Logan stepped past him and Tate followed as they made their way farther inside.
“What’s going on here?”
Logan turned to stare at him, those blue eyes full of...doubt.
Doubt in me? Or himself?
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit,” Tate said, calling his bluff. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Logan licked his top lip and then shrugged. “She isn’t wrong, you know.”
Tate narrowed his eyes and walked over so they were standing face to face. “She isn’t wrong about what?”
Logan spun away from him, but Tate wasn’t about to have that. He reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him back around to face him.
“She isn’t wrong about what, Logan?”
He could feel the tension rolling off Logan in waves, but not like it’d been in the elevator. He was now irritated and apprehensive, and Tate couldn’t tell where it was directed.
Diana? His family? Himself?
“That I’m the reason your family won’t talk to you.”
Tate dropped his hand and took a deep breath then started moving. He took several steps forward until he had Logan’s back up against the wall of his foyer.
“No. You listen to me. They are the reason they won’t talk to me. Not you.”
Logan grimaced. “Tate—”
“Logan. Shut up.” He placed his hands on the wall on either side of his head. “I know I need to deal with them, and I will, but not right now.”
Logan closed his eyes as if trying to block out everything that had happened.
“I’m sorry...I just can’t think about anything else.”
Tate dropped his hands and took a step away. “Fucking Diana—”
“Is enough to ruin any good hard-on. Even mine,” Logan pointed out and kissed his lips. “You have papers to sign, and I need to…”
“What?”
“Punch something?” Logan suggested.
Tate shook his head, frustrated that they’d even had to deal with her. “I’m sorry she was here.”
“So am I. But maybe she was exactly what we needed.”
“How do you figure that?” Tate asked as Logan walked toward the front door.
When he got to it, he looked back and said, “She made us realize what we do and don’t want.”
Tate glanced in Logan’s direction, but he just opened the front door.
“Logan?” Tate waited until Logan stopped and faced him. “I want you. Seeing her doesn’t change that.”
The smile that split Logan’s full lips was worth a million run-ins with Diana, because right there, Tate knew that Logan really believed him.
“I know.”
26.
By midmorning on Sunday, Tate was slowing his bike to a crawl and making his way down his childhood street.
After Logan had left the night before, he’d had a lot of time to think. He’d signed the papers Diana had once again issued through her new lawyer, and then he’d come to the conclusion he needed to try and see his family.
It’d been a week since he’d seen or heard from them and he still couldn’t bring himself to believe that his own parents, the people who’d raised him, had actually...disowned him.
Maybe they’d just been angry.
He swallowed as he stopped by the curb of the house next door. Best not to pull into the drive, just in case they heard.
Fuck. What am I planning? A sneak attack?
Turning off the ignition, Tate removed his helmet and sat there for a few minutes staring at the familiar double-story house. He could remember running around the yard with Jill playing hide-and-seek, and the large tree in the back still had the fort their father had built for them both. Now, the one place that used to be his sanctuary, a place that was full of good memories, just reminded him of last weekend and all of the hateful words that had been spewed at him.
Getting off the bike, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second.
You can do this.
He’d been miserable for years, and now that he was finally happy, it was time to let his parents know that this was his choice—his decision to really be free. This was his life, after all, and if they didn’t understand that, then it was time to say goodbye.
Walking up the drive, he felt the gravel crunch beneath his boots. With every step he took, he felt as if he were walking toward his execution. He kept remembering the revulsion on his mother’s face and the waves of nausea would hit. But he was determined to do this—he needed to.
Turning onto the small path that led to the front steps, Tate stopped when he saw his father crouched down in the garden surrounding the porch. He still hadn’t heard him, so Tate watched as he worked.
As a child, he’d idolized his father. He was the man he’d wanted to be when he grew up. Tall, his father stood around six foot, and for as long as Tate could remember, he’d always been compared to him.
“You get more and more like your father every day. Such a fine young man. And those curls...You’re the spitting image of him, Tate.”
His father had always been proud of that comparison. He’d clap a hand on his shoulder and tell them, “That’s my boy, all right.” Tate wondered if he’d still feel that way now.
As he took a step closer, his feet crunched on the gravel again, this time alerting his father that he was there. Tate watched as he spotted him and slowly stood. Dusting the dirt off his hands, he then stepped out of the garden bed he’d been working in.
“Hey, Dad.”
“William.” His voice was steady and detached, and Tate could feel his palms grow clammy at the way he was looking at him, inspecting him as if he were somehow...different.
“I wanted to come by—”
“Why?” his father interrupted, which had Tate stumbling over his words. “Has anything changed?”
Tate knew what he was really asking. Have you realized you were wrong? But he wasn’t there to apologize for his choices.
“No. Nothing has changed.”
His father gave a decisive nod and then gazed off beyond his shoulder. “Then I’m not sure why you’re here.”
Tate flinched as if his father had struck him and then took a step forward. “Really? You don’t know why I’m here? This is my home, Dad.”
His father continued to ignore him, and the indifference infuriated him.
“Look at me,” Tate demanded, and his father turned steady eyes on him—his own eyes. “You’re willing to let me go, never hear from me again, just like that? Because of who I’m dating?”
“You’re dating a man, William. What did you expect? It goes against everything we believe.”
Tate balled his fists by his sides and tried his hardest to remain calm in spite of the turmoil brewing inside of him. “I was taught to love my fellow man. Guess I just took it a step further.”
His father’s eyes focused on him intently, and the repugnance made Tate wonder where his actual father was. Just like last week with his mother, the person in front of him was a complete stranger. They’d both mutated into vile, disapproving creatures.
“Your lack of subtlety just proves what a bad influence this man has been on you. Your behavior last week was unforgivable. You were rude, inappropriate, and impudent.”
Tate shook his head, disbelieving of what he was hearing. “I was rude and inappropriate? You’re kicking me out of your lives because of who I love.”
His father’s entire body tensed at his final word, and he looked him over slowly, as if he were seeing him for the first time. Then he told him in a voice Tate didn’t even recognize, “This conversation is over. Your mother was very clear last week. You’re no longer welcome here.”
The shock and the heartache was gone. Tate could feel his rage threatening to overwhelm him. He was now full of anger.
Anger at such rejection from his own flesh and blood.
“If I leave, I’m not coming back,” he stated, surprised his voice was stable when he felt like his i
nsides were crumbling apart. “I’ve tried to talk to you, to make you understand, but I’m an adult. I’m going to do what makes me happy, and if that means no longer being your son, then so be it.”
Tate turned away and was about to leave when he heard his father’s final words.
“You’re no longer my son anyway.”
Tate was determined not to let his foot falter after that blow, and without turning back, he made his way along the path of what was once his home—his safe place.
He made it down the drive and heard his name as he climbed on his bike. He looked up to the porch and saw that his father had gone inside, but Jill was standing there. She was too late.
It was time to move on, time to go to his new safe place.
It was time to go to Logan’s.
* * *
Logan stood in the center of his living room and realized for the first time how large and empty the space was without the coffee table.
Maybe it’s time to fill it with things other than my furniture.
Last night, when he’d gotten home, he’d crawled into bed and lain there, wide awake. He’d been replaying the past few weeks over and over in his mind. His family, Diana, Tate’s family, Tate disappearing for a week, and then their time away.
It felt like it had been years instead of weeks, but it had made them both more than aware of what was important, what they each wanted, and Logan was just as shocked as Tate that it was bordering on that word he usually avoided—relationship.
He’d been cleaning up his place for the last few hours, ever since Tate had called to tell him he was on his way to his parents’ place. That thought made him feel ill.
The last time Tate had dealt with his parents was a disaster. Logan couldn’t even imagine how it would go this time, and he had to admit the fact that he wasn’t there made him slightly nervous.
What if they get to him? Will he change his mind?
No. Logan had to believe that what they shared was stronger than that, and he knew Tate. Tate was honest to the core, and there was no way he would have lied about his feelings—not after everything they’d gone through.
He’d just finished throwing the last of the broken glass away and was ready to sit down with a beer when the knocking on his front door began. After placing the bottle on the counter, he walked down the hall and opened it.
There, standing in front of him, was a dejected-looking Tate. He was staring back at him, and his eyes were those of someone who was grieving a loss.
“Come in.”
Logan stepped aside, and as Tate went to walk past, he took his fingers. Tate turned to him, and Logan didn’t ask. He knew he wasn’t okay.
“Why don’t you take your jacket off and have a seat. I was just about to grab a beer and watch some TV.”
Tate nodded and moved into the living room.
It hadn’t been that long ago that Tate had first walked into his condo, and now, as he removed his jacket and shoes and sat on the far corner of the sofa, Logan realized he looked right at home there.
He went into the kitchen and grabbed a second beer for Tate before making his way to the seat beside him. When he was settled, he placed his arm along the back of the couch. Automatically, Tate moved in and leaned against his side.
“Didn’t go so good, huh?”
Tate didn’t say anything, just shook his head.
“Wanna talk about it?”
Tate looked up at him and gave a smile so sad that it broke Logan’s heart.
“There’s nothing left to say. They both said their piece, and I said mine. It’s done. Over.”
Logan frowned down at him. “Is it?”
“Yes, it is. But it still hurts like hell.”
Logan went to put the bottle on his coffee table. Then he remembered that he didn’t have one and placed it by his feet.
“You really did break the thing,” Tate murmured.
“Yeah. Bad temper I suppose.”
Tate reached up to touch his chin. “No. I hurt you.”
“Nah.”
“Yes,” Tate said again and sat up to place a soft kiss on his mouth. “I hurt you, and I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize to me. You needed space. We worked it out in our own ways and found our way back, didn’t we?”
Tate grinned at him, and every worry Logan had vanished under the power of it.
“Sometimes you’re very sweet, Logan Mitchell.”
Logan ran a hand down Tate’s cheek and cupped his chin. “Shh. No one can ever know.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell a soul.”
“You better not. My reputation’s already compromised.”
Tate took the hand on his cheek and entwined their fingers. “It is?”
“You mean you haven’t heard?”
Shaking his head, Tate looked up at him, and Logan winked.
“Yeah. Apparently, I tried something a little while back, and now, I just can’t seem to get enough. I’ve become…addicted.”
Tate chuckled and rolled to his side so he was lying stretched out along the couch with his head on Logan’s thigh, watching him. “That sounds terrible.”
“It is. People are talking…”
“I’m sure they are.”
“Complaining that I’m no longer available for…debriefings.”
Tate totally lost it then and started laughing.
“This is serious stuff,” Logan told him, face somber, mouth pulled tight. He was having trouble not laughing himself. “I don’t think you should be laughing about it.”
“Then what should I be doing? You want me to be upset that you’re no longer out sleeping with half of Chicago?”
“I’ll have you know...”
The sides of Tate’s eyes crinkled as he asked, “Yes?”
Logan lowered his head and captured Tate’s mouth in a kiss then told him, “It was only some of Chicago. And maybe a few outside of it. I told you. I’m selective.”
“And now?” Tate asked.
“Now I’m really fucking selective. As in, there’s only one choice, one option, and one person I even think about.”
“Oh yeah?”
Logan nodded. “Yeah. Ever since he served me a gin and tonic and told me he was straight.”
Tate pretended to be shocked. “He told you he was straight and you went after him anyway?”
“Mhmm. He was adamant.” He kissed Tate again. “Told me there was no way in hell he’d ever kiss me.”
“But you changed his mind, huh?”
“Of course,” he said, full of arrogance. “I argue for a living. He stood no chance.”
Tate’s mouth moved under his in a grin. “You weren’t doing much talking the day you pushed your agenda in the conference room.”
“Well, sometimes you have to prove a point with physical evidence.”
Tate put his hands on Logan’s shoulders and pushed him away slightly. “Oh is that what that was?”
“Yes, and I find that a lot of oral presentations are helpful also.”
Tate shook his head from side to side, still smiling. “You’re something else, you know that? Thank you.”
“For?”
“Always making it better,” Tate laughed.
“Pretty sure I usually suck at this part in relationships.”
Tate sat up this time and straddled his lap.
“I’m pretty sure you don’t. But you’re good at sucking in other parts.” Tate ran his hands over his shoulders and then said, “I want to do something fun. Something that’ll make us forget these last two shitty days.” He paused, closed his eyes, and whispered, “I want to lose myself for a while.”
Logan thought about it for a moment and then asked, “How about Whipped?”
Tate’s eyes opened and he looked slightly shocked. “I know I’ve been up for a lot lately, and yeah, I’ll try most things—”
“Tate?” Logan laughed.
“Yeah?”
“It’s a nightclub. But please feel
free to finish that thought. You say you’ll try most things?”
“Asshole,” Tate mumbled.
“You say the nicest things to me.” Logan winked. “Let’s go dancing.”
* * *
The music was thumping, the club dimly lit, and as Logan made his way through couples gyrating, he felt Tate’s fingers tightening around his. He’d picked a place he knew fairly well, Whipped.
It was a place where there was a little bit of everything, including men dancing with women, women dancing with women, and—he stopped on the corner of the dance floor and pulled Tate into his body—men dancing with men.
He’d figured Tate would be a little more comfortable around a mix of people, and as his arms came around his neck and he closed his eyes, Logan knew he’d been right until—
“Ah, my favorite lawyer and his ‘friend.’ I swear you two get hotter every time I see you. So it’s a damn shame I don’t see more of you.”
Tate froze in front of him, and Logan closed his eyes, hoping that the voice that just shouted over the music wasn’t—
“Robbie,” Tate answered for him as he greeted the intruder.
Logan turned around to see Robbie step closer to them both.
“I thought it was you. It’s hard to ignore someone like Logan. Or you for that matter,” he added, winking at Tate.
Fucking flirt.
“In fact, I think I saw you smile at Logan when you walked in. Granted, I could be wrong since it’s such a rare event, but when it appeared, it was fabulous.”
Logan turned to Tate, and instead of finding him fuming, he was grinning down at Robbie—amused. He then looked back to see Robbie’s eyes close to fucking sparkling up at Tate, and he couldn’t help but shake his head at the guy’s antics.
As usual, Robbie was dressed much the same as he had been the night they’d hooked up. Loose, black cargos that rode his skinny hips, and a bright-pink mesh tank top that was cut to expose from his navel down. His eyes were enhanced by black eyeliner, and his blond hair was spiked with enough hair gel that not even the busiest hands in it would mess it up.