“I think you kinda communicated that with our, uh... latest session.”

His gaze softened with humor but the intensity stayed put.

“I hate that for you,” he whispered. “I hate that you had that kind of lonely without me. And I love it at the same time.” His head tilted on the pillow. “Do you get that?”

“I think so,” I whispered.

“You suffered,” he whispered back.

“At my own hand,” I reminded him.

“I didn’t come back.”

I shut my mouth and felt my head twitch.

“Knew you. Knew us,” he declared. “Knew what we had. You got shot of me, knew that wasn’t right. But I didn’t come back. You suffered at my hand, too, Millie. And that fuckin’ sucks. I hate that most of all. But I vow to you right now, I’m gonna fix it.”

“I...” I shook my head. “Logan, it wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t all yours either and it’s not cool you take that on.”

“But it was me—”

“And it was me who didn’t come back.”

I opened my mouth but he spoke.

“I didn’t love her.”

I shut my mouth again.

“You know that. Now you’ll know I never got close. Didn’t even try. What we had wasn’t about that and I think that’s part of the reason we had it. She’s not a woman who wants to be loved. She loves our girls but that’s all she wants out of life and she’s good with that. She made that plain. She did not suffer through what we had. We existed. And that’s all the effort either of us gave it. She gave as good as she got to us. That bein’ nothin’. She was down with that and so was I. Lookin’ back, that’s one of the reasons why I went in with her. Because I didn’t have to make the effort. I didn’t have to bury what was always at the surface even to pretend. Even in an effort not to hurt a decent woman.”

He stopped talking and when he said no more, I replied on a prompt, “Okay.”

“In other words, Millie, it’s only been you.”

I dragged in a ragged breath.

“It’ll only be you,” he went on.

I stared down at him.

He swept his thumb along the apple of my cheek. “So it’s gonna be my throat.”

My head twitched again.

“What?” I asked, and it came out breathy.

“You made the choice and even if you said you wanted it on my dick, I’d do that. I’d ink my cock with you. But I want anyone who sees me to know. Anyone who gets a look at my face. Not the back of my neck. No way somewhere hidden. They look at my face, they can see, right across my throat, I’m yours.”

A badass biker with his woman’s tat emblazoned across his throat?

That was huge.

Mammoth.

Oh shit.

I was going to cry again.

To battle that, I started breathing deep.

And to battle it, I had to concentrate on that and nothing else.

Therefore, I didn’t speak.

“That work for you?” he asked.

“I... uh... you...”

I cleared my throat.

Then it overwhelmed me and my body bucked with holding back the sob.

I couldn’t look at him, he was too beautiful, what he was saying was too colossal.

So I shoved my face in his neck and started deep breathing again.

Logan slid his hand into my hair and through it. Back to tangle his fingers again, he glided them through. And repeat, all while he muttered, “I’ll take that as it workin’ for you.”

I nodded.

Then I took time to pull myself together.

Logan let me.

Once I accomplished that gargantuan feat, I remarked, “Getting a tat on your throat is gonna hurt, Low.”

“So?”

He didn’t expect a response and even if he did, I had none. As far as I knew, he’d taken the needle four times. The Chaos insignia that spanned his back. My tat, which was now gone. The tat that covered it. And whatever that was on his ribs (which I wasn’t sure I had the strength to understand right then so I avoided even thinking too much about it).

He’d know how much it’d hurt.

I let that go and carefully noted, “Your girls are gonna see.”

“Millie, look at me.”

He sounded serious.

All that was happening was serious, huge, unbelievable, overwhelming, in good ways and in some bad.

So I didn’t want more serious.

But I had to get my shit together.

Over the years, I didn’t even allow myself to dream that this might happen.

However, now it seemed I was living a dream I hadn’t had the courage to have.

Since it was here, though, I had to find the courage to face it.

Nourish it.

And unlike the last time, hold on and not let go.

So I lifted my head.

Logan slid his hand to the side of my neck, holding me there with that hand and the one at the back and keeping hold.

“I hesitate with this, beautiful,” he started gently, “ ’cause you’re fragile. I get that.” He gave me a light squeeze with both hands when he saw what I knew hit my face. “I don’t judge it. You’re not in my shoes. You don’t feel the gift it is that you gave me living the way you did for twenty years, keeping yourself only for me. Honest to Christ, it’s not a gift I want but it’s precious all the same.”

I took in another deep breath.

Logan kept going.

“I know you weren’t hibernatin’ and I woke you up. I know what I gotta do is like breathin’ life back into you. And I hope it’s sinkin’ in that I’m all in with that. So I’ll say careful-like that my girls are my girls. They might not have been raised in a home where their mom and dad loved each other, but they were raised in a home where there was a lotta love. They’ll want you for me.”

“Okay, Low,” I replied shakily, hoping that was true.

“Cleo, she always had her head screwed on straight,” he told me. “She’s a lot like her old man. Sees the world as it is and takes it as it is. Zadie...” He paused and held my gaze. “My Zadie’s a dreamer. It never touched her, the void of what her parents should have had. She made up what she wanted to be there and lived in that place.”

Oh man.

Logan continued. “So what I’m sayin’, gentle-like, is that I know I got my work cut out for me with you. But you gotta go in to this knowin’ we both got our work cut out with Zadie. You with me?”

Wonderful.

“Have you... I mean, you’ve been here awhile. Have you spoken to them?” I asked.

“About you?” he asked back, but answered before I could even nod. “No. But while you been asleep, I talked with their mom and I talked with them.” His voice dropped. “Talk with them as often as I can so I’ll be phonin’ them today while I’m with you.”

He sounded like that would bother me, but of course he would phone them.

So I just nodded.

“I’m going to do my bit,” I told him, likely with more bravado than bravery. “I mean, with you. With us. I won’t fall apart on you again.”

Something changed in his expression right before he changed our positions, rolling into me so I was on my back and he was pressed into my side, his face close, his hands moving so he had one arm wrapped around me, his other hand still at my neck, thumb stroking my throat.

“Never,” he whispered, and my hands resting at his sides curled in to his flesh at his tone. “Never, Millie, don’t you ever hide or feel ashamed of the emotion you have for me, for us, for what we lost, for all we got back. Don’t ever do that. All a’ this is gonna be pain right along with pleasure. That is, until we work through the pain and got nothin’ but the good left over. And I swear to you, fuckin’ swear, I’ll get us there.”

“I’ve changed,” I admitted, a tremor of fear lacing those two words.

“That isn’t lost on me,” he returned instantly. “There’s shit you gotta know about me too. But we didn’t walk through fire only to get to the end of that and not get our reward. If we can walk through fire, baby, we can do anything.”

I wanted that to sink in.

But there was still fear in my voice when I said, “I’m worried it’s too late. I’m worried too much time has passed. We’ve both changed. Probably a lot. I’m worried—”