Page 40 of Logan
The way that she dances
Ain't afraid to take chances
And wears her heart on her sleeve
‘Beautiful Crazy’ - Luke Combs
Tonight we’re having a party at the club to celebrate me claiming Mac.
Any time we’re welcoming someone into the family, it’s a reason to throw a celebration. That… and the guys will take any excuse to blow off steam, drink, and take the night for themselves. The music will be loud, the whiskey will flow, and every man in the room will get a little looser with his words and his fists.
A part of me always knew that when Mac walked back into my life, this is where we’d end up. My patch on her. Her at my side. My name in her mouth when she’s falling apart for me. It was inevitable.
Walking up to Shaina’s door, I notice something sitting on the floor in front of it. It’s small enough that at first I thinkmaybe it’s something one of the neighbors dropped off for her a package, maybe. But as I get closer, I see it’s a box of chocolates.
My first thought is that they’re for Shaina. She’s loud, she’s flirty, she gets attention wherever she goes. But something about it still makes my shoulders tighten.
I bend down to pick it up, the weight of it shifting in my hand. That’s when I see the envelope, crisp and cream-colored, resting on top.
And then I see her name.
Not Shaina’s. Mac’s.
My body goes rigid, a cold spike of adrenaline working its way through me before I’ve even had time to think. The hallway is quiet, but my eyes still flick to it instinctively, scanning the shadows, my pulse starting to thud harder.
I’m still holding the damn box when I knock on the door.
Inside, I hear her voice call out bright and unsuspecting, “Coming!”
When she opens the door, her smile is wide, like she’s just happy to see me. That smile hits me in the chest the same way it always does.
“You got me chocolates?” she asks, her arms looping around me.
But I’m still standing there like a statue, my arms stiff at my sides, my mind already running scenarios.
When I don’t hug her back, she pulls away just enough to search my face. “What’s wrong?”
“These aren’t from me,” I say flatly, stepping into the apartment without waiting for an invite and setting the box down harder than I mean to on the kitchen counter. The sound is sharp in the quiet space.
I rip the envelope open. Inside is a blank card, the kind you’d find in some cheap gift shop, but the handwriting in it is deliberate. ‘See you soon, babe.’ Signed, Anthony.
I shove the card toward her, my voice low but edged with steel. “Tell me what the fuck is going on, Mac.”
The change in her is instant. I watch the color drain from her face, see the way her body stills, every muscle tight, her eyes going somewhere far away. She sinks down onto the barstool like her legs can’t hold her anymore, her hands covering her face.
She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just breathes shallow, like she’s trying not to let whatever’s inside her out.
That’s when I know this isn’t about her seeing someone. No. This is something else entirely. And whatever it is, it’s bad.
I walk to her, my boots sounding too loud against the floor. Lowering myself so I’m eye-level, I try to get her to look at me, but she won’t. My hands come up, bracing either side of her face, my thumbs skimming along her cheekbones.
“Mac.” I soften my voice, forcing some of the anger out of it.
Her hands drop slowly, revealing red-rimmed eyes that she’s clearly fighting to keep from spilling over. But it isn’t just sadness there. It’s fear. The kind of fear that makes my gut knot and my vision sharpen.
“Talk to me.”
“Where were these?” Her voice is so quiet I almost miss it.
