by Ella Frank
Tate’s father stepped forward, placed a hand on his mother’s shoulder—a sign of solidarity—and spoke for the first time.
“I think it’s best if you go now. You’ve upset your mother.”
Tate’s mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. His eyes flickered up over his parents and landed on his sister, and when she stood, Logan could’ve sworn he saw a glimpse of regret in her eyes.
Tate stuffed his hands into his pockets and nodded. His jaw was twitching, and from his side view, Logan could see the flush of anger and hurt spreading across his cheeks.
“Fine. I’ll go. But it won’t change anything.”
Tate looked over at him, and as Logan stared back, he’d never felt so fucking helpless in his whole life. He nodded to him, trying to silently convey that he was there—he wasn’t going anywhere.
Whatever you need.
Tate turned and started walking toward the door.
As Logan followed, he heard Mrs. Morrison call out, “William?”
It was Logan’s turn to hold his breath as Tate stopped where he was and glanced back at the people who were supposed to love him unconditionally. Then she landed her final blow.
“I didn’t raise my son to be gay. You’re a disgrace to this family, and you are no longer welcome here.”
If heartache had a face, it was Tate’s right then, but instead of responding, he spun away and marched out of the house, leaving him to follow.
Logan started toward the door, but at the last moment, he turned to face Tate’s family. He couldn’t leave without saying something to these people, and he’d be damned if they didn’t know they’d just let an amazing human being walk out their door because of their own ignorance.
“How could you treat him like that? You'd rather side with some malicious bitch than trying to understand your own son? I've never met anyone like Tate—”
“His name is William,” Tate’s mother cut in.
“No, it's Tate. That honest, stubborn man that you just let walk out your fucking door is Tate. I hope when you look at the empty chair at your dinner table this afternoon you realize what the fuck you just did and come to your senses. If you do, he’ll be with me, Logan Mitchell—the pervert. She knows where to find me,” he made sure to add, pointing to Diana, who was now standing by the side door, probably wanting to run after Tate.
Well she could fuck right off. That was his job, and he wasn’t about to let her try and hone in and promise to make shit better.
He stormed to the door, and as he opened it, he heard her say, “Think he’ll still want you now?”
Logan looked her in the eye and made sure he didn’t reveal the fact that he was terrified the answer was no. “I have no fucking doubt.”
He opened the door and walked around the porch until he spotted Tate with his backside up against the passenger’s side door.
Logan wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but as he made his way down the steps and over to the car, Tate turned to him, his face devoid of any emotion.
“Can we please leave?”
So cool, so polite, and—as Logan unlocked the car and Tate got in, he realized—so distant.
One thing was for certain. Tate sure as hell hadn’t denied a damn thing.
* * *
Tate didn’t remember getting into the car, and he didn’t remember the drive back to the city, but when they pulled into the parking garage and the ignition turned off, he realized he was home.
He was numb. Completely and utterly numb.
“Hey?”
Logan.
This was the first he’d been aware of him trying to talk this entire time, but he had nothing to say—not a thing.
“Hey, look at me,” he said again, and Tate made himself turn to face him. “This will work itself out.”
Tate wasn’t sure he believed him and found it too hard to look him in the eye and say so. So he turned away instead.
“They were shocked and angry, but I’m sure they’ll come around.”
Would they?
He didn’t think so, and what did that mean? That his family didn’t want to see him again—ever? The thought sent a wave of nausea through him, so he pushed the door open and forced himself to get out.
Jesus, fuck. What did I do?
He placed a palm on the side of the car and bent at the waist, trying to catch his breath. He closed his eyes when he heard the other door open, and when a hand touched his shoulder, Tate immediately backed up and straightened.
The hurt that skidded across Logan’s face tore at him, but as he struggled to remain upright, all he could hear in his head was, Don’t come back.
“You okay?”
God, since when did he start saying all the right things?
“Tate? Talk to me.”
He didn’t know what to say, so when he finally met Logan’s eyes, he swallowed and said all he could think of. “I need to go.”
Logan nodded and moved aside. “Okay. You want to go upstairs?”
“Yes,” he pushed past the lump in his throat. When Logan locked his car to come with him, he added, “By myself.”
Tate knew the second Logan realized what he was saying, because he walked closer and reached out to touch him.
Again, he backed away. If Logan touched him right now, he wasn’t sure what would happen. He felt as if he were about to fall apart.
“If that’s what you want.”
Tate couldn’t bring himself to look at him for fear of what he’d see. “It is.”
“Then I’ll go. I’ll call you later.”
“No,” he rushed out before he lost his nerve.
“No?” Logan questioned.
Tate heard the slight break in his voice, and he hated himself for what he was doing, even as he continued to do it.
“You need to be more specific than that, Tate.”
He knew the only way Logan would listen and believe him was if he looked at him and said it. So he made himself stand the fuck up and face him like a man.
“I need some time to process, some space.”
Logan pushed a hand into his pocket and brought the other up to his face, where he rubbed his chin. “Time? As in…”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. He hadn’t thought it all through. He just knew what he needed—to be by himself.
Logan took a step closer, but this time, he didn’t attempt to touch him. “How much time are we talking here? A day? Two days, a week?”
“I don’t know! I just need to think, to decide if this is worth—” He shut his mouth on the words he’d been about to say, but Logan wasn’t letting him off that easy.
“Go ahead. Say it. We both know you’re thinking it.”
Am I thinking it?
He didn’t seem to know what the hell he was thinking.
“Say it, Tate,” Logan demanded, his voice low and menacing.
He swallowed and faced Logan head on. He deserved that much. “I don’t know that this will be worth losing my family. I knew they’d be upset but…”
“I see.”
Logan spun away and began pacing with both hands in his pockets as if he weren’t sure he could control himself. When he came to a stop in front of him, his hurt finally surfaced in the form of anger, and Tate braced himself.
“You’re not sure that I’m worth it, is what you really mean.”
He didn’t know what he meant right then.
“I just need some fucking space, okay?"
“Okay. Fine. If that's what you need.” Logan brushed it off and walked back around to his side of the car.
“It is,” he told him, watching as Logan unlocked the vehicle and opened the door.
He stared across the roof at him and shrugged—the wall firmly back in place, the pissed-off expression saying all the things he wasn’t. “Okay.”
Tate knew he should leave it at that, but as Logan moved to get into his car, he called out, “Logan?"
He paused and looked
his way, and it was the first time that Tate had seen those blue eyes of his full of hurt. “What?”
“I’ll call you.”
“Yeah...You do that.”
But as he got into the car and drove away, Tate knew he didn’t believe him for a minute. He wasn’t sure he believed himself either.
PART TWO
Acceptance:
Approval; agreement with an idea; favorable reception.
17.
Five days later…
It amazed Logan how a normal five-day week could turn into the longest stretch of time imaginable.
Five days. One hundred and twenty hours. Seven thousand, two hundred excruciating minutes.
That was how long it’d been since he’d seen or heard from Tate.
He’d told himself many times over to respect the guy, give him the space he needed, but as each day came and went and he heard nothing, he was slowly losing his resolve to stay away.
He’d gotten home Sunday afternoon and spent hours staring at his phone like some lovesick idiot. When nothing happened, he called Cole and told him he was taking Monday off.
Which has since turned into a week.
Sitting on his couch, Logan watched the reruns playing on TV and reminded himself that this was the very reason he didn’t do relationships. This ache in his heart. The way his chest constricted every time the phone rang. Not to mention the way he couldn’t stop wondering where the hell Tate was and what he was doing.
It was driving him fucking crazy.
He brought his bottle of Corona to his lips and drained it dry as a loud pounding started on his door. Closing his eyes, Logan wished them away. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone, unless it was—
“Open the damn door, Logan!”
Great. Just what I need. Cole.
“Your doorman said you were here!”
Fuck. Of course he did.
Standing, Logan dropped the empty bottle down on the couch and walked over to his front door. He pulled it open and scowled at his brother, who was standing on the other side.
Without so much as a hello, Cole stepped forward, and as their shoulders connected roughly, Logan stumbled.
“You look like shit,” Cole announced, quickly assessing him.
With a flick of his hand, Logan slammed the door and turned to see Cole had stopped in his living room and was surveying the damage he’d inflicted last Sunday night—he still hadn’t bothered cleaning up.
“Thanks. I dressed up just for you.”
Logan walked back down the hall and stopped behind Cole, using the wall for support. He waited as his brother silently scanned the room. Then he turned to face him. Feeling defensive, Logan crossed his arms over his chest.
He wasn’t in the mood for the third fucking degree.
“Are we going to ignore the obvious?”
Logan moved away from the wall and shrugged. “If you mean that you aren’t welcome, then no. I’m quite happy to tell you to get the fuck out.”
Ignoring that completely, Cole pointed out, “It’s not like you to cancel a court hearing and miss several days at such short notice.”
“I wasn’t aware that I had to run it by you. Last time I checked, the business card in my wallet read Mitchell and Madison. Which means I can take a couple of days off without you getting on my ass.”
It wasn’t often that Cole’s temper surfaced, but when it did, Logan tried to be a good distance away. However, that wasn’t the case right now, and as Cole strode forward, Logan stood his ground. He was spoiling for a fight, and if it couldn’t be with Tate, he’d take the next best thing.
“What the hell happened in here? Where’s Tate?” Cole demanded.
“None of your fucking business. Since when have you been so interested in my personal life and who I’m fucking?”
In a flash, Logan was shoved hard, and found his back against the wall with Cole snarling at him.
“If you were just fucking him, I wouldn’t give a shit either way. But you’re not!”
Angling his chin up, Logan glared at Cole so hard that his head began to pound. “What the hell do you know?”
“I know you have never referred to someone as your boyfriend ever. I’ve never seen you look at someone the way you look at him. And I have never seen you go crazy because someone didn’t pick you to be on his damn Pictionary team.”
Lifting his hands, Logan pushed Cole away, but the guy didn’t fucking budge.
“Get out of my way.”
“No. Not until you tell me what happened here. Why is the coffee table broken?”
Stubbornly, they stared at one another, and Logan knew nothing would move Cole but an explanation.
“Because I broke it.”
Cole frowned and looked down, obviously trying to see his hands. Logan held them up, showing his knuckles.
“I’m fine. I didn’t use my fists. I threw my loose change bowl.”
“And Tate?”
Just hearing his name made Logan wince.
“What about him?”
“Where is he?”
“How the hell should I know?”
Cole’s brows rose as he waited.
Feeling defeated, Logan slumped back against the wall and answered, “I haven’t seen or heard from him since Sunday. When he told me to give him some space.”
Cole moved back into the living room. “I’m assuming that upset you a little bit.”
“Aren’t you a barrel of laughs tonight.”
Logan made his way around his brother and headed to the kitchen. Cole followed and stopped at the counter, loosening his tie.
“What happened?”
Logan opened the fridge and realized he had absolutely nothing to offer. Shutting it, he turned and leaned back up against it.
“I don’t have anything to give you.”
“Did I ask for anything? How about you start by giving me some answers.”
Logan debated that in his head when his phone went off. His eyes moved over Cole’s shoulder.
“Go and check it, Romeo.”
Feeling like a moron, Logan grumbled, “Shut up,” but that didn’t stop him from going to get his phone.
He picked it up and actually felt a slither of that bitch emotion hope get through the cracks. Logan checked the message, then he squeezed his eyes shut and his hand tightened before he threw it back on the couch.
Not Tate.
“Okay. Start talking.”
Logan reluctantly turned around to face his brother. “Sunday was a fucking disaster.”
“I gathered as much.” Cole took a seat on one of the stools and rolled his sleeves up like he was settling in. Umm, not if he could help it. “Did you do something?”
“No. For once, I didn’t do anything.” Logan paused then shrugged. “Shocking, I know.”
“So what did happen?”
“Let’s see. We drove to his parents’ house. Diana was there—”
“Oh hell,” Cole muttered.
“Yeah, no shit. We didn’t even get to lunch. His mother basically told him I wasn’t welcome and he wasn’t either until he got rid of me.”
“So he did?”
Logan shook his head. “No. He did the exact opposite. He announced that we were sleeping together and that it was awesome—then left.”
It took a lot to shock his brother, but Cole’s mouth fell open. Logan knew the feeling. That had been him a week ago.
“Then?”
“Then we drove back to his place, and before I could say anything, he was telling me he needed space and time to think.”
Cole rubbed the side of his face and asked, “Well, that’s a pretty normal reaction, don’t you think? In light of everything that happened? Maybe he just needs to cool down.”
Logan ran a hand through his hair and realized he really needed to wash it. “I suppose. But fuck, waiting sucks.”
Cole’s mouth twisted into a sly smile. “Then don’t wait.”
“What?”
Cole stood and walked over to him, and Logan had no idea what he was about to do until he reached out and clasped both of his arms. He pulled him forward, and before Logan knew it, Cole hugged him.
Up until that moment, he hadn’t realized that he’d needed one. But as the security Cole offered surrounded him, Logan grabbed him and hugged him back as if he were a much-needed lifeline.
“He’s not Chris,” Cole reiterated, and as his words swept over him, Logan closed his eyes and remembered Tate saying something similar the week before. “He’s just scared.”
Logan swallowed, and while he wasn’t under scrutiny, he found he could say the words, “So am I.”
Cole didn’t mock him and tell him not to be. He just remained steady and silent, knowing that was what he needed.
After several seconds, which felt like hours, Logan heard, “Go and find him and tell him that he has no reason to be.”
Logan pulled back from his brother. “Just go find him, huh?”
Cole winked at him and grinned. “Actually, I already found him. When I went looking for you, I ran into his coworker.”
* * *
Tate stood off to the side in a dark corner of HAZE and observed. For the last three nights, he’d been coming down here to watch.
Watch and wait—to see if anyone piqued his interest.
Apparently no one had, because he was still against the wall, cradling a glass of Patron he hadn’t touched. He’d called into work a couple of days back and told Amelia he wasn’t feeling well and had to take a few nights off.
She’d agreed to take his shift but explained that he owed her. He knew that meant days and weekends he’d rather not work, but right now, he needed to think.
It had taken actually deleting Logan’s number not to call, but Tate also knew in the back of his mind he’d easily be able to find the guy. He was half of one of the most prestigious law firms in Chicago.
Logan Mitchell.
A man full of brash bravado who projected nothing other than confidence to the world, but underneath that flawless façade was a man fighting his own fears. He had everything to offer and was afraid to for fear of rejection.