Chapter Text
Logan leaned against the metal railing of the hospital’s hidden garden, the faint scent of jasmine curling through the evening air. The small, enclosed space was a rare find - tucked behind the oncology wing, its ivy-draped walls and cracked stone benches softened the sterile edges of the hospital. He’d spent half the day charming the nurses to secure it, flashing his best lopsided grin until Ning, the young nurse who’d tipped him off about Keith’s suspicions, relented with a knowing smile and a key. Now, as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in streaks of coral and gold, Logan surveyed his handiwork with a flicker of pride.
The scene was meticulously planned. A high-end projector, borrowed from Dick, sat on a metal stand, its lens trained on a crisp white sheet strung between two iron posts. A plush cashmere blanket, sourced from a boutique in Neptune’s upscale district, spread across the grass, surrounded by cushions Ning had scavenged from the staff lounge. A silver bucket held warm popcorn, its buttery scent mingling with the takeout bags from Veronica’s favourite boardwalk diner - burgers and fries, still hot, their greasy warmth a comfort against the garden’s cool earth. The setup was intimate, a bubble of solace carved out for Veronica.
Logan had debated the movie choice for hours. He wanted romance, but with enough wit to lift Veronica’s spirits. Her quietness today had been palpable, her eyes drifting even as she gripped the colouring book he’d bought her, paired with vibrant pencils. He’d spent the afternoon in her hospital room, sprawled across a vinyl chair, grinding through school assignments on his laptop while she coloured in steady, deliberate strokes. The scratch of her pencils against paper had been a soft rhythm, a way to keep her company without pressing her to talk. She hadn’t mentioned Duncan’s visit, and Logan hadn’t asked. Duncan’s mood told him enough - his roommate had stormed into their suite last night, slamming his door with a force that shook the walls. No words, just the usual cold shoulder between them. Logan figured Veronica hadn’t given Duncan the reunion he’d been fishing for, and the thought eased a knot in his chest.
After hours of silence, Veronica had finally opened up and told him what had been bothering her. He was horrified to hear that yet another wound had been reopened with her recent discovery, and her fears of what that meant.
Logan knew nothing he said could fix it – but he wanted to give her one good memory. He’d settled on The Philadelphia Story for tonight. The classic felt right for the garden’s timeless quiet, its black-and-white charm a nod to his mother’s old VHS collection. Lynn had loved Cary Grant’s suave wit, Katharine Hepburn’s sharp edges, and Logan could still hear her laugh echoing from their old living room. Veronica would appreciate the banter, he thought, and maybe it’d coax a real laugh from her, one that reached her eyes.
Logan’s life was shifting, and he was leaning into it. That morning, he’d signed a lease on a sleek two-bedroom apartment in a great neighbourhood, perched high for total privacy. The place was a gem - floor-to-ceiling windows framing the Pacific’s endless churn, a wraparound balcony where waves roared softly in the distance. Its dated decor begged for a refresh, and Logan was buzzing to bring his vision to life. It was to be his first real home without Duncan’s shadow or his parents’ ghosts. He wanted a space where Veronica could relax, free from the tension of Duncan’s brooding presence. School was another win; he’d made serious headway on his assignments today, his laptop humming in Veronica’s room as he chipped away at essays and problem sets. By next week, he’d be back on track.
He adjusted the projector one last time, the sheet rippling as the opening credits flickered to life. Everything was ready. His heart gave a quick, nervous thud, not unlike the first time he’d kissed Veronica. He grabbed his jacket, slung it over his shoulder, and headed toward her room, the hospital’s sterile halls a stark contrast to the garden’s warmth.
He leaned against the doorframe of Veronica’s hospital room, his heart giving a familiar tug at the sight of her. She was propped against the pillows, blonde hair tucked behind one ear, her nose buried in a dog-eared novel. Pencils and a colouring book lay scattered across the blanket, signs of a restless attempt to fill the hours after her first physical therapy session. She looked worn, her shoulders slumped, but the stubborn set of her jaw was pure Veronica. He knocked lightly, flashing a grin. “Hey, Bobcat. Ready for a surprise?”
Her head lifted, a spark of interest breaking through her guarded look. “Logan, what are you up to? Sneaking me out already?”
“I promise it’s something better than hospital food.” He wheeled a hospital wheelchair into the room, patting it with mock grandeur. “Your ride awaits.”
Veronica’s eyes narrowed, her lips twisting into a scowl. “A wheelchair? Really, Logan? I’m not helpless.”
Logan levelled his gaze with hers, his grin softening. “No one’s calling you helpless, Veronica. But you pushed hard in PT today, and I’m not letting you wipe out before you see this. I’m laying a bet that your snooping instincts are itching to know what I’ve got planned. Tell me I’m wrong.”
She crossed her arms, glaring, but a spark danced in her eyes, betraying her. Logan knew that look - her curiosity was a force of nature, and he was banking on it. “You’re the worst,” she muttered, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “Fine. But if this is lame, you’re pushing me back uphill.”
Veronica eased off the bed, already dressed in jeans and a hoodie thanks to Ellie, who’d helped her change earlier that morning. Ellie, in on Logan’s secretive plan but keeping Veronica in the dark, had passed it off as a routine wardrobe switch for comfort. Veronica settled into the wheelchair, gripping the armrests, her knuckles tight with frustration, but Logan caught the faint flush of excitement in her cheeks and grinned.
He wheeled her out, his steps careful but confident, the hospital’s sterile halls stretching before them. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, and at the nurses’ station, Ning shot him a covert nod, her smile a quiet endorsement of his plan. Veronica’s hands fidgeted in her lap, her head turning to scan the corridors, already trying to crack his secret. Logan’s chest warmed - she was still the girl he was in love with, always chasing the next puzzle.
When they reached the garden, he pushed open the wrought-iron gate, its hinges creaking in the cool evening air.
“Your evening awaits,” he said, a mix of pride and nerves in his voice.
Veronica’s eyes widened, her breath catching as she took in the setup – the burgers, popcorn, and the promise of a movie under the stars. “Logan,” she said, her voice soft, almost disbelieving. “You did all this?”
“For you.” He shrugged, masking the warmth in his chest with a casual tone. “Our date got sidelined, so thought we’d start over.”
She gave a wobbly smile as she squeezed his hand and something in Logan’s chest unclenched. They settled on the blanket, where he had carefully arranged the cushions so she could lean back against them for support. They unwrapped the burgers, the fries spilling onto the paper bag.
“Logan,” she said, her voice low, almost hesitant. “Thank you.”
Before he could respond, she leaned forward, her hand finding his jaw. She kissed him, slow and deliberate, her lips warm and soft against his, carrying a quiet intensity. Logan felt his breath catch — and then hers faltered first. After only a few seconds, she had to pull back, breaking the kiss with a soft gasp, pressing her forehead lightly against his.
Logan’s hand cupped the back of her neck, his thumb grazing her hairline as he steadied her, holding her close without crowding her. For a beat, she just breathed, shallow and careful, before she shifted and tucked herself against him, her head resting on his shoulder.
Her eyes found his briefly, a flicker of warmth beneath the guarded gaze, before she closed them, simply leaning into the safety of him.
Logan’s pulse still thrummed, but he kept his voice light. “Gotta step up my game if that’s the reward,” he murmured, earning a soft snort from her. “Just say if you need a break or want to stop,” he added. “I don’t want to make the pain worse by being out here.”
The movie started, Cary Grant’s voice crackling through the projector’s tinny speakers. Halfway through the opening scene, Logan cursed under his breath. “Forgot the hot chocolate.” He’d meant to grab the thermos from the nurses’ station, a last-minute addition Ning had suggested for the chilly evening. “Be right back. Don’t let Hepburn run off with Stewart while I’m gone.”
Veronica rolled her eyes, nudging him. “Hurry up, or I’m eating your fries.”
He jogged back through the hospital, the halls quieter now, the thermos still on the break room counter where Ning had left it. He grabbed it, the metal warm against his palm, and hurried back, his steps light with the thrill of pulling this off.
But as he pushed through the garden gate, his heart plummeted. Veronica wasn’t alone. Cassidy Casablancas stood over her, his lanky frame silhouetted against the projector’s glow. Veronica’s posture was rigid, her arms crossed, her voice low and sharp.
Horror clawed at Logan’s gut. Cassidy, of all people. Logan’s grip tightened on the thermos, his pulse roaring in his ears. Whatever Cassidy was saying, it wasn’t good - and Veronica looked like she was one wrong word away from breaking.
***
Veronica traced a fry through a smear of ketchup, a quiet smile curving her lips as the projector’s glow flickered across the ivy-clad walls of the hospital garden. The evening felt like a stolen moment, a delicate haven Logan had crafted amidst the storm. Warmth bloomed in her chest, easing the bone-deep fatigue that had become her shadow. This was him giving her a memory to hold onto, a reminder that she wasn’t just the girl who’d nearly died.
The wrought-iron gate creaked, and Veronica glanced up, expecting Logan’s easy grin and the forgotten thermos. Instead, Cassidy slipped into the garden, his lean frame relaxed, a smile curling his lips with effortless charm. His eyes held only a glint of sharp calculation, like a chess player sizing up the board.
“Veronica,” he said, voice smooth as oil. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Her pulse surged, warmth souring into dread. She knew Cassidy wasn’t here by chance. She tilted her head, forcing a casual tone to buy time.
“Beaver. Slumming it in hospital gardens now? How’d you find me?”
Cassidy slid his hands into his pockets, his shrug smooth and calculated. “Logan needed a projector, so he borrowed Dick’s. Mentioned his little date setup. I charmed a nurse, said I was dropping off snacks for you lovebirds.” His smirk dripped with confidence, his eyes steady.
Veronica’s stomach knotted. He’d manipulated his way here, just as he’d manipulated everyone. She gripped the blanket’s edge, anchoring herself. “You always were a great liar,” she said, her voice low, daring him to bite.
Cassidy’s smile tightened, his voice dropping to a venomous edge. “Thought you’d learned your lesson by now, Veronica. Poking into other people’s secrets? That’s why you’re here.”
Her throat constricted, but she held his stare, refusing to buckle. “What’s got you so scared, Beaver? Worried I know too much?”
A shadow moved at the gate - Logan, thermos in hand, his face a storm of shock and rage. Her heart leapt, but she flicked her eyes, signalling him to hold back. She needed answers from him first.
Cassidy stepped closer, his hiss cutting the air. “Your dad came sniffing around today, asking about things he shouldn’t. What do you think you’ve got on me?”
Veronica rose, legs trembling, but her voice was forged in steel. Her fear burned into clarity, fuelled by the truths she’d pieced together.
“I know about Woody Goodman,” she said, each word a blade. “How he abused you, Marcos, Peter – and other kids who trusted him. Marcos and Peter wanted to expose him, especially with his mayoral campaign. They were ready to speak, but you couldn’t let that happen.”
Cassidy’s jaw clenched, his silence an invitation. She pressed on. “You orchestrated everything. On the school trip you planted a rat on the bus so Dick and his cronies would bail for a limo. You got a bomb from Curly Moran, wired it to the bus, and detonated it. When Curly caught on, you killed him and framed the investigation to point at me.”
His eyes glinted, a smirk twitching like he was impressed. Veronica’s nails dug into her palms, fury rising. “And then there’s me. You got chlamydia from Woody. You passed it to me at Shelly Pomeroy’s party. You raped me.”
The word hung in the air, raw and unyielding. Cassidy shrugged, his indifference a gut-punch. “Dick said I needed to man up. Lose my virginity.”
Her vision flashed red, but she kept her voice razor-sharp. “So you raped me while I was unconscious? That’s your idea of being a man?”
Cassidy’s smirk faltered, his hands twitching at his sides. She caught a glimpse of Logan at the gate, his phone glowing as he typed furiously - calling for help, she hoped. Her heart pounded, but she felt a strange clarity, a fire kindling where fear had been. She wasn’t the helpless girl that Cassidy had taken advantage of, or that Thumper had tried to break. Not anymore.
“You lied about everything,” she said, stepping toward him, her voice rising. “But it’s over, Cassidy. You’re not smarter than us. Not this time.”
His face twisted, the mask crumbling. “You think you’ve won?” he spat. “Your dad’s about to get a nasty surprise. Left a little gift for him in his car.”
Veronica’s heart stuttered, but Logan’s nod from the gate steadied her - he’d heard. She forced a smirk, mirroring Cassidy’s arrogance. “And me? What’s my prize?”
Cassidy drew a syringe from his pocket, then a pistol from his waistband, his movements chillingly precise. “This stops your heart,” he said, nodding his head toward the syringe. “Clean, quiet. Refuse, and the gun gets loud.”
Veronica’s breath hitched, the pistol’s gleam pinning her in place. Her heart raced, but before she could speak, Logan lunged from the shadows, silent and swift, tackling Cassidy to the ground. The gun skidded across the dew-slick grass, the syringe tumbling into the dirt. Two security guards charged through the gate behind him, their radios spitting static and their boots heavy on the stone path. Logan held Cassidy down, his jaw tight, his voice a low snarl. “You’re done, Beaver.”
“My name is Cassidy,” he spat out, then deflated, his eyes hollow as a guard cuffed him. “You don’t understand, I had to protect myself.”
Veronica stepped forward, her voice steady despite her shaking hands. “No. You chose to destroy everyone instead.”
The guards hauled Cassidy up, dragging him toward the gate. He didn’t fight, his head bowed. Veronica turned to Logan, panic clawing at her chest. “My dad—”
“I texted Keith,” Logan said, pulling out his phone, his fingers already dialling to call. “He’s safe.” He handed it to her as Keith’s voice crackled through.
“Veronica?” Keith’s tone was sharp with fear. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Dad,” she said, her voice fracturing. “Beaver's being held by security. But your car - there’s a bomb.”
“I got Logan’s message,” Keith assured her, his voice strained. “The bomb squad’s on the way. Stay with Logan until I get there.” Her legs began to tremble as the adrenaline ebbed. Logan was there in an instant, his arms wrapping around her as he took the phone from her.
“I’ve got her, Mr. Mars.”
Veronica sank against him, his arms steadfast around her. The garden was still, the projector paused, its frozen frame casting a ghostly glow across the ivy. She tilted her head up, meeting Logan’s eyes, still fierce with worry and something softer. A faint smile curved her lips.
“Thanks for the date, Logan.”
He exhaled a shaky laugh, pulling her even closer, his warmth cutting through the night’s chill. “Anytime, Veronica.”
***
Veronica slid into a cushioned bench at the Seaside Café, a bright, budget-friendly spot where the air smelled of fresh coffee and warm pastries. Sunlight spilled through wide windows, glinting off polished wooden tables and chalkboard menus scribbled with cheerful specials. Soft acoustic music hummed in the background, blending with the quiet clink of mugs and the low murmur of conversation. Across from her, Meg cradled three-month-old Charlotte in her lap, the baby’s tiny fingers wrapped around a colourful teething toy, her happy babbles a sweet contrast to the café’s gentle bustle. Veronica’s gaze drifted to the street outside, where Neptune’s latest scandal simmered just beneath the surface, waiting to boil over.
Meg shifted Charlotte in her arms, her blonde ponytail swaying. “So, how’s life? Between classes and keeping a tiny human alive, I barely get two minutes to talk to you anymore at school. Maybe if a certain someone didn’t monopolise your lunch breaks...” She arched an eyebrow, teasing.
Veronica smirked, stirring her iced tea, the ice clinking against the glass. “Being back at school is still weird. It’s been weeks, and I’m still the star of the goldfish bowl. Stares, whispers, you name it. Even the 09er are fake-nice now, which is honestly unsettling.”
Meg’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “What, because of the kidnapping or because Logan’s got that whole protective ‘I’ll break your face’ energy?”
“A bit of both, probably,” Veronica said dryly. The scrutiny at Neptune High hadn’t faded - every glance was a reminder of hospital beds, IV drips, and headlines screaming her name.
She leaned forward, eager to shift gears. “Enough about me. How’d it go with your parents? Cliff said you and Lizzie were bringing the hammer.”
Meg’s face lit up, a fierce glow Veronica hadn’t seen since Junior Year. “We did. The evidence you gathered - those recordings of Grace - it was enough. Cliff laid it out, and Lizzie and I said we’d go public with our own histories unless they signed Grace over to Aunt Chris and dropped their threats on Charlotte. They folded.”
Veronica’s chest warmed, a rare flicker of justice cutting through Neptune’s muck. “Meg, that’s incredible. I’m so proud of you both.”
“Thanks to you,” Meg said, her voice thick as she stroked Charlotte’s curls. “You once told me that I needed to get tough, and I did. For Grace, and for my daughter.”
Veronica grinned, the weight of her own battles lightening for a moment. “And Duncan? How’s that working?”
Meg shrugged, bouncing Charlotte gently. “He’s all about Charlie. Sees her every chance he gets. Therapy at the clinic seemed to really help him. We’re not together, but the Kane’s offered to pay tuition to Stanford for both of us, and to pay for a nanny, since my parents cut me off.”
Veronica raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Jake and Celeste still not giving up on President Kane, huh?”
“Basically,” Meg said, her laugh tinged with relief. “Honestly, I thought being seventeen and pregnant was a life sentence. If the Kanes want to play chess with Duncan’s future, I’ll take the help.”
Veronica nodded, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. She’d wrestled with the same offer from the Kanes, her pride bruised but her pragmatism winning out. After hours of discussing it with her dad, she’d accepted. The Kanes owed her. After all Jake had believed she was his daughter, yet offered nothing and their cover-up of Lilly’s murder had cost her father his job, their home and their stability. Swallowing her resentment stung, but she wasn’t foolish enough to reject a lifeline that could reshape her future, especially when catching up enough in order to graduate on time had been tough enough.
“Things with Duncan are still…” Veronica hesitated, the word snagging on something in her throat. “Off. Like we’re stuck in this weird limbo.”
Meg’s gaze softened. “You followed your heart. He’ll get over himself eventually. He just needs time.”
Time. Veronica wasn’t sure it could untangle everything between her and Duncan or if she even wanted it to. It was hard to move past waking up with someone’s hands around your throat. Harder still to say that out loud when he’d tried, in his own flawed way, to make it right.
Her eyes flicked to the window, catching a cluster of red-and-blue campaign signs plastered on a lamppost. She grimaced. “Ugh, Stuart Fuller’s running for mayor now that Woody’s been charged. That guy hit on me once while I was babysitting his kid. Total creep.”
Meg’s jaw dropped, then she cackled. “Oh my god, did he offer you weed too?”
Veronica choked on her tea, laughter spilling out, sharp and cathartic. “Yes, gross, right? From Goodman molesting kids to Fuller chasing teenage girls - being a skeevy asshole is practically Neptune’s motto.”
Their giggles faded, but the shared jab at their town’s rot lingered like a secret. Veronica glanced at her watch, swearing softly. “Crap, I’m late. I’m meeting Logan at his new place.”
Meg winked, shooing her off. “Go swoon over your penthouse prince. Don’t keep him waiting.”
***
Veronica climbed the sleek black stairs to Logan’s new apartment, nestled in a discreet building perfectly positioned for privacy. Her boots whispered against the polished steps, the faint scent of fresh paint mingling with crisp air. Her pulse quickened as she reached his door. Logan had been her anchor through the hospital blur - slipping her contraband snacks, holding her through the worst nights, and always knowing how to pull her from pain with a sly quip or tender distraction. Now, standing on the edge of something new, she felt the spark of their rekindled flame, thrilling and raw.
Logan opened the door before she could knock, his grin all boyish charm and barely contained excitement. “Welcome to Casa Echolls. Prepare to be impressed.”
Her pulse skipped as his eyes locked on hers, all warmth and mischief. She arched a brow, stepping into the apartment’s airy glow. “Dazzled? By what, the upgrade from Dick’s couch to an actual address?”
Logan’s laugh was low and electric. In one fluid motion, he closed the distance, hands finding her waist as he pulled her into a kiss that crackled with urgency. Her breath hitched, her lips meeting his with equal fire, the world narrowing to the heat of his mouth and the thrum of her heart. He spun her, her back meeting the wall beside the door with a soft thud, his body a thrilling press against hers. His hands slid up to cradle her face, and she grinned into the kiss, dizzy with the sheer joy of being there.
He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers, both of them breathless, his thumbs tracing her jaw. “I missed you,” he murmured, his voice rough with feeling.
Veronica’s lips quirked, her hands still tangled in his shirt. “Noted,” she teased, but her voice softened, betraying the warmth pooling in her chest.
Logan smiled, stepping back and taking her hand, his fingers lacing through hers with easy confidence. “Come on, Bobcat. The tour begins.” He tugged her gently forward, his excitement infectious as she followed.
Stepping deeper into the apartment, Veronica saw it was worlds apart from the Echolls mansion’s ostentatious sprawl or the Neptune Grand’s sterile sheen. Polished hardwood floors glowed under warm recessed lights, walls painted a sleek charcoal, furniture spare but cozy - a buttery leather sofa, a sturdy wooden coffee table, a record player perched in the corner. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a wraparound balcony, where the Pacific’s glittering horizon stretched endlessly. Logan led her through each room, pointing out personal touches - a shelf he’d actually built himself, a framed photo of them laughing on the beach. “Just wanted a place you’d feel at home in sometimes,” he said, his tone light but his eyes were searching hers.
Veronica’s heart fluttered, but the words didn’t push. No pressure, just Logan offering a piece of himself. She ran her fingers along the balcony railing, the sea breeze tangling her blonde hair, and turned to him, pride swelling. “It’s amazing, Logan,” she said, her voice soft but fierce. “You did this. I’m so proud of you.”
He smirked, leaning closer. “High praise from Veronica Mars. I’ll take it.” His gaze softened. “How’d it go with Claudia today?”
She exhaled. “Okay. We spoke about Thumper’s plea deal. Twenty-five to life and no trial, which is a mercy with Aaron’s coming up.” She paused, voice tightening. “Got an update on Beaver too. They’re still slogging through his charges – the bus crash, Curly, the rest. It’s a lot.”
Logan’s jaw clenched, but he nodded, his hand brushing hers. “He’ll go down, Veronica. They all will.”
She squeezed his fingers, anchoring herself. “Speaking of Aaron, are you ready for the trial? You, me, Duncan, Dad and those tapes. I just hope it’s enough.”
“Life sentence, minimum,” Logan said, voice hard. “He’s done running.”
Veronica’s lips curved, a spark of hope igniting. “Oh, and Dad wants you over for dinner again, by the way. You two geeking out over baseball is still weird, but…” She trailed off, a thought flickering. Her dad had finally asked Logan to call him Keith, a massive leap from the day he’d thrown him out of their apartment.
Logan’s smirk returned, full wattage. “He’s got taste. Can’t resist my charm.”
She rolled her eyes, but warmth flooded her. “How goes the Alterna-prom plan? You lock down a venue yet?”
“Yeah, Duncan offered his suite,” Logan said, a hint of surprise in his tone. “Guess he’s trying to play nice.”
Veronica’s eyes softened, a spark of warmth piercing her lingering tension with Duncan. “That’s awesome,” she said, her voice quiet but genuine. “I’m glad you two are finding your rhythm again. Wallace asked Jackie, and Mac’s stuck going with Butters.”
Logan arched an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” Veronica sighed, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “My bad, and Mac’s already chewed me out for it. But at least it’s given her something to focus on other than what her boyfriend was up to. I've been trying to distract her as much as I can, but it's tough.”
Logan stepped closer, the balcony’s breeze ruffling his hair. “Speaking of which, I have something to ask you.”
“Oh yeah?” she said softly.
“Veronica Mars, will you be my date to alterna-prom?”
Her heart thudded, a giddy rush she hadn’t felt since their first stolen moments. “Hell yes,” she said, and his lips crashed into hers, warm and hungry. The kiss deepened, electric, and she pulled back, breathless, a wicked grin spreading. “You know, this balcony is great, but I’d love to see the bedroom.”
Logan’s eyes widened, a look of concern flickering. “Are you sure? I know you got the all-clear from PT, but I don’t want to—”
“I’m good, Logan,” she cut in, voice firm. “Take me to your room.”
He searched her face, then nodded, leading her inside. The bedroom was understated - crisp white linens, a low wooden bed, sunlight filtering through sheer curtains, casting golden patterns on the floor. Veronica’s pulse raced as she shrugged off her jacket, her fingers steady but her heart pounding.
As she lifted her shirt, her fingers brushed the scar on her abdomen, a thin, pale line from the surgery that saved her liver, her life. It was still stark against her skin, a reminder of internal bleeding and too-close calls. She hesitated, vulnerable under Logan’s gaze.
He stepped closer, his hands gentle as he knelt, pressing a soft kiss to the scar. “Proof you’re a survivor,” he murmured, his breath warm, eyes locked on hers. “You’re beautiful, Veronica.”
Her throat tightened, emotions swirling - fear, gratitude, desire. She pulled him up, kissing him fiercely, pouring everything into it. “You’re such a sap,” she teased, voice husky, as she tugged his shirt off, revealing the lean lines of his chest.
“Says the girl who’s trembling,” he shot back, grinning as he eased her onto the bed, his hands careful but sure. Clothes fell away in a slow, deliberate dance - her jeans sliding off, his belt clinking to the floor, their laughter mingling with whispered breaths. Logan’s lips traced her collarbone, her throat, each kiss igniting sparks that chased away the past’s shadows. His fingers skimmed her hips, pausing at the curve of her waist, his touch reverent and gentle.
“Still okay?” he asked, voice rough with want, his eyes searching hers.
“More than okay,” she breathed, her hands exploring the warmth of his back, nails grazing lightly. She arched into him, desire pooling low, her body alive under his touch. Logan’s lips found the sensitive spot behind her ear, drawing a soft gasp, and she retaliated, nipping his shoulder, earning a low chuckle.
He moved lower, kissing a path down her stomach, lingering near her scar before trailing to the dip of her hip. Her breath hitched, fingers threading through his hair, urging him closer. “Logan,” she murmured, half-plea, half-challenge, and he grinned against her skin, wicked and adoring.
His mouth found her, warm and deliberate, tongue teasing with slow, purposeful strokes. She gasped, hips lifting instinctively, pleasure sparking through her like a live wire. His hands steadied her, one gripping her thigh, the other splayed across her hip, grounding her as he deepened the rhythm, responding to every shudder, every soft moan. Her head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut, the world narrowing to the heat of his touch, the crescendo building until she shattered, a sharp cry escaping as waves of release pulsed through her.
Logan rose, his grin smug but tender, kissing his way back up her body. “You’re welcome,” he teased, voice low, and she laughed, breathless, swatting his chest.
“Don’t get cocky,” she shot back, pulling him closer, her lips claiming his in a hungry kiss. Her hands roamed, nails scraping his back, urging him on.
He paused briefly, reaching for a condom from the bedside table, tearing the packet with and rolling it on with a steady hand, his eyes never leaving hers. He entered her slowly, deliberately, the stretch and heat stealing her breath. She gasped, clutching his shoulders, the intimacy overwhelming yet perfect. They found a rhythm, bodies syncing in a dance of trust and need - slow at first, then urgent, her hips rising to meet his, each thrust stoking the fire building inside her.
“God, Veronica,” Logan groaned, his forehead pressed to hers, sweat beading on his brow, eyes dark with intensity. “You’re gonna wreck me.”
“Not if you keep up,” she quipped, breathless, nipping his lip. Her hands roamed, nails scraping his back, urging him deeper, faster. Pleasure coiled tight, a wave cresting as his fingers found her, teasing just right, pushing her to the edge.
“Logan,” she gasped, her voice breaking, and the wave crashed, release shuddering through her, white-hot and blinding. His name was a soft cry on her lips as he followed, a low moan against her neck, their bodies trembling in sync.
They collapsed, tangled in sheets, laughter bubbling up as they caught their breath. Logan brushed a damp strand of hair from her face, his smile soft, unguarded. “Worth the wait, Veronica?”
Her lips curved into a playful smirk as she nestled closer to Logan. “You’ll do,” she teased, her voice light, but she softened the jab with a tender kiss. Beyond the open window, Neptune’s waves crashed softly, their rhythm a serene counterpoint to the stillness of Logan’s bed. In that quiet sanctuary, Veronica felt hope bloom - fragile, fierce, and entirely theirs.
fin