Between Us {John Logan x reader} Epilogue
Summary: They were never nothing—but John Logan made sure they were never something either. Until the night he sees her with someone else... and realises too late what he let slip away.
Warnings: emotional, happy memories
Logan cries before the wedding even starts.
You know this because Garrett finds you ten minutes before you are supposed to walk down the aisle and announces it without knocking.
You look up from the mirror.
Hannah, who has been fixing a loose strand of your hair, pauses with a pin between her fingers. Allie stops adjusting the back of your dress. Logan’s mother lowers the tissue she has been holding beneath one eye for most of the morning.
“What do you mean, gone?” you ask.
Garrett leans against the half-open door, already dressed in his suit. There is a small pink flower pinned to his lapel, slightly crooked.
“I mean emotionally. Physically, he’s still outside.”
Garrett nods seriously. “Apparently they made it real.”
You press your lips together, but a smile escapes anyway.
The ceremony is being held in the garden behind Tucker’s restaurant. It had been Logan’s idea, although Tucker had offered before either of you could officially ask. The restaurant is closed for the day, every table inside pushed aside for the reception later.
Outside, strings of lights hang between the trees. Small white flowers line the aisle, and photographs from the years you have spent together sit in mismatched frames along the edge of the garden.
Ophelia asleep on Logan’s chest.
The three of you wearing paint-covered clothes after decorating her bedroom.
Your first Christmas as an engaged couple, when the tree fell over during dinner.
Logan holding Ophelia’s tiny backpack on her first day of nursery because she had decided it was too heavy after carrying it for less than a minute.
Ordinary afternoons that had not felt important until you saw them printed and placed together.
A whole life leading toward a row of chairs.
“Is he all right?” you ask.
Garrett’s expression softens.
The teasing disappears from his voice.
Hannah immediately points a warning finger at you.
“No. I just fixed your makeup.”
“You don’t blink with your whole face.”
Allie picks up another tissue and gently presses it beneath your eye.
“You both need to stop,” she says. “We haven’t even started yet.”
Logan’s mother laughs quietly from the armchair near the window.
“Oh, sweetheart, it’s going to get much worse.”
She is wearing pale blue.
A rose from her garden has been woven into your bouquet.
When you showed it to Logan that morning, he had looked at it for a long time before kissing his mother’s cheek and leaving the room without speaking.
That may have been the first time he cried today.
The chairs may only have been the first time Garrett noticed.
“Where’s Ophelia?” you ask.
You stand so quickly that Hannah has to grab the back of your dress.
“Flower girl,” Allie corrects.
Garrett shakes his head. “He’s been calling himself the flower man all morning.”
“He isn’t supposed to be holding the basket.”
“He says Ophelia is his assistant.”
Your daughter is six years old now.
Old enough to have opinions.
Old enough to know Dean will agree to almost anything if she asks him with wide eyes and an exaggerated pout.
Old enough to understand exactly how much influence she has over every man Logan considers family.
“They’re going to ruin the aisle,” you say.
“It’s flowers,” Garrett replies. “The entire point is to throw them on the ground.”
“They’re supposed to scatter them.”
“Dean claims scattering lacks impact.”
She hands the remaining pins to Allie and marches towards the door.
Garrett steps out of her way.
“Be careful. He has two baskets.”
The door closes behind her.
For a moment, the room is quiet.
Then Logan’s mother begins laughing.
You look at your reflection.
The woman staring back at you is not the person you imagined becoming when you first met John Logan.
That version of you could not have imagined any of this.
Not the six-year-old waiting outside in a pale pink outfit she chose herself after rejecting every traditional flower-girl dress because they were “too itchy.”
Not the man standing at the end of the aisle, crying over chairs.
There were times you thought the two of you would never make it beyond the next argument.
Times Logan convinced himself that loving you was selfish.
Times you stood in front of him and wondered how someone could want you so deeply and still be so frightened of staying.
When you became pregnant.
When the future arrived before either of you felt ready.
When Ophelia was born and your body failed and the world became hospital rooms, machines and waiting.
He stayed when you could not promise you would wake up.
You stayed when the fear followed him home.
Neither of you did it perfectly.
There were therapy appointments.
Nights spent sitting on the floor because one of you could not breathe and the other refused to let them do it alone.
One engagement that lasted four years because having a child, finishing school, building careers and planning a wedding around hockey schedules proved more complicated than Logan had anticipated.
He complained about the delay constantly.
You suspected he enjoyed calling you his fiancée too much to be truly upset.
Now, after everything, you are finally here.
There is a knock on the door.
Garrett looks over his shoulder before stepping aside.
Ophelia appears in the doorway.
Her curly brown hair has been pinned back with tiny white flowers, though several strands have already escaped around her face. She is wearing a soft pink dress with trainers beneath it because she refused to wear the shoes Hannah bought.
In one hand she carries a basket of petals.
In the other, she holds a folded piece of paper.
Dean peers over her shoulder.
He is also carrying a basket.
Hannah stands behind him, looking exhausted.
“I tried,” she tells you.
Dean adjusts his suit jacket.
“There was no reason to restrict the creative direction.”
“You are not walking down the aisle with a basket,” Hannah says.
“It’s her parents’ wedding. She needs support.”
Ophelia looks back at him.
Dean appears genuinely wounded.
“You said we were a team.”
Dean points at him. “Stay out of this.”
Ophelia ignores them and walks into the room.
Her expression turns serious when she looks at you.
Hannah groans from the hallway.
You crouch carefully, gathering your dress around you.
“Daddy’s doing that too.”
“He said he had something in his eye.”
Garrett coughs into his fist.
Ophelia looks at him suspiciously before turning back to you.
She holds out the folded piece of paper.
“Daddy said I had to give it to you before you come outside.”
Your heart gives a painful little pull.
The paper has been folded twice. Your name is written across the front in Logan’s handwriting, though the letters shake slightly toward the end.
“I was checking for security risks,” Dean says.
There are only a few lines.
I had a whole speech planned, but Garrett said I’m not allowed to talk to you before the ceremony, which seems like a stupid rule considering we have a child and a mortgage.
Your smile appears immediately.
I know I’m going to see you in a few minutes. I know we’ve spent almost every day together for years. I still miss you.
I used to think the hardest thing I would ever do was stay.
Staying was the easiest choice I ever made once I understood that home wasn’t a place I could lose.
By the second time, you are crying too hard to pretend otherwise.
Ophelia watches you with concern.
You shake your head and laugh through the tears.
“No. Daddy’s just dramatic.”
From the doorway, Dean says, “Finally, someone admits it.”
You fold the note carefully and press it against your chest.
“Can you tell him I’m coming?”
Then she leans forward and whispers, “He already knows.”
Your throat tightens again.
She kisses your cheek, leaving the faintest mark from the lip gloss Allie let her wear.
Then she turns and runs towards the door.
“Walk,” four adults say at once.
Ophelia slows to an exaggerated march.
Dean follows her, still carrying the second basket.
Hannah grabs it out of his hand as he passes.
“You have a job,” she reminds him.
“You’re lucky you still have one.”
The room empties gradually.
Logan’s mother kisses your cheek before joining the others.
He is walking you down the aisle.
You had asked him months ago.
Not because he was replacing anyone.
Because he had been there.
He had stood beside Logan in the hospital and helped him survive the days you were unconscious. He had watched Ophelia while the two of you attended therapy. He had shown up with food, diapers and bad advice. He had held your daughter at her first birthday party until his arm went numb because she had fallen asleep against him.
Garrett had become family long before the wedding made anything official.
You look down at Logan’s note.
Through the glass, you can just make out the garden.
People turning in their seats.
The path leading towards Logan.
Garrett studies your face.
“He’s going to lose his mind when he sees you.”
“That’s his normal state now. This will be worse.”
You slip your arm through his.
The music begins outside.
Dean walks down the aisle first with Tucker and Hannah.
He behaves for almost thirty seconds.
Then he turns around and begins walking backwards, grinning at Ophelia as she appears beneath the arch at the top of the aisle.
You can see it from where you are waiting.
Six years old, and she already treats Dean like an embarrassing older brother.
She begins scattering petals carefully.
Then she gets halfway down the aisle and apparently decides the process is too slow.
She tips the entire basket upside down.
A mound of petals falls around her shoes.
Ophelia looks down at the empty basket.
You hear him even from the other end of the garden.
He is standing beneath the flower-covered arch with Garrett’s empty place beside him.
His suit is dark, his tie slightly crooked. His curls are shorter than they were when Ophelia was born, but one stubborn piece still falls across his forehead.
That is what catches you.
But he still looks at you the way he did in the photograph from Ophelia’s first birthday.
As if there is nothing else worth seeing.
Ophelia reaches him and Logan immediately crouches.
She whispers something into his ear.
His gaze lifts towards you.
Whatever she says makes his face soften.
She takes her place beside Hannah, looking very pleased with herself.
Garrett covers your hand with his.
You realise you have forgotten.
Only emotion too big for your chest.
Not because he is unhappy.
Because his face crumples.
He presses his lips together, trying to hold himself together.
Then he begins crying properly.
Dean glances over at Tucker.
Tucker silently holds out his hand.
Logan laughs too, wiping beneath his eyes with the heel of his hand.
“You’re beautiful,” he says when you are still several feet away.
Several guests laugh softly.
Garrett mutters, “You were supposed to wait.”
“I’ve waited four years,” Logan replies. “I’m done waiting.”
By the time you reach him, your own cheeks are wet.
Garrett turns towards you.
For one moment, his teasing expression disappears.
“Take care of each other.”
Garrett places your hand in his.
Logan’s fingers close around yours.
His thumb brushes the engagement ring he gave you beneath the photographs all those years ago.
The words are so quiet only you can hear them.
You smile through your tears.
He lets out a broken laugh.
“That’s never stopped you ignoring me before.”
“You told me to come marry you.”
“I was trying to be romantic.”
The garden disappears around you for one small moment.
There are still people watching. Ophelia is standing only a few feet away. Dean is probably preparing to make a joke at the worst possible time.
But Logan hears what you are really saying.
Not trapped behind unconsciousness while he begged you to wake.
Choosing the life both of you once feared wanting.
His forehead nearly drops towards yours before the officiant clears her throat.
Logan does not look away from you.
The vows are meant to be brief.
He unfolds three sheets of paper.
Dean groans loudly enough for the front row to hear.
“I can have you removed.”
“You need me for the photographs.”
Logan glances at her, and whatever nerves he had seem to ease.
Then he looks back at you.
“When I met you, I thought love was mostly wanting something you couldn’t keep.”
His voice is uneven, but he does not look at the pages yet.
“I thought eventually you’d see the parts of me I spent my whole life trying to outrun, and you’d decide I wasn’t worth staying for.”
“I made it difficult for you to love me.”
You shake your head slightly.
A soft laugh moves through the guests.
He looks down at the pages for a second.
Apparently, the three sheets are no longer needed.
“You loved me when I was afraid. You loved me when I was an idiot. Sometimes those things happened at the same time.”
“They usually happened at the same time,” you say.
His fingers tighten around yours.
“You gave me a daughter who taught me that being needed isn’t the same as being trapped.”
His eyes move towards Ophelia.
She is watching him closely now.
“You gave me a home where I didn’t have to earn my place every day.”
The words settle between you.
“I can’t promise I’ll never be scared again,” he says. “I can’t promise I’ll always know what to say.”
“You won’t,” you tell him.
A tear slips down his cheek.
“But I promise you’ll never have to be scared alone.”
“I promise to wake up when you reach for me.”
The memory hits you both.
“I promise to keep choosing you,” he continues. “When it’s easy. When it isn’t. When you steal the blankets.”
Dean whispers, “She does.”
Logan’s smile appears again.
“I promise to love every version of our life. The big moments. The boring ones. Hockey games, school runs, burnt pancakes and whatever Ophelia decides to put us through as a teenager.”
She appears satisfied by this.
His attention returns to you.
“And when I forget how lucky I am, I promise to look at you until I remember.”
Logan reaches up and catches the tear for you.
“I loved you before I knew how to stay.”
“I love you now that I do.”
There is no dry eye left in the first two rows.
Garrett is looking determinedly at the ground.
Dean removes his sunglasses from his pocket and puts them on.
The officiant waits for the laughter to quiet before turning towards you.
They are folded inside your bouquet.
You do not take them out.
Instead, you look at Logan.
At the man who had once been convinced he would destroy every good thing he touched.
The man who held your newborn daughter through nights when neither of you knew whether you would return.
The man who still burns pancakes but now accepts that the pan is rarely responsible.
The man who learned that staying was not a single decision.
“You once told me you didn’t know what would be left of you if I hadn’t woken up.”
Logan’s eyes immediately fill again.
“But you never understood that you were the reason I had something to wake up to.”
“Even when I couldn’t hear you, you were there.”
You lift his hand and press it over your heart.
The same way you did on Ophelia’s first birthday.
His fingers spread against your chest.
“You have been there through every good thing and every terrible thing that came after.”
“You held our daughter when I couldn’t. You held me when I came home and didn’t know how to be the person I had been before.”
Logan’s thumb moves against your dress.
“You never asked me to become her again.”
A tear runs down his cheek.
“You loved the person who woke up.”
“I promise to love the person you keep becoming.”
The words make him close his eyes.
“I promise not to let you turn fear into a reason to run.”
Dean murmurs, “Good luck.”
“I promise to remind you that our daughter likes me best.”
Logan points at her triumphantly.
“She’s defending you because she feels sorry for you.”
When it quiets, you squeeze Logan’s hand.
The humour leaves his expression.
“Because there has never been anywhere else I wanted to be.”
Ophelia carries the rings.
Logan was convinced she could handle it.
You remembered the flower basket.
The rings are tied securely to a small cushion.
Even so, every person in the garden holds their breath when she walks towards you.
“Don’t drop them,” he whispers.
“Hold it with both hands.”
“You’re holding it with one hand.”
The warning in her voice makes you bite back a laugh.
Logan immediately falls silent.
Ophelia presents the cushion to you with great seriousness.
Your hands shake as you slide it onto his finger.
For one second, he looks exactly like he did when Ophelia first said Dada.
Overwhelmed by the evidence that something good has chosen him.
He pauses before sliding it into place, his thumb brushing over your bare finger.
“Last chance,” he whispers.
“You’re asking that now?”
“You already gave a ten-minute speech.”
At Ophelia standing between you.
At Garrett, Hannah, Dean, Tucker and Allie.
At his mother in the front row, holding a tissue against her mouth.
At the garden full of photographs and people who witnessed every version of your story.
Logan slides the ring onto your finger.
The officiant barely finishes declaring you married before Logan kisses you.
Dean shouts something inappropriate.
Garrett tells him to shut up.
Ophelia pushes her way between you after four seconds.
Logan pulls back, laughing.
“You want to marry Mama too?”
You bend down together and each kiss one of her cheeks.
She squeals, scrunching her shoulders towards her ears.
The photographer captures the moment.
Not the planned kiss beneath the flowers.
The three of you laughing.
Logan’s hand around your waist.
Your new ring resting against your daughter’s back.
It becomes the photograph you frame above the fireplace.
Dean’s speech is banned in advance.
It begins with the words, “For legal reasons, most of these stories have been altered,” and ends with Logan throwing a bread roll at him.
Garrett’s speech is shorter.
He stands with one hand in his pocket and looks uncomfortable with the attention.
He talks about the first time he realised Logan was in love with you.
It was not during a kiss.
Not during a dramatic argument.
It was the night Logan left a party early because you had mentioned hours earlier that you had a headache.
“He didn’t tell anyone where he was going,” Garrett says. “He just disappeared.”
He arrived at your door with water, painkillers and the wrong kind of crisps.
“I knew then,” Garrett continues, “because Logan had never remembered anything that didn’t involve hockey or himself.”
“That’s not true,” Logan protests.
“He remembered the exact brand of tea she liked.”
A ripple of laughter moves through the room.
“The kind of terrified you only get when you finally find something you can’t pretend you don’t want.”
Logan’s hand finds yours beneath the table.
Garrett raises his glass.
“That’s a terrible toast.”
“To being terrified,” Garrett continues, “and choosing it anyway.”
The room raises their glasses.
“Choosing it anyway,” he repeats quietly.
You touch your glass to his.
Ophelia falls asleep before the first dance.
She had been determined to stay awake.
She lasted through dinner, the speeches and half of the cake before climbing into Logan’s lap and putting her head against his chest.
He carries her onto the dance floor.
“I thought this was our dance,” you say.
“She’s part of the package.”
Ophelia’s cheek is pressed against his shoulder, one arm hanging limply between you. Her flower crown disappeared hours ago, and there is icing in her hair.
You rest your hand on Logan’s shoulder.
His free arm circles your waist.
It is not one either of you chose for its lyrics.
Logan picked it because it had been playing in his truck during one of your first quiet drives together. Before either of you admitted what was happening.
Before the worst night of both your lives and every beautiful one that followed.
You sway carefully with your daughter asleep between you.
Logan looks down at your joined hands.
At the ring on his finger.
He rubs his thumb across yours.
“You’ve said that seventeen times.”
“You’re already becoming unbearable.”
“You said that when she called you Dada.”
“That was six years ago.”
“You said it when we got engaged.”
“That was four years ago.”
“You say it every birthday.”
“They’re special occasions.”
When they open, they are wet.
“You did that on purpose.”
Ophelia shifts between you.
“Mama,” she mumbles without waking.
Her fingers curl against the front of your dress.
“This is better than the plan.”
“The one I used to have.”
You already know what he means.
A life measured in responsibilities rather than hopes because hoping for more had once seemed selfish.
“What did you think it would look like?” you ask.
The answer hurts in its simplicity.
Logan looks around the room.
At Garrett dancing badly with Hannah.
At Dean attempting to convince Tucker to join him on top of a table.
At Allie taking photographs.
At his mother laughing with Ophelia’s schoolteacher, whom your daughter insisted on inviting.
Then his gaze returns to you.
You rest your cheek against his shoulder.
Years later, Ophelia will not remember most of the wedding.
She will remember pieces.
Dean helping her eat icing before dinner.
Garrett carrying her shoes because her feet hurt.
Hannah fixing the flowers in her hair.
Her mother laughing at him for it.
She will remember falling asleep during the first dance, though you suspect this memory only exists because she has heard the story so many times.
What she remembers most clearly is waking near the end of the night.
She was lying across two chairs pushed together near the window with Logan’s suit jacket covering her like a blanket.
Through the glass, she could see you and Logan outside beneath the garden lights.
Still dressed in your wedding clothes.
Still awake despite the hour.
Not doing anything that looked important.
You were collecting photographs that the wind had knocked from one of the displays.
Logan handed them to you one at a time.
You put them back into their frames.
At one point, he said something that made you laugh.
He pulled you against him.
You stood together beneath the lights, surrounded by the scattered pieces of your life.
A baby who became a little girl while neither of you was looking.
Ophelia watched her father kiss the top of your head.
She watched you reach for his hand as the two of you walked back towards the restaurant.
She did not understand then why that moment stayed with her.
Years later, when someone asked what love had looked like in her home, she would think of it.
Two people at the end of a long day, tired and happy, picking up the memories the wind had scattered.
Neither of them leaving the other to do it alone.
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