ONE HEARTBEAT.

TWO heartbeats.

Three…

Tate counted the pounding of his heart as he watched the man kneeling opposite him. It was the only way he was convinced he was still alive as he waited there in the dead silence that had now engulfed the room.

You need to say something, he told himself as he blinked, trying to clear his eyes. Jesus, he was crying again. But one look at Logan’s collapsed shoulders and bent head as he twisted the small box in his hands had them blurring all over again.

He couldn’t believe what had just happened. Was still trying to wrap his brain around it even as he saw a wall being laid brick by brick between Logan and himself with every second he didn’t open his mouth and speak.

You need to fucking say something. “Logan—”

Logan flinched, and it was like Tate had fired a gun. Reaching out, thinking if he could maybe touch Logan it would be easier to somehow explain what was going through his head, Tate went for his hands. But before his fingers touched skin, Logan shot up to his feet.

The action was so sudden that it jolted Tate and had his head snapping up to follow Logan’s movement. But there wasn’t much after that. Logan may have been on his feet, but he went no further. He had his left hand over his mouth and was staring out at the balcony behind Tate in complete silence.

Get up. Get. Up, Tate thought. If you don’t get up, he’s going to leave before you have a chance to— But before he could move, Logan had turned on his heels and was, fuck, heading for the door.

Tate scrambled to his feet and went after him, and just as Logan hit the foyer, he managed to get a hand around his arm. “Logan, wait. I—”

Logan spun on him, and what Tate saw had his words coming to an abrupt halt. Logan’s blue eyes were full of tears, glistening in the candlelight, but his jaw was bunched and he was fighting them. Fighting them with every fiber of his being.

Tate swallowed, trying to think of what he’d been about to say, but nothing came until Logan jerked his arm away from him. “Logan—”

“Don’t.” The word was so quiet that Tate almost missed it. Quiet and final.

“But I—”

“I said don’t.” Logan’s focus was off over Tate’s shoulder now, anywhere but at him. “Don’t speak. Don’t explain. I asked you a question,” he said, and when his eyes came back to Tate’s, they were far away, distant. “And you gave me an answer.”

Tate shook his head and reached for him again, but Logan took a step back. “It’s just… Jesus, Logan. Give me a second to process. This is…was—”

“A mistake.”

Tate’s mouth parted at the frigid tone of Logan’s voice, and he hated that he’d been the one to put it there. Because no matter what Logan was saying now, this was no mistake. Logan had carefully planned this out, and then Tate had come along and stomped all over it.

The candles…

The speech…

The ring…

Logan, the man who’d always claimed he would never settle down, never get married, had completely and utterly blindsided him.

Tate was desperately trying to think of the words to relay all that he was thinking, but it was difficult when this hadn’t even been on his radar. Not even close. On the list of things he thought would happen in his life, this ranked about never. Coupled with everything from the past week still weighing heavily on his mind, the magnitude of what had just happened here… What was still happening, as Logan seemed to be disconnecting from him with every second that passed… God, it was all too much.

“Logan. You’ve got to let me—”

“What, Tate?” Logan asked. “I’ve got to let you what? Explain? No, thanks. I don’t need you to explain to me the fundamentals of the word no. I’m a pretty smart guy.” He paused and then added, “Most of the time.”

As Logan turned away again, Tate lunged for him and yanked him back around so they were toe to toe, not willing to let him leave like this. Not yet.

“Let me go, Tate.”

Tate’s fingers clenched in the material of Logan’s hoodie, and he shook his head. He couldn’t let him leave like this. Not without explaining. But Logan was done listening; Tate could tell by the cool detachment of his expression.

“Let. Me. Go.” Logan brought a hand up to the fistful of material Tate had and pulled it free, then he immediately released him as though Tate’s skin had burned him—and really, he had, hadn’t he?

Without another word, Logan turned on his heel and headed for the door. With every step he took, the distance yawned wide between them, until Tate felt as though he’d never be able to reach him again.

When the door opened, he called out Logan’s name a final time, but wasn’t shocked by the lack of response, because who could hear the shout of someone you’d left a million miles behind?

* * *

LOGAN WASN’T SURE how he’d ended up down at Belmont Harbor, but as the wind howled around him and he stared out into the vast darkness where the boats were moored, the miserable October night matched his mood.

Numb. He was completely and utterly numb on the inside and out.

Tate had said no.

Logan shut his eyes as he replayed the scene in his head, unable to comprehend what he knew to be true. But each time the rerun ended, the outcome was the same. Him, eagerly awaiting the one word that would make his world perfect, only to be given one that had instantly devastated it.

Tate said no.

He studied the hands he had braced on the railing, and figured the chill of the night should actually hurt as he stood there. But not even the sting of the night’s precipitation was penetrating the pain that had radiated from his heart to every fiber of his body until it had decided to just switch off and not feel at all.

How had this gone so horribly wrong? How had he totally misread where Tate was at? How he felt about him? Them… Us.

As he thought about what that meant for them, Logan’s chest tightened and he tried to swallow in a gulp of air. As the frigid temperature hit his throat, he coughed violently, and thought he was perilously close to drowning right there on dry land.

Bringing his hands up to his face, he pressed his fingertips to his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut, and he couldn’t decide if he was trying to hold back a cry or shout as his body started to shake and the tears he’d been keeping inside finally fell free.

As the anguish, heartbreak, and total fucking disappointment of the night hit him, Logan’s stomach twisted until he thought he was going to be sick. Fuck.

He grabbed the railing and bent over it as his stomach convulsed, but when nothing happened, he just stayed there staring at his reflection in the water.

Tate said no.

And as Logan stood there looking at a man who no longer had a clue where his life was going, he heard himself ask, “Why?”

* * *

IT HAD BEEN nearly an hour since Logan had left the condo, and as Tate sat on the floor in the foyer where he’d kind of fallen earlier, he noticed some of the candles closest to him had started to drip wax onto the floor.

He’d been staring at his phone ever since the door had shut behind Logan and he’d pulled it out to call him. But there’d been no return call and no text. Not that he’d expected one.

He still couldn’t believe what had happened tonight. One minute they’d been fooling around in the car and heading upstairs, and the next—Logan asked me to marry him. He still couldn’t fully comprehend it. Logan wanted to get married. Since when?

Marriage was a notion Tate had never entertained when it came to the two of them, because he knew how against the idea Logan had always been. And it wasn’t only him—Tate had his own issues when it came to that particular institution, so he’d never really minded Logan’s aversion to it.

But tonight, when he’d walked inside the condo and seen all the candles and then turned to find Logan down on one knee, all of the issues he had chosen not to deal with had come charging to the forefront and left his mouth with one word—no.

Goddamn it. How was he ever going to explain this to Logan? Would he even get a chance to? The look on his face when he’d left didn’t give Tate much hope. It had been full of anger, hurt, and something that had wrenched at Tate—betrayal. Logan had looked at Tate as though he didn’t know who he was. As though he’d never seen him before.

Tate looked at his phone again, and when he saw the blank screen, he shook his head and finally got to his feet. He’s not going to call you, you fucking idiot. He doesn’t even want to look at you right now.

Shoving off the wall, he flicked the light switch and winced as his eyes adjusted to the bright glare. Then he took in the empty living room, the bare kitchen, and the doors that led into the study and their bedroom, and Tate found himself thinking back to earlier in the night, when they’d been reminiscing about the first time he’d ever come up to this place.

“Where are you, Tate?”

Tate bumped the helmet against his thigh. “Standing at your door.”

He could hear shuffling through the phone and presumed Logan was moving closer to open it.

“And how does it look from out there? I always thought it was pretty boring—cream paint, doorknob, standard black peephole to look at strange men lurking in front of my place.”

Tate felt the corner of his mouth tilt up. “I’m not lurking.”

“But you’ve been standing there for the last—”

“Five minutes,” Tate said.

“Ah. And?”

Closing his eyes, Tate tried to think of a response.

“You sure you’re ready for me to open the door, Tate?”

That night he hadn’t been sure of anything other than his need to see the man on the other side of that door, and from the moment he’d walked inside, his entire life had changed course. And tonight, Logan had opened yet another one.

Tate blew the candles out one at a time, and once they were all extinguished, he headed to the balcony door and slid it open to let the smoke escape. As it spiraled and swirled out into the night, ghosts from their past continued to haunt him.

He could still see the two of them out there that first night, or over on Logan’s couch, and ever since then, all of the days and nights in between. Tate shoved a hand through his hair as he slid the door shut and turned his back on those thoughts.

God, the place felt empty all of a sudden. And it wasn’t just the lack of furniture or their belongings. It was the essence that Logan brought there. His fire, his spirit—it felt as though it had been snuffed out, and it was as though he’d packed up all of the good memories they’d shared there and taken them right out the door—and Tate hated himself for that.

Unable to stand the screaming silence any longer, Tate pulled his phone out and called the only person he figured would understand where he was coming from, and when the phone connected, he let out a shaky sigh of relief. “Dad? Can I come over?”

* * *

LOGAN SAT ON one of the benches down at the harbor and focused on, well, nothing in particular. At some point he’d staggered over to the seat under one of the lampposts and made himself zip up his hoodie so he wouldn’t catch pneumonia, and as he watched the boats bob with the ebb and flow of tonight’s swell, he felt his phone vibrate for what seemed like the millionth time.

He’d thought about turning it off the first few times Tate had called, but then he’d shoved it into his pocket and forgotten it was even there. The problem was, whoever was calling him this time wasn’t letting up, and because it was annoying the shit out of him, Logan pulled the damn thing out of his pocket, determined to turn it off, but then he saw a name he hadn’t expected—Will Morrison.

Tate’s dad? What the— And then, of course, his brain went straight there. Straight to the horror that had unfolded in his life, and Will’s, four years ago. And not even caring what had happened earlier, Logan answered the phone and brought it to his ear, needing to know Tate was safe.

“Wi…Will…” When his voice cracked around Tate’s father’s name, Logan cleared his throat and tried again. “Will? Hey.”

“Logan. Oh, good, you answered.”

Logan’s mind was racing with possibilities as to why Will had been calling him so insistently, until finally he had to ask the only thing he really cared about at that point. “Is everything okay? Tate isn’t hurt—”

“Oh no, no. Nothing like that, son.”

Son… Where that word had made his heart ache with a sense of happiness and fulfillment just last weekend, hearing it now made it ache from the pain of knowing he’d never really be this man’s son in any legal way. Because Tate said no.

“Logan?”

Logan blinked and rubbed at his chin. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“I… Are you all right?” Will paused, and when Logan didn’t immediately answer, he continued, “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

Yes. Your son just tore my heart out and I’m trying to work out how to function without it. “No, I…I was just out for a walk. That’s all. Was there something you needed?”

“Oh, uhh.” Will procrastinated then, and when he spoke again, Logan knew why. Tate’s father had finally clued in that something was up between Logan and his boy. “I just got off the phone with Tate. He’s on his way over here, but he sounded, I don’t know, strange, uhh…upset. He wouldn’t say why, but I thought maybe it was his sister.”

Until you spoke to me, Logan thought. Well, at least I know where Tate’s going to be tonight. He shut his eyes and tipped his face up to the night sky, and as he did, a fat drop of rain hit him in the center of the forehead. Shit. He needed to answer Will. “I… I think you need to talk to Tate.”

There was silence at the other end for a second, and then Will said, “Logan?”

Logan bit down on the inside of his cheek, not wanting this man to be nice to him. Not while he was feeling so open, so…vulnerable. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

The tears Logan thought he’d cried out started up again, and as he swiped at them, he said, “No. I don’t think I am.”

There was a scraping sound, and Logan could imagine Will taking a seat at his kitchen island. “Where are you?”

As several more drops hit him, Logan said, “Belmont Harbor.”

“Look…” Will stopped whatever he’d been about to say and let out a sigh. “I don’t know what’s going on here with you or Tate. But I want you to go home, Logan. Whatever it is, you two will deal with it, but it’s miserable out tonight, and with Tate on his way here, I won’t feel comfortable ending this call until I know you’re going to be safe too.”

Logan tried not to let Will’s concern gut him, but it was no use. He was too raw right then to protect himself. He ran a hand over his face and made himself stand. “Okay. I’m going.”

“Good. Oh, and Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“Whatever’s going on, you’ll work it out. You two always do.”

Yeah, he wasn’t sure how you worked something like this out. How did he ever stop seeing Tate’s confusion, and how did he ever stop hearing no? “I’m going to go, Will.”

“Logan?”

Logan had started walking back along the trail with his hand shoved in his pocket as the rain fell a little harder, and all he could think was, Let me go… Please let me go before I hear Tate walk through your door. Before I hear his voice again.

“Text me when you get home. I won’t tell him it’s you. I just want to know you’re safe.”

Logan bit his tongue and nodded, and when he realized he actually had to give a verbal answer, he said, “Okay,” and then ended the call.