Page 5 of Holding Onto You (Burnt Ashes #2)

Kayla

I shift on the stiff hospital bed and instantly regret it.

Pain lances down my side, sharp and unforgiving, and a wince escapes before I can bite it back.

Logan’s hand finds mine in an instant—warm, steady, grounding.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to.

He just stays close, like he’s afraid if he lets go, I’ll disappear again.

His silence says everything.

I study him through the haze of pain and medication.

The shadows under his eyes. The messy tumble of dark hair, longer than I remember.

He looks older—worn in places—but not in a bad way.

If anything, he’s even more beautiful now, in that cinematic, heart-throb-meets-tragedy kind of way.

Like life carved its story into his skin while I was gone.

Eight years. Lived without me.

“I used to know your face so well,” I whisper, not sure if it’s a comfort or a confession.

His lips curve into a smile that’s equal parts hopeful and heartbreakingly sad. “You still do.”

Before I can ask what he means—what any of this means—the door slams open like someone kicked it off the hinges.

“Aye aye, Cap’n Mac!”

The voice is loud, booming, and impossibly bright. A guy bursts in, arms overflowing with balloons and an outrageously huge sunflower bouquet that’s practically swallowing his head.

I blink at him. No recognition stirs. Not the way it does with Logan.

But the two guys trailing behind him? My heart gives a little jolt.

Not memory exactly—more like muscle memory.

Instinct. One of them is built like a gym ad: broad shoulders, ebony skin, a sculpted goatee, and the kind of presence that commands attention just by existing.

He flashes a crooked grin and lifts a crate of fruit like he’s offering it to the God’s.

“You’re lookin’ alive, Mac,” he says. “That’s an upgrade.”

The other guy? Pure trouble in golden packaging. Long blond hair, green eyes full of mischief, and an easy swagger that screams chaos. “Figured you’d hate hospital food,” he says, lifting a mystery takeout bag like a trophy. “No clue what any of this is, but it smells expensive.”

They know me. That much is clear. And from the way Logan exhales—somewhere between relief and secondhand anxiety—I know this wasn’t a casual visit.

Their voices stir something deeper. Like sunlight hitting dust in a long-forgotten attic. Fleeting warmth. Echoes of chaos and comfort. A life I can almost taste but can’t quite hold.

Then I look at the first guy again—the one with the flowers—and something in my chest tugs.

He sets the bouquet down on my bedside table with more gentleness than I expect, then straightens. And that’s when I really see him.

He’s the kind of beautiful that makes you stare.

Not because he’s flawless—because he’s interesting.

His face is all sharp cheekbones and soft curves, and just beneath the left corner of his mouth sits a small beauty mark.

But it’s the ink that catches me. Tattoos spill across his skin like whispers—delicate lines and intricate designs that wind down his arms and disappear beneath his collar, crawling all the way to his fingers.

My confusion must be obvious.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I don’t… know who you are.”

The air shifts. Subtle, but unmistakable.

Logan’s fingers tighten around mine. The guy—Trey—freezes, like I just hit him with a wrecking ball. Then he laughs. But it’s empty. A brittle echo of what I somehow know his laugh should sound like.

“Damn,” he says. “And here I thought I was unforgettable.”

“You are—to everyone else,” the golden one quips, elbowing him with a grin.

“Yeah, alright, Chace. Let the man have his moment,” the big guy—Sam, I think—grumbles, shaking his head like he’s seen this movie before.

Trey steps closer, cautious. Like I’m glass.

“I’m Trey,” he says softly. “Trey Baker. You and me… we’ve been through a lot. You used to call me your annoying little brother.”

My chest tightens. “I did?”

He nods, lips curving into a wobbly smile. “Yep. I annoyed you on purpose. ’Cause I liked making you laugh. And, let’s be real—pissing you off was hella fun.”

Something flickers. A ghost of a smile. A feeling I can’t name. Like I’m chasing a memory I’ve already lost.

I reach out and brush the edge of one of the sunflowers. “These are beautiful.”

“They match you,” Trey whispers, blinking fast. “Do me a favor, Macademia Nut… don’t scare us like that again, yeah?”

The nickname lands with a strange familiarity. Like an old hoodie found in the back of the closet—soft, worn, mine.

Chace claps his hands like an overenthusiastic game show host. “Right! Time for presents.” He drops a stuffed bag on the bed. “We got you swag. I brought fuzzy socks. Because softness is a lifestyle.”

“And I got you a singing llama,” Sam says, sliding a smoothie and fruit bowl onto my tray like a proud chef. “Also? We missed you. Doesn’t matter what you remember—you’re family. We’ve got enough stories to fill in the blanks.”

My throat goes tight. “Thank you,” I whisper. And I mean it. Even if everything inside me is still tangled, their presence feels like finding the door to a house I didn’t know I belonged to.

Trey’s already digging into the bag. “And now, the pièce de résistance—stress boobs!”

I blink. “I’m sorry… what?”

Logan groans, hand covering his face like this is a familiar nightmare.

Trey beams. “Boobs are great. Always cheer me up. And since they don’t make a goth thigh stress ball, this was the next best thing.”

“I wanted to get you a stress dick,” he adds, completely unfazed by the collective groan, “but the cashier thought I meant dildo and somehow I ended up nearly buying the Fist of God—don’t ask.”

Thwack.

Sam smacks the back of Trey’s head.

Trey laughs and immediately starts picking at my fruit bowl. Chace bats his hand away like a raccoon guarding a snack stash.

“To be fair,” Sam mutters as he adjusts my tray, “cucumbers are kind of a superfruit.”

“They’re vegetables,” Chace shoots back.

“Botanically, they’re fruit,” Sam says without missing a beat.

Trey raises a brow. “Alright, AI. Where’d you download that from?”

The room erupts into bickering, and somehow, I’m laughing. Really laughing. The ache in my chest eases, just a little.

Then Trey turns to me with a glint in his eye. Mischief incarnate. “Alright, Macabelle, tell me—what’s the difference between hungry and horny?”

I gape at him. “I—I don’t know?”

He leans in, all drama. “Where you put the cucumber.”

Logan groans again, face buried in his hands.

Thwack.

Another well-earned smack.

But I laugh. I can’t help it.

I glance down at the flowers. The scent is fresh, earthy. The petals stretch toward the window like they know how to find the light, even in a place like this.

Just like I need to.

Then it hits me.

A flicker.

Sunlight. Laughter. A couch covered in cheap blankets. I’m barefoot, legs curled into someone’s lap—Trey’s? He’s groaning about sunflower seeds in the carpet while I’m laughing so hard my stomach hurts.

My breath catches.

It’s gone in an instant, but the warmth it leaves behind? Real. Tangible. Like slipping into a sweater I forgot I owned.

“I…” I press a hand to my temple. “I think I remember something.” Every head turns toward me.

“You do?” Logan’s voice is soft. Hopeful.

I nod. “A couch. Sunflowers. I was laughing… I think it was at you,” I add, glancing at Trey.

His eyes go wide. Then his face splits into the softest, most vulnerable smile I’ve ever seen. “God, you always laughed at me.”

“Still do,” Chace mutters, and it’s not teasing—it’s love.

Trey rubs the back of his neck. His tattooed fingers tremble.

“That couch was in our first rental house,” he says. “You called it The Pit. We all crashed there between gigs. You swore it had its own ecosystem.”

A laugh escapes me—small, unsteady. But real. It’s not everything. Not even close. But it’s something.

A piece of me stepping back into the light.

“I think…” I swallow hard. “I think I want to remember more.”

Sam steps forward, his grin soft, eyes kind. “You will, Mac. That’s a promise. Just give it time.”

They don’t stay much longer. And when the door finally clicks shut behind them, the room feels a little too quiet. The hum of machines fills the silence, but it can’t drown out the lingering scent of sunflowers or the ghost of laughter still floating in the air.

I stare at the door, heart still fluttering from that flicker of memory. It wasn’t much. But it was. And that feels monumental.

“They’re… a lot,” I say, trying for a smile.

Logan chuckles beside me, the sound low and fond. “They always were.”

I turn toward him. He’s still holding my hand, thumb tracing lazy circles over my knuckles like it’s second nature. Like he never stopped.

“I remembered something,” I whisper. “Just a flash. But it’s a start… right?”

He nods, eyes shining. “Yeah. It’s a start.”

His voice is steady, but I see what’s behind it—hope and heartbreak, teetering on a razor’s edge. Like he’s scared to want too much. Like if he reaches, the moment might slip away.

“I don’t really remember Trey,” I whisper. “Not properly. But when he spoke… something cracked open. It wasn’t what he said. It was how he looked at me. Like I mattered.”

“You do,” Logan says—no hesitation, no doubt. Just truth.

I shift, turning fully toward him on the pillow. “And you… I know you. Your face, your voice, your eyes. But it’s like I’m watching through fogged glass. You feel familiar in a way nothing else does, but I can’t reach it.”

His gaze softens. He nods, like he understands every broken piece I’m trying to hold up.

“I’m not here to force anything, Mac,” he says gently. “I just want to be here. However you need me.”

“Why does it hurt so much?” My voice cracks, raw and aching. “Not knowing? It feels like I lost you. Like I lost me.”

He looks away, jaw tight, blinking fast. “Because we had something worth losing.”

The words hit like a punch to the chest.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, still clutching my hand like it’s the only thing holding him together.

“You once told me I was your safest place,” he says quietly. “That even when the world felt like it was burning down, I was the one thing that made you feel whole.”

Tears sting my eyes before I can stop them.

“I remember how I felt when you walked in that first night,” I whisper. “It was like… something inside me exhaled. Even if my mind didn’t understand why.”

He looks at me again—those impossibly blue eyes threaded with so much aching patience, it undoes me.

“I don’t expect you to remember everything,” he says. “But I’ll be here—for every piece that comes back, for every new one we build.”

I tighten my grip on his hand, anchoring us both.

“Don’t give up on me.”

“Never,” he breathes. “Not in this life. Not in the next. You might have forgotten me, angel… but I’ll love you like you never did.”