“TATE? WHERE YOU at?” Logan kicked the condo’s door shut as he balanced a pizza box in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. It was nearing three on Wednesday afternoon, and the two of them had been packing since eight that morning.

“I’m in the study,” Tate called out as Logan navigated the half-filled boxes in the living room, accidentally stepped on a sheet of bubble wrap, and then finally made it to the door of the study.

Around an hour earlier they’d run out of the heavy-duty tape and realized it was way past lunchtime, and Logan had eagerly volunteered to head out and pick up supplies, leaving Tate to deal with the disassembling of the office furniture.

When Logan came to a stop in the doorway, he spotted Tate seated cross-legged on the floor in amongst piles of books, DVDs, and paperwork in various files and binders. There was stuff everywhere, and when Tate looked over his shoulder at Logan, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the picture he made.

Tate was wearing grey sweats and a faded green t-shirt with some band he’d seen years ago printed on it. But that wasn’t what had Logan crossing to him, wanting a kiss. No, that’d be all those damn curls. They were sticking out all over the place and framing his face as Tate aimed that charming grin of his up at Logan.

Logan bent down and pressed a kiss to those curved lips, and Tate hummed and gladly returned it. “Looks like you’ve made some progress,” Logan said.

Tate looked around and nodded. “Yeah, a bit. God, that smells amazing.”

“Here.” Logan handed him the box. “No point in moving. I’ll grab some paper towels and drinks. What do you want?”

Tate put the pizza box down in front of him. “A water.”

Logan shook his head and then headed out to the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll never understand how you drink water with your pizza. That’s just wrong.”

“I’ve always had water with it. Habit, I guess. Oh, hey? Are you still okay with going to Jill’s this weekend?”

Logan grabbed the paper towels, a Coke and water from the fridge, and then walked back into the study, tossing the bottled water. “Yeah, of course. I assume you decided it would be a good idea?”

“I don’t know that I’d go that far. But I want to see my nephews, and I’d really like you to meet them and my friends.”

Logan tried to keep his face neutral as Tate’s words went straight to his heart. But damn, not only was he proud of Tate, he felt incredibly loved by him in that moment. “Then we should go.”

Tate flipped open the pizza box and scooted over to make room for him, and as Logan took up the vacated spot, he let his eyes wander around the disaster zone and cleared his throat. “This room is a mess.”

Tate tore off a paper towel and then picked up a slice of the deep-dish pepperoni they’d decided on. “I’m thinking it’ll probably take us the longest. Who knew we had so much junk in here?”

Logan reached for a DVD set sitting on the top of the pile and screwed his nose up. “He-Man and the Masters of the Universe? Really? I think we need a trash pile. Have you started one of those?”

“Hey,” Tate said around a bite of his pizza. “Don’t even think about it. I grew up watching that.”

“The important part of that sentence is you grew up.” Logan flipped the DVD over in his hand, read the back of the box, and then raised a questioning eyebrow. “This might actually explain a few things about you.”

“Really?” Tate rolled his eyes. “Then it must also explain a few things about the majority of young boys in the eighties. That was a popular show. You aren’t throwing it out; it’s nostalgic. Plus, you never know, if you sat down and watched an episode with me, you just might like it.”

“Highly doubtful.” Logan put the box down and reached for a slice of pizza.

“Okay. Okay. I know you were more into books than TV,” Tate said, as his eyes went to the mountains of literature stacked in piles against the far wall. “What was something you read as a boy? Is it in one of those piles?”

Logan swallowed his mouthful of food and looked over at the books while Tate kept on talking.

“I mean, there are some pretty old-looking ones mixed in there with the autobiographies, textbooks, and National Geographics.”

Logan looked back to Tate and narrowed his eyes. “Pretty old ones? What am I, sixty?”

Tate unscrewed his water and took a long gulp, draining half of it, then put the lid back on and set it down. “Nope. About to turn thirty-eight, last time I checked.”

“How about you stop checking?”

Tate chuckled and picked his pizza back up. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Relieved that Tate had switched subjects, Logan said, “The Hardy Boys.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of those.”

Logan finished his pizza slice and then leaned back against one of the packed boxes. “Have you?”

“I think so. They’re detectives or something, right?”

“Right,” Logan said as Tate got to his feet and stepped over the pizza. “What are you doing?”

Tate ran his fingers down the spines of books neatly piled up against the wall until he stopped on one. Then he took the books off the top of that stack and grabbed the book he’d obviously gone in search of. “The Hardy Boys. The Tower Treasure.” Tate looked down at him, and Logan nodded. “This looks well read.”

“It is. That was one of my favorites. I can’t tell you how many times I read that series. It was about two brothers who solved all these crimes. I used to imagine I had one when I read them. I got that when I was seven.”

Tate rested up against the solid mahogany computer desk, fighting back a smile. “So it is old, then?”

Logan picked up the half-empty water bottle and threw it at Tate, making him laugh and dodge to catch it. He accidentally bumped into a photo album Logan had found earlier that morning.

As it went toppling to the floor, Logan quickly reached over to grab it, but before he got there, Tate crouched down and picked it up, along with several loose photos that had fallen free.

“What are these?” Tate asked as he sat back on his heels and turned over the image, and what he saw there had a massive grin splitting his lips. “Is this…?” He raised his eyes to lock them with Logan’s. “This is you and Evelyn.”

Logan snatched the photo album off Tate’s lap and held his hand out. “Okay, hand it over.”

“No way.” Tate raised his arm above his head as Logan made a grab for it. When it was clear Tate wasn’t going to give it to him, Logan sighed and sat on his ass, crossing his legs. “Why’d you tell me you didn’t have any photos of you as a boy?”

Because I’d rather forget any and all things that remind me of Evelyn… That was the truth, but instead of saying that, he opted for evasion. “I didn’t even remember I had them until I cleaned out the bottom drawer of the shelf today.”

Tate eyed him for a second, and Logan knew what he was thinking: Bullshit. But instead of calling him out, Tate flipped open the album. “Fair enough. But since we found it now, how about you tell me a little about the boy in these photos? ’Cause I got to say”—Tate looked down at the open page and grinned—“he’s someone I’ve wanted to meet for a while now. I mean, look at this,” he said, and picked up the album, turning it toward him. Logan arched an eyebrow at Tate. Fucker is having way too much fun with this. “You’re even wearing a polo shirt.”

* * *

THE BOY IN the photograph was adorable. From his thick-rimmed glasses that were almost as big as his face, to the slicked-down coal-colored hair. Logan’s rosy red cheeks and pouty mouth made for one seriously adorable package.

Adorable. Geeky. And so preppy that the polo shirt was buttoned all the way up to the very top.

Tate couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. He still couldn’t get over the fact he was finally seeing what Logan had looked like as a boy. He’d always told Tate he’d been a nerdy kid, but… “How old are you here?”

“Nine,” Logan said in a put-out tone, which had Tate laughing all over again. “Okay. That’s it. Give it to me.”

As Logan reached for the album again, Tate pulled it up and held it to his chest. “Oh, come on. Let me look. You’ve seen pictures of me, and I’ve always wanted to see what Logan Mitchell was like as a kid.”

When Logan just continued to stare him down, Tate lowered his gaze to Logan’s mouth. “Are there any of you in college?”

At the question, Logan’s lips twitched and he finally relented. He moved until he was over sitting beside Tate with their backs against the side of the desk and their legs stretched out in front of them. Him in his sweats and Logan in his jeans.

“No, there are not. And fine. Let’s get this over with,” Logan said, and reached for the album, opening it on their laps. “Try and hide your enjoyment over my humiliation a little better, though, would you?”

Tate bumped Logan’s shoulder with his and then kissed his temple. “I’m not making any promises.”

When Logan turned his head to pin him with a you’ll pay for this look, Tate winked and then looked back at the photos beneath the protective sleeve. There were four per page, and the first spread had several of Logan ranging from maybe seven to ten, Tate would guess. They had been taken in the same place year after year, in front of a fireplace, and in each of them Logan was all put together with a very smart backpack and a big, bright smile for the camera.

“First days of school?” Tate asked, and Logan nodded then started chuckling.

“It was always my favorite day.”

“The first day was?”

“Mhmm,” Logan said, and turned the page. “Nerd, remember?”

“You did look awfully happy for a kid heading off to school.” Tate pointed to a photo on the top of the next page. It had been taken out in front of a single-story white house, and in it was mother and son. “Ah, Evelyn’s in this one.”

Logan nodded. “Yeah. That’s when we lived in Naperville with Ken the dentist. He was boyfriend number six.” Logan picked the album up and took a closer look. “God, look at her hair. Talk about a tight perm. Ha, she’d hate that photo. Maybe I should send it to her for Mother’s Day.” Logan put the book back on their laps. “But that was another reason I was happy for the first day of school each year. It meant Evelyn-free days in a row. That was exciting in and of itself.”

Tate looked over at Logan, but he was busy staring at the woman and boy in the photo. “What was she like back then?”

“Slightly less selfish than she is today.” Logan ran a finger down the photo and tapped it lightly. “But still selfish enough to have no idea whose house that was if we were to ask her today.”

“Really?”

“Really. Sad, huh? Ken was one of the good ones, too. I think he actually loved her.”

Tate narrowed his eyes on Logan and then took his hand. “And what about you?”

Logan looked over at him. “What about me?”

“Did he love you too?”

Logan frowned and then shrugged. “I don’t know. We weren’t there for very long—”

“But you said that you think he loved Evelyn.”

“Right.”

“So why not you too?”

“Shit, Tate. I told you. I don’t know. Drop it, would you?” Logan said, and pulled his hand free to shut the photo album.

As they sat there in silence, Tate waited, knowing he had a hell of a lot more patience than the man currently doing his best to ignore the fact that he was staring a hole in the side of his head.

The truth of the matter was that Logan had just as many family issues as Tate did. But where his were all up in their faces constantly, it felt like Logan’s were conveniently out of sight and therefore out of mind.

A selfish mother. A father who’d never acknowledged him. And a brother he hadn’t known existed until he was practically an adult.

Yeah, if two people were ever more suited… He’s just as messed up by his relatives as I am.

“I can feel you staring, Tate.”

“I sure hope so. I’m doing it real hard.”

Logan angled his head toward him and sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” Logan reached up to the desk behind them, and then he brought the Hardy Boys book down and gave it to him. Tate frowned as he looked at the worn cover that had two boys on the front of it staring up at an old tower. They were about brothers solving crimes, Logan had told him. I used to imagine I had one whenever I read them.

And look at that, Tate thought. One has black hair, just like Logan, and the other is blond, like—

“Open it,” Logan said, as Tate sat there with the book in hand. He ran a palm down the front of it and then very carefully Tate opened the book. The pages were old and had that yellow tinge to it that old paper sometimes got. And there was a watermark in the corner at the top of the first page. But that didn’t stop him from treating the book as though it were a priceless artifact. This book of Logan’s obviously meant a lot to him if he’d hung on to it since he was seven, and there was no way Tate was going to do anything to jeopardize its condition.

Logan pointed to the inside of the cover, and that was when Tate saw it. A handwritten message.

To L.,

While I know you’re big enough and smart enough to hunt down the buried treasure your mom hid for you today, should you need a partner to assist, I would be glad to do so.

Happy birthday!

And just like Frank and Joe Hardy, may you have many great adventures in your future.

From K.

“You asked me if he loved me. I think he could have. But the afternoon of my seventh birthday, Evelyn decided to tell him she’d ‘loved’ our next-door neighbor. Ken left later that night.”

So that explains his aversion to birthdays. “Fucking Evelyn.”

“Yes,” Logan said, and laughed derisively. “That was the problem. Everyone fucking Evelyn.”

Tate shut the book and the album, and put them down on the floor beside him. As his eyes travelled around the study, he thought how appropriate it was that the two of them were sitting in the only clear space of what otherwise resembled a disaster zone. Then he shifted his body and reached for Logan’s face.

“You do know that Ken, he already loved you.” Logan remained silent, but blinked behind the lenses of his glasses, and Tate flashed a crooked smile at him. “You and I, we’re a bit of a mess lately, aren’t we?”

“A little bit.” Logan brought his hand up to cover the one on his cheek. “But there’s no one I’d rather get messy with.”

The truth in those words cut straight to the heart, and there it was—that expression he’d caught in Logan’s eyes time and time again lately. Love. Trust. And a kind of wonderment. But at what?

He lightly skimmed his lips over the top of Logan’s, and when he sighed and opened for him, Tate slid his tongue inside and shut his eyes.

A hand came down to rest on his chest, and when Logan’s fingers curled into the material of his shirt and he pulled him closer, Tate obeyed. He shifted until Logan was slowly reclining to his back on the floor with him on top, and damn, it was sweet.

The moment. The man. The taste of Logan had Tate’s brain shutting down to everything other than the lips under his as the two of them fell into something familiar and peaceful in amongst the chaos surrounding them.