Walk Through Fire (Chaos #4)(80)

“I...” I hiccupped, deep breathed, clutched his shirt, and he waited through all that. “Ditto,” I pushed out.

Totally lame.

But it bought me his eyes smiling and a brush of his lips.

His lips stayed where they were, his eyes looking into mine, when he whispered, “You always sucked at that shit.”

I did.

I could tell him I loved him and I did. I could show it and I did.

But I didn’t do flowery.

Logan did biker, badass flowery and he did it really good.

And I had that back too.

I started deep breathing again.

“Baby, eggs are gonna dry on those plates you don’t let me go,” he told me.

I hiccupped, nodded, and slowly, very, very slowly, I let him go.

He slid away but I felt his hair wisp across my face, his lips along my jaw while he did it.

When he was gone, I curled up, pulling up the covers, and watched as he moved around the bed, collecting all our stuff.

I heard from far away the sink going as he set the dishes to soak.

And I watched him haul the TV in, setting it up on a nightstand he brought in from the guest bedroom, watching him plug it into the cable jack I’d had installed but never used.

Then I felt him gather me up after he got into bed with me.

I also heard him order, “Don’t f*ckin’ fall asleep. You gotta make it until eight o’clock, then you can crash.”

I had not forgotten how bossy he was.

It was just that I never minded it.

It was him.

And I never minded anything about Logan.

Though, now it was kind of annoying. But it was mature, badass biker—my mature, badass biker who was back annoying. So even if it was annoying, it wasn’t that annoying.

I didn’t share that.

Instead, I watched a movie and a half with Logan.

Then I did whatever the hell I wanted, which was what I’d always done when he was bossy.

Or, I should say, I did what my body wanted.

I crashed.

In my bed.

Tangled up with my man.

CHAPTER TWELVE

We’re Found

Millie

I WOKE UP and it was dark.

But I woke up and I was awake.

I also woke up in the middle of my bed, tangled up in Logan.

I lay there. I did it a long time. I did it happy to do it forever.

Then I couldn’t do it anymore because I had to go to the bathroom.

So the last thing I wanted to do, I did. Sliding out of his arms, unwinding my limbs from his, I got out of bed and went to the bathroom, closing the door, not turning on the light until it was shut so it wouldn’t disturb him and going about my business.

I turned off the light before I left the bathroom but I only took one step into the room.

The curtains were opened, so the room was very lit even if it was still night.

And I could see Logan, sheets to his lat, body curved on the bed, one arm under my pillow, the other arm thrown out to where I lay minutes before, the dark of him against the light of my sheets more beautiful than the Eiffel Tower at night.

And the Eiffel Tower at night was spectacular.

Weirdly, even with Logan in my bed, the light beckoned me and I moved to the front of the room right to the window.

Logan should have closed the curtains. Anyone could see in.

And someone could be looking.

I didn’t care when I made it there and looked out.

The snow had stopped. The sky was clear. The moon was shining bright on gazillions of tiny crystals, the streetlights casting an unnecessary glow.

The snow had been heavy and long. It coated everything and there was a lot of it. Cars parked on the street, the snow was up to the middle of the doors.

The street had not been cleared. That much snow, they’d concentrate on the heavily trafficked areas. If we were lucky, they’d get to my street sometime that day.

But cars had tried to navigate it, the snow not dirty and brown, it just had tire tracks cut through.

Not many.

Too much snow to take that risk.

People would stay home. Warm. Safe. With their loved ones around them.

I looked back at the bed where Logan was, and clearheaded, it all came to me.

So I looked back to the peace of the snow and filtered through all of it.

It had occurred to me frequently through the years that there was a good possibility I’d made a mistake. That I should have told Logan, once he’d given me the go-ahead to get pregnant whenever, that I’d pushed my birth control pills into the toilet and flushed them away. I should have told him that I’d been trying for the surprise of a baby for months. And when that didn’t happen, I should have told him I’d gone to the doctor and sustained the crushing blow, alone, that with one simple test I found out it wasn’t going to happen.

There was nothing we could do. No hoops to jump through. No surgeries to be had. No treatments to try.

It just wasn’t going to happen.

But when these thoughts occurred to me, I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t even consider I’d made such a massive mistake. And even if my brain pushed through that idea, I couldn’t think about finding him, telling him, and courting the possibility he’d be even angrier at me and wouldn’t take me back.

But I’d found him.

I’d told him.

And it didn’t even take twenty-four hours before he told me he got it and took me back.