Trust (Temptation #3)

  Tate walked over to lean on the side of the bridge they were crossing over. When Logan came up beside him, he rested his arms on the top and angled his body toward him.

  “Tate, they’re your family.”

  “But they were so…”

  “Cruel? Judgmental? Bigoted?” Logan supplied, nodding as he looked out across the water. “Yes, they were all those things. And maybe they still will be, especially your mother,” he pointed out. “But your dad? He’s trying.”

  Tate ran a hand back through his hair and sighed. “Yeah, I know, and that’s what I’ve been thinking about. Do you think… Nah. Don’t worry.” He stood straighter.

  So Logan did also. “No, don’t do that. What were you going to say?”

  Tate shoved his hands in his pockets and chewed the side of his lip as he carefully thought over his next words. Then he looked Logan in the eye and asked, “Do you think maybe we could stop by their house on the way home tomorrow?”

  * * *

  Logan wasn’t sure how he felt about going back to the scene of that long-ago Sunday dinner—the one that had resulted in Tate’s leaving him. But as he stared into the nervous, brown eyes that were waiting for his response, he knew he had to get over his own fears in this situation and trust that Tate was at a different place when it came to the two of them.

  This wasn’t about him; it was about Tate. And if he wants to reach out and try again with his parents, who am I to stop him?

  “Sure, I don’t see why not.”

  “Logan?” Tate asked.

  Logan leaned forward against the side of the bridge, and Tate crowded in behind him and put his hands on his waist. He pressed their bodies against one another and then put his lips by Logan’s ear.

  “It might be different this time.”

  Logan turned his head so they were practically nose to nose and said, “It might not be also. Then what?”

  “If it’s not, then we’ll get in your car and go home—together.”

  There it was, his biggest fear laid out in front of him. The thought of Tate leaving him again or telling him to go away… Fuck, he wasn’t sure which was worse. But by the pained expression that crossed Tate’s face, he knew that his feelings must’ve been pretty obvious.

  “I’m not going anywhere. You know that, right?”

  Logan turned so he could place his hand over Tate’s coat. “I feel like I should—”

  “But you’re worried anyway,” Tate ended for him. “Don’t you trust me?”

  Logan frowned at Tate’s annoyed tone, and then his own agitation rose. “Yes, I trust you, but damn it, Tate. I just got you back after a month in a hospital bed and the rehabilitation after. And the last time we went to Sunday lunch, you…you—”

  “Acted like a dick afterwards?” Tate supplied.

  “Yes,” Logan finished on a rush of air. “You broke my fucking heart that day, and honestly, I don’t think, after everything we’ve been through, that I can do that again. Not even if you need a moment to freak out.”

  Logan stopped talking, realizing how loud his voice had risen, and then he lowered his eyes away from Tate’s. Jesus, I hate feeling vulnerable.

  “Logan?”

  When he didn’t raise his head, he heard Tate say his name again.

  “Logan, would you look at me please?”

  With his lips pulled into a thin line, he glared at Tate, irrationally angry at the way the conversation had turned. When Tate’s lips tugged into a full-on heart-stopping grin, it only served to make him surlier.

  “Is something amusing, Morrison?”

  “Oh, the last name. You are pissed.”

  “I’m not pissed. I’m—”

  “Really cute when you’re angry.”

  The glower he aimed at Tate then should have had him dead and on the ground. “Fuck you.”

  Tate laughed at that suggestion. “Stop trying to change the subject.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are. But I’m not mad at your reaction. You have the right to be skeptical. I did act like a dick that first time. I pushed you away. That’s what I’m annoyed at. Me, not you.”

  Logan’s heart thumped in his chest as Tate placed his hands on his chest and kissed his taut lips.

  “I would never do that again. Not ever.”

  Logan nodded slowly.

  Then Tate took his chin between his fingers and asked, “Do you trust me?”

  Swallowing, he looked at the earnest expression on Tate’s face and knew he was telling the truth. “Yes, I trust you.”

  * * *

  They spent a little over an hour wandering through the lush grounds of Strawberry Fields and taking photos. Then Logan suggested they have lunch at Loeb’s Boathouse. It was obvious he’d been to the city several times because he knew his way around it like it was second nature, and as they strolled under one of the old arches covering the winding path toward the restaurant, Tate found himself backed up against the cool, stone bricks.

  “I’m going to miss you when you go back to work,” Logan said.

  “Miss me? I live with you. You’ll probably get sick of me.”

  “I actually think that would be impossible, but I meant that I’ll miss you in the evenings. I like having you there when I get home.”

  Tate ran his hands down Logan’s black, V-neck sweater, moving his fingers under the hem to run them along the waist of his cream pants. “I’ll still be climbing in bed with you every night and waking you up in the mornings.”

  Logan laughed at that. “I’m pretty sure I will be waking you up.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he agreed.

  Then Logan asked something he hadn’t even entertained. “Have you ever thought about not going back?”

  “To work?”

  Logan nodded. “Well, to After Hours. You’re still looking into the bar idea, right?”

  He’d thought about it when he’d been released from the hospital and wondered if maybe he should hold off—wait until he was back on his feet and all of this was behind him.

  “Maybe this is a good way to start over?” Logan suggested.

  Tate scrunched his face up and shook his head. “I have to work, Logan.”

  “I know. It’s just something to think about. You’d be leaving anyway if you decided to go ahead with the bar. And that in itself would be work.”

  “I’ll think about it, but I promise nothing.”

  “Okay. I can deal with that.” Logan smiled and then kissed his cheek. “Did I remember to thank you for coming here with me?”

  Tate moved his hands to Logan’s ass and pulled him in between his legs. “If I recall, I didn’t have much of a choice. You stole me.”

  “That’s right. I did, didn’t I?” Logan whispered in his ear. “I stole you away from everyone.”

  Tate had a feeling that Logan was referring to much more than Chicago in that particular sentence. “Mhmm. But I wanted to be stolen, so there’s nothing wrong with that.”

  Logan looked around at the dark shadows they were hidden in and then returned his attention to him. “This is the Riftstone Arch. Did you know that?”

  Not having expected that, Tate’s eyebrow winged up as he observed the jagged edges of rock arching across the top of them. “No. I didn’t know that.”

  “Yep. It’s made out of Manhattan schist.”

  “Schist?”

  “Yeah. I read about it in an article the other day. It’s a metamorphic rock that’s found all around Manhattan. They blew them up from the outcrops in the park.”

  Tate chuckled at Logan’s explanation. “You just happened to read that in an article?”

  As he pushed off the wall and took Logan’s hand, Logan shrugged. It was interesting to see that confident, cocksure exterior of Logan’s vanish. It was rare, but when it happened, Tate always felt as if he’d been invited to see another side of him. A side he shared with no one but him.

  “I may have done a little reading about the pla
ce.”

  As Logan kicked the rock in front of him, Tate thought, If this is what he means about being awkward and nerdy, it turns me the hell on.

  They started walking, and Tate said in his ear, “See? Nerdy can most definitely be hot.”

  Logan’s head snapped around, and his eyes zeroed in on him. “Excuse me? There’s nothing wrong with being curious.”

  Tate couldn’t help the laugh that boomed out of him at that. “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that. But you researched this place, didn’t you? What else did you research?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar,” Tate teased. “When we get back home, I want to see you in your pressed polo shirt, proper pants, and glasses with a book in your hand. All nerdtastic.”

  “You’re really starting to push it, Tate.”

  “Oh yeah? And what are you going to do about it?” he taunted and then lowered his voice. “Don’t tell me you didn’t fantasize about the jock…or the broody music student who played his guitar.”

  Logan stopped just as they reached the steps that would take them to the front door of the boathouse and replied, “I had the jock, and he didn’t live up to any fantasies I had in my head. As for the broody music student…”

  “Yes?” Tate asked, loving the smile that spread across Logan’s mouth before he answered.

  “He far surpassed them all.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  It was Sunday evening when Logan turned his car onto Tate’s childhood street. It’d been around an hour and a half since they’d landed, and it had been bittersweet leaving New York behind. They both knew they had to come back to their real lives, but as he pulled the car to the curb in front of the two-story house, Logan thought, Why do we have to start with the ugliest part first?

  Tate reached across the car to touch his thigh, and Logan glanced down and put his hand over the top of it. Bringing his eyes up to the concerned ones looking at him, he found himself smiling over at Tate.

  “Shouldn’t I be the one comforting you right about now?” he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Why? I’m not the one who’s worried. Everything I want is right here in this car. That’s not about to change.”

  Logan leaned his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes. “Sweet talker.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Then remind me again. Why are we here?”

  Tate let out a soft sigh. “Because I figure if my father can swallow his pride and apologize… then the least I can do is see where things stand with the rest of them.”

  Logan couldn’t fault him for that. He was the one person who’d reached out to him during Tate’s hospital stay. Logan hadn’t seen him since, but he knew he’d visited with Tate, and it made him hopeful that maybe at least one of his parents would come around and accept his decision.

  But will he accept us?

  “All right, then. Let’s go and see if the Morrisons are home.”

  Tate released his hand to open the door, and Logan climbed out also, rubbing his palms over the front of his jeans. He waited by the side of the car as Tate came around and held his hand out to him.

  “Come on. I think it’s about time you were introduced to my family the way you should’ve been the first time.”

  As Logan stepped onto the sidewalk and slipped his hand into Tate’s, he marveled at the difference between now and the first time they’d stood here.

  “And how is that?” he asked, curious of how Tate saw him—saw them.

  He started to walk up the drive, making Logan have to follow or let his hand go, and once they’d reached the white steps leading to the wrap-around porch, Tate kissed him. “As my boyfriend and the man I love. The person I now live with.”

  “That’s a lot of information right there,” Logan said, trying to hold back the smile he felt threatening to appear.

  “It is. But they need to know that’s the way it is. If they want to be in my life,” Tate said as he backed up two of the steps, “in any way—whether it’s on Sundays for dinner or in hospital rooms because I’ve been in an accident—then they need to know that you are going to be there. You’re the only person I want there. Everyone else is just an added bonus. Got it?”

  Logan took a step up, stroked Tate’s cheek, and told him, “You make me so fucking happy. I had no idea I never was before.”

  Tate smiled broadly before capturing his lips in a kiss. Then he turned to make his way to the front door while Logan lingered just behind him, waiting for whatever the hell was about to take place. But he wouldn’t have to wait long because Tate raised his hand and knocked.

  * * *

  As Tate stood there with Logan’s hand in his, he wondered what was about to happen. But instead of the apprehension he’d once felt about bringing Logan home to meet his parents, he felt proud.

  I have a caring, successful partner. Hell yes, I’m proud, he thought as the door opened and his father stood before them.

  He felt Logan’s fingers tighten around his own, and Tate took a step back so he was standing directly beside him. His father’s eyes went first to him and then over to Logan before they dropped down to where their hands were connected. He then raised his head and shocked the hell out of him.

  “Tate, Logan… This is an unexpected visit.”

  It was the first time he’d ever heard his father speak Logan’s name, and as it lingered in the air, Tate forgot what he’d been about to say.

  “Do you want to come in?” he asked.

  Tate wanted to answer, but before he said yes, he needed to know what they were walking into. “Is Mom home?”

  “No. She’s over at your sister’s,” his father said as he pushed the screen door open and stood aside. “Do you want to come in?”

  This time, Tate took a step forward and felt Logan follow. As they passed by his father, Tate said, “Thank you.”

  They walked down the hall and into the living room where, months ago, they’d had their first spectacular showing, and Tate looked at his surroundings. It was strange to be back there after everything that had happened. It felt surreal. Like that Sunday had been a whole other life ago. And as his father gestured to the couch and he sat on it beside Logan, he thought that it really had been.

  “I thought everyone would be here,” Tate started, honestly surprised his father was here by himself. Sundays had always been a family day, and usually after church and lunch, Jill and Sam’s kids would be racing around the yard into the evening.

  “Yeah,” his father said with a sigh as he walked into the kitchen. “Some things have changed over the past few weeks.”

  Tate looked over at Logan, who’d sat back on the couch and casually placed his ankle over his knee. He appeared relaxed, and for a minute, Tate bought it. Until he saw the way Logan’s fingers were drumming out a frenetic rhythm on his thigh.

  He reached out and put his hand over Logan’s, stilling his fingers, and when he caught those blue eyes, he winked. He then turned back to the kitchen and saw his father watching them. He had the fridge door open, and when he saw Tate looking at him, he quickly averted his eyes back to the contents inside.

  “Do you two want a drink? Soda? Beer? Wine, maybe?”

  He’s nervous, Tate thought, the idea never having occurred to him before. Almost as nervous as we are.

  “Dad?” he said and then waited for him to look at him again. When he did, Tate let Logan’s hand go, telling him, “I’ll be right back,” as he got to his feet. He made his way into the kitchen and got three glass tumblers from the cabinet. “You still got your bourbon stashed around here somewhere?” he asked his dad.

  His father narrowed his eyes at him and then smiled. The expression was so familiar that Tate felt tears prick his eyes, but he blinked them away as his father pointed behind him.

  “In the flour container on the bottom shelf.”

  Tate took a deep breath and walked into his mother’s large pantry. He grabbed the container, and when he
came back out, he put it on top of the wooden butcher block and opened it.

  “Thought you quit, old man,” he said as he fished out a half pack of Marlboros.

  “Life has been stressful lately.”

  “I totally agree with that,” Tate said as he unscrewed the bottle of alcohol. “Dad?”

  His father raised his eyes, which mirrored his own, and they encouraged him to continue.

  “I want you to meet someone.”

  They both turned to where Logan had sat forward on the couch, and his father said, “We already met, Tate. I told you—”

  “I know what you told me, but I want you to meet the man I know. Not the one you had to talk to because he was sitting in a hospital waiting room.”

  Tate poured the three drinks, and when he slid one across the surface, his father took it in his hands and lifted it to his lips.

  “Fair enough.”

  He looked over to Logan and crooked a finger at him. As he stood and walked their way, it was more than obvious to him that Logan was anxious. His shoulders were stiff, his hands were in the pockets of his jeans, and when he stopped beside him at the kitchen island, he made sure they were far enough apart that they weren’t touching.

  Oh no you don’t, Tate thought, and moved over so their arms grazed one another. When Logan looked at him, he offered a drink with what he hoped was an expression that said, Trust me.

  * * *

  Logan liked to think himself a pretty confident guy, but as he stood in Tate’s family kitchen opposite his father, he had to admit that he was intimidated as hell. He’d been watching father and son from across the room as they stood side by side, intrigued by their likeness. It was almost uncanny.

  The curls Tate wore messy and long had clearly come from his father, who wore them cut close to his head. But there was still a noticeable kink there. His weathered features were tan, just like Tate’s complexion, and a moment ago, when he’d smiled across at his son, Logan had recognized the expression as the same easygoing one Tate would flash.