LOVE. IT’S FUNNY how one four-letter word can bring on such an onslaught of emotions. Happiness, desire, anger, even fear, Tate Morrison thought, as he sat at the tiny table in the empty bar of the Lynley Winery and tried to calm his erratic heartbeat. It could make those who were the most honest with their emotions run scared, while at the same time bring forth a determination in the most unlikely of people.

That was something he had discovered ten minutes ago back in their suite when Logan had stood before him naked and uttered, “Just tell me how you want me, Tate. I’m yours.”

That was when he’d run.

Tate had practically tripped over his feet in his hurry to be free of the suddenly suffocating confines of that bathroom. And now, as he sat alone replaying Logan’s words, he stared down at the crumpled paper he’d grabbed from his wallet and studied the words in his shaking hands.

His stomach knotted, then flipped over on itself time and time again, and Tate willed himself to breathe. The last thing he needed was to pass out from a panic attack, but that was exactly what was happening. He was panicking. And the reason? The reason was as clear as day. He was the dumbest motherfucker on the planet. Yeah, he was.

Fucking hell. He’d heard that love made people do some stupid shit before, but this… God, what if I can’t fix this? What if Logan doesn’t want me like that anymore? The thought made him want to be sick. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the room from spinning, but all that did was bring to mind Logan back in the bathroom, beautiful as always, looking at Tate for some kind of indication of what was running through his head. And what had Tate given him? Nothing. He’d just fled.

Damn it.

Tate shoved the piece of paper into his pocket, along with the pen he’d grabbed from the side table back in their suite, no longer able to look at it. What had he done to them? How had he let fear of the unknown possibly ruin this? And as the memories flooded him again…

I dare you to try.

I think you’re my truth.

Terrify me.

Marry me.

…he was more than aware that it was that one, the last one, that didn’t have the right ending. He’d really messed this up, but he could make it right and wanted to, more than he wanted his next breath.

He placed his head in his hands and shut his eyes, trying to gather some semblance of control so he could go back, find Logan, and do the one thing he realized he should’ve done all along. It wasn’t until he heard the sound of padded feet on the hardwood floor that he looked up to see that he didn’t need to go and find Logan, because he had tracked Tate down instead.

With the fire flickering behind him, the sharp angles of Logan’s cheeks and jaw only enhanced a face Tate loved more than he thought possible, and when Logan pulled out the chair opposite him and reached across the table to take his hands, Tate couldn’t believe it had taken his brain this long to catch up and get to where it now firmly was.

“Hey,” Logan said, his eyes roaming over Tate’s face, no doubt for signs, clues as to why he’d run away.

“Hey,” Tate replied, and then lowered his gaze to their hands, marveling over the strength he found there when they were joined.

Exactly…together, not apart. Always and forever, together.

“What are you doing out here?” Logan asked, and Tate swallowed as he felt Logan tighten his grip.

“I, uhh…”

“Tate?” Logan said before Tate could give any kind of response. “What are you doing out here?”

Tate withdrew his hand and ran it through his hair, and as Logan continued to watch him, he felt his nerves kick in. “Back there in the bathroom…” he started, and then stopped. As he thought over his words, Tate wondered if there was even a way to explain how badly he’d screwed this all up, but knew the only way he’d ever know was to try. “I had a thought. It was more of a moment, I guess. A flash of us. Of all we are and will be and— Shit, I sound crazy, don’t I?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, but he shook his head. “You don’t sound crazy. But you are freaking me out a little. Were the things you were thinking good things, at least?”

Tate frowned and then shot Logan an apologetic look. The last thing Tate wanted was to worry him more—it was the exact opposite. “Yeah, of course. I should’ve probably started with that. Everything about you was good. Perfect, really, but me…”

“What about you? You’re pretty fucking perfect from where I’m sitting. And back there in that bathroom, trust me, you looked better than any of those naked statues on the wall.”

Tate tried for a smile but knew he didn’t quite pull it off when Logan asked, “What is it, Tate? Come on; you know you can tell me anything.”

Okay, this is it, Tate thought, as he swallowed and then shifted in his seat, glancing over at the fire for a moment to gather his nerve. Then he turned back to Logan and asked, “Am I too late?”

At Logan’s confused expression, Tate knew he didn’t understand what he was asking. So he reached into his pocket where he’d shoved the piece of paper, and then put it on the table. He smoothed his hand over it, lovingly tracing his fingers over the name he now wanted as his own, and then pushed it over in front of Logan.

As Logan stared down at it, Tate watched him read over the words on the paper, waiting for a reaction, and when Logan looked up, Tate asked again, “Am I too late?”

Logan blinked several times, and Tate held his breath, wondering if he was too late. But then something miraculous happened: Logan shook his head.

The blood rushing around Tate’s head made his ears ring as he tried to comprehend what Logan was telling him, but he still hadn’t said a word, so Tate pulled the pen from his pocket and leaned over to circle the name he hadn’t been able to stop looking at ever since he’d found the piece of paper.

As Logan looked down again, Tate saw a huge grin split his lips. “So what do you think? Can the world handle two Mr. Mitchells?” 

His heart was pounding so hard as he sat there and waited for whatever Logan was going to say next, and when he opened his mouth to speak but then stopped, the joy that had lit Logan’s eyes a second ago shifted slightly, and disbelief began to cloud them instead.

Tate wasn’t about to let that stop him, though. Not anymore. The fear of rejection was something Logan had faced and experienced, and Tate wanted to erase that if he could. Even if that meant the chance that he might share the same fate. 

He curled his fingers around the paper on the table and drew it away from Logan, and as he did, Logan quickly reached for it.

“Tate, wait a second. I—”

“I’ve already waited too long,” Tate said as he got to his feet. He came around the table, and Logan shifted in his seat to follow his path.

Without any further hesitation, without one ounce of apprehension lingering, Tate got down on one knee in front of the only person he’d ever truly loved, and as he stared up at Logan, he thought he’d be happy to stay there forever, should that be where Logan wanted him.

Logan’s brow creased, and he looked as though he wanted to ask a million questions, but while he was busy trying to process, Tate reached for his hand and entwined their fingers.

“I love you,” Tate stated, as he brought Logan’s fingers up to his mouth to kiss his knuckles. “So much that it sometimes scares me and sometimes makes me stupid.” Tate closed his eyes and squeezed Logan’s hand a little harder, afraid that if he didn’t keep a hold of him, he’d slip away. “You shocked the hell out of me the night you asked me to marry you, and to say I reacted badly would be an understatement. I let fear get the better of me, and it almost cost me the most important thing in my life. You.” Tate raised his head, and his breath caught as it often did, when his eyes connected with the blue ones now focused on him, and then he let it out on a rush. “I wish I could take back what I said to you that night, but I can’t. I can’t ever change it, and I hate that I hurt you. But I learned something that night. I learned that I love you more than I ever knew was possible.” Tate stroked his fingers down the line of Logan’s jaw, marveling at the strength there. “I also learned that there’s no point of living if you’re too scared to take what you want, and I want you. All of you. The thought of not seeing you every day? That scares me more than anything else in this world. You’re everything I didn’t know I should be looking for, and if you still want me and I’m not too late, I’m hoping you’ll do me the honor of marrying me, Logan Mitchell.”

* * *

LOGAN SAT STILL as a statue as he looked down at Tate, afraid that if he moved, if he even breathed, he might wake up and realize he’d passed out from too much alcohol at his birthday—but no. As Tate remained on one knee in front of him, Logan knew this was no dream. The man with the beautiful curls, honey-toned skin, and rich brown eyes was all his, and there was no way on earth Logan wasn’t about to take him. Not in this lifetime.

“Yes,” Logan said, the word rolling off his tongue easier than he ever thought possible.

Tate blinked a couple of times at the quick response, and then his lips curved into the pearly-white grin Logan loved. He couldn’t stop himself from leaning down and cupping either side of Tate’s face to kiss him.

“Yes.” Logan laughed this time as he said it, the joyful sound bubbling out of him before he could stop it, because holy shit, Tate wants to marry me. He pressed his mouth to Tate’s again, and Tate reached up to place his hands over Logan’s as though to keep him in place. Then Logan said against his lips, “You stubborn fucker.”

“Not stubborn. I just—”

“Tate?”

“Yeah?”

“That wasn’t a complaint. You needed time.”

“I need you,” Tate said as he rose between Logan’s legs and slid his hands into his hair. “I need you more than I’ve ever needed anything else.”

This time, Tate’s kiss was desperate, sweet, and full of longing, and had Logan close to sliding off his chair in a puddle in front of him—but then he remembered something. Something he was still trying to wrap his brain around.

Logan pulled his lips free, his breathing a little more rapid now as the enormity of the moment began to take over him. “Do you really want to take my last name?”

Tate handed him the piece of paper and grinned as he got to his feet, and Logan stood also, suddenly needing to be a whole lot closer to his…fiancé.

“Yeah, I do. William Tate Mitchell. Do you like it?”

Logan clutched the piece of paper between them even as Tate’s arm snaked around his waist and tugged him in close. God, hearing him say that makes me—

“Logan?” Tate brought a hand up to slowly tug Logan’s down. “Do you like it?”

Do I like it? Logan thought. So much that he was scared to say so in case this really was a dream. Somewhere in the past few months, the idea of making Tate his in every way possible had become incredibly important to Logan, and no matter how tender his heart still was, he wasn’t about to let this moment escape him.

“I love it,” he whispered, and when Tate’s eyes sparkled with pleasure, Logan’s blurred.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I absolutely love it.”

Tate leaned forward and brushed a kiss across his jaw. “Good. Then I think it’s time we finally had that talk, don’t you?”

Logan knew exactly which “talk” Tate was referring to. The one they’d conveniently shoved aside time and time again. But as they stood there in the shadows of the ebbing fire, Logan knew there were things he wanted to say. Just as he knew Tate likely had questions of his own.

Logan nodded, finding it difficult to form coherent sentences, and Tate took his hand and tugged on it, leading them out of the bar, down the hall, and back to their suite. Once they were inside and the door was shut behind them, Tate brought one of Logan’s palms up to his mouth and kissed it before letting go and flashing him a charming smile.

“The idea of sharing your name? I love it, Logan. I love knowing that everyone will know I’m yours and that you’re mine,” Tate said as he walked backward into the center of the room and Logan felt a blush hit his cheeks—a blush, like a fucking teenager.

With his knees threatening to give out, Logan rested against the door for support.

“The Mitchells,” Tate said as he ran his eyes over him, and Logan realized he couldn’t move. He was too busy coming to terms with finally getting everything he’d ever wanted. Tate’s going to be mine. Legally fucking mine.

“Logan?” Tate said when he realized Logan was paralyzed in place. “Are you okay?”

Logan wanted to answer, to tell Tate he’d never been better in his entire life, but was suddenly finding it difficult to speak—or think, for that matter. So instead, he launched himself at Tate, taking his face between his hands. Logan crushed their mouths together, needing the taste of him, the feel of him, to reassure himself that this was real. That Tate, and this night, wasn’t about to vanish when he woke after one too many birthday drinks.

Logan moaned as Tate returned the tumultuous kiss, and then he tore his lips free. “Oh God, Tate,” Logan said. “Do you really mean it? You’re really going to be mine?”

“Yes,” Tate said without hesitation. “If you still want me.”

“Of course I still want you.”

Tate wound his arms around Logan’s waist as he burrowed his face into the crook of his neck and whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

Logan ran his fingers across Tate’s shoulders and down to his arms, and then pushed him back a little so he could see his face.

“I’m so sorry I hurt you, Logan.”

Tate’s eyes were full of guilt and regret, and Logan shook his head. “No. You stop that right now.”

“I can’t. What I said that night… God, I was stupid. It put distance between—”

“Tate,” Logan said, and put a finger to his lips. “Stop it. There were two people involved that night. Two people who caused the distance. One had the luxury of time so he could come to terms with his fears. The other was blindsided and was expected to just be fine with everything. You were as shocked and hurt as I was. But in different ways.” Logan lowered a hand and placed it over Tate’s heart. “But that’s what love’s supposed to do sometimes, right? Hurt? It beats us around every now and then to make sure we’re paying attention. To make sure we know that, yes, that’s the person who really matters the most.”

As Tate shuddered, he nodded. “Yes.”

Logan took a step closer and placed a kiss against Tate’s temple. “Say that again.”

Tate looked him in the eye, and as understanding dawned, the one word Logan had grown to recently hate was finally replaced with one he loved hearing off Tate’s tongue.

“Yes.”

Logan backed Tate up to the bed, and when his legs bumped against the mattress, Tate reached out and clutched at Logan’s arms. Logan let go of the paper he still held, no longer needing it for confirmation when he had the man himself telling him everything he wanted to hear. Then he asked the one question he needed a new answer to.

“Will you marry me, Tate Morrison?”

Tate swallowed, and when a blinding smile curved his lips, Logan thought his heart might stop, and then Tate finally said, “Yes.”

* * *

TATE KEPT HIS eyes on Logan as he sat on the bed and then scooted up onto it. The love in his lawyer’s eyes right then had Tate’s heart thumping as Logan reached for the hem of his shirt.

As they both stripped down, and Logan crawled between the sheets with him, Tate marveled over the night’s turn of events. He hadn’t planned to do this here, not tonight. But when he’d seen Logan standing in that bathroom, Tate had known with absolute certainty he wanted everything with him, because no matter how scary the thought of losing Logan was, the thought of not having him at all was much worse.

“I have to ask,” Logan said, as he aligned their bodies from head to toe. “How long have you been carrying around that piece of paper?”

Tate grinned as he slipped a hand under his cheek. “A little while.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah. I found it the day after, you know, everything happened. It was in one of your desk drawers.”

“Ahh, so you were snooping,” Logan said, and traced a finger along Tate’s collarbone.

“No, I was unpacking your office and you left it in your desk.”

“I just left it there, huh?”

“Well, it was on a notepad about three pages in. But it fell open.”

“Uh huh. At least it wasn’t the one with all the hearts on it.”

“There was one with hearts?” Tate chuckled. “I would’ve liked to have seen that.”

“What can I say? You make me kind of stupid.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should. I pride myself on being very smart.”

“I know.” Tate reached between them and took Logan’s hand so he could kiss the back of it. “Smart, sexy, and…surprising.”

“Surprising?”

“Mhmm.” Tate stroked his thumb over the place he’d just kissed and lowered his cheek back to the pillow, his eyes locked on Logan’s. “When did you change your mind?”

“About?”

“About getting married,” Tate said as he squeezed Logan’s fingers. “I keep expecting you to freak out and make a run for the door.”

Logan’s lips curved even as he shook his head. “Nope. I told you. I’m a changed man. Every rule I had, I broke it with you. This is no different. I never wanted to get married—chalk that up to some serious mother/son issues. But that night at Ace and Dylan’s wedding—”

“You’re kidding.”

Logan nodded. “That was the first time I thought about it. That damn bow tie in my drink and Ace saying our names together… I don’t know. Something clicked that night. I pushed it aside, telling myself it was just wedding emotions and all that. But then up at the cabin about a month ago, you fell asleep with your head in my lap and I…” Logan looked down at their joined hands.

“And you what?”

“I wanted everything with you, Tate. God, I’d never wanted it more. And there was only one major way that you weren’t mine.”

“Marriage,” Tate whispered, still mystified at the calm way Logan was watching him. He was so at peace with his decision that it radiated off him and seemed to surround Tate, warming every inch of him.

“Yes. Marriage. With you.” Logan trailed his fingers down Tate’s cheek, and when he reached his lips, he said softly, “Tell me again.”

“I can’t wait to become William Tate Mitchell. To become yours.”

As the words hovered between them, Logan closed his eyes as if savoring them, and when he opened them, Tate leaned over and pressed a kiss to his lips, and that right there was what he loved the most about them. They didn’t always get to the same point at the same time, but when they did, it was with a startling clarity that was unshakeable—it was also the most beautiful fucking thing in the world, and Tate wouldn’t change it for one second.