eyes, softening.

“I can’t believe I don’t remember,” she whispers. “I should remember. I need to.”

My heart splinters. I don’t know what hurts more—watching her forget or knowing she’s losing him all over again.

I pull my phone from my pocket and hold it up. “Would you… want to see some pictures?”

Her gaze darts to the screen, uncertain. Then she nods. “Yeah. I would.”

I shift closer, perching on the edge of the bed, close enough to feel the tremble in her body. She’s barely holding it together.

I don’t say a word—just open my phone and start scrolling. At least I try to. It takes me longer than I’d like. Somehow, I end up in the damn calculator again.

“Come on,” I mutter, stabbing at the screen like that’ll make it cooperate.

The body beside me starts to shake.

My stomach drops—I think she’s crying—until I glance over and see her laughing. Shoulders trembling, tears sliding down her cheeks, but this time from something warm.

“You really are my Logan, aren’t you?” she says between gasps. “You’ve always been useless with tech.”

Her words slam into me like a punch straight to the soul. My Logan.

God, how I’ve missed hearing that.

I grin, slow and real, letting her laughter wrap around me like a familiar melody.

“It’s not worth my time,” I say with mock disdain, finally finding the damn app. I hand it to her with a sigh. “Here. Save me from myself.”

She takes it, her fingers brushing mine.

“There might be a few photos in there that are… questionable,” I warn, one brow lifted. “But in my defense, you took most of them. So technically, I’m innocent.”

Her eyes flash with humor—and something more. Something I’ve missed for so damn long.

She hesitates, then takes the phone, her hand shaking. The second her eyes hit the screen, her breath catches. Her free hand flies to her mouth to muffle the sob.

I reach for her instinctively—but freeze, my hand hovering.

“Mac—”

“No,” she whispers, shaking her head, eyes locked on the screen. “I need to see this.”

I nod, even though every part of me is screaming to hold her.

She swipes. Then again. Silent. The tears come fast, trailing down her cheeks like memories finally catching up.

I know what she’s seeing. Braden laughing. His arm slung over her shoulders. The three of us grinning on a beach somewhere, sunburnt and stupid happy. A blurry shot of the backseat of a car after a gig—Braden flipping me off, Mac rolling her eyes, me smiling so big it hurts.

Then she stops.

Her breath hitches, fingers frozen.

Us .

She’s asleep on my chest, her body curled into mine like she belongs there. Hair a wild mess over my skin, my arm slung around her bare back.

Her body tenses. The blush rises up her neck, blooming in her cheeks.

She lifts her gaze to mine, her voice barely a whisper. “We were…”

“Yeah,” I say softly.

She looks back at the screen, at the proof of something real—something I would give anything for her to remember.

She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just stares at it like maybe, just maybe, some part of her remembers after all.

Her hand moves to her neck, fingers drifting to the delicate chain resting there.

The necklace I gave her.

The one she wasn’t wearing before the accident. The one I clasped around her neck while she lay unconscious in that hospital bed, because even then, I couldn’t bear the thought of her waking up without something—anything—of me.

My throat tightens as I watch her thumb graze one of the charms.

Like some part of her knows.

Like maybe I’m not so far away after all.