LOGAN WOKE THE following morning when he went to shift in the chair and something in his back twisted. Motherfucker, he thought, and opened his eyes to see that the darkness that had surrounded him all night had now been replaced by an overeager sun.

With a hand to his lower back, he winced as he pushed himself up to sitting. I feel like an old damn man. But in hindsight, sleeping in a chair probably wasn’t the best idea. As he cracked his stiff neck, Logan turned it from side to side to try and loosen it up, but when his eyes landed on the man seated at the edge of their unmade bed, he came to an abrupt halt.

Tate.

The pain in his back was forgotten in an instant as Logan stared across the several feet that separated them and wondered how long Tate had been sitting there. He looked like death warmed over, and even though it hurt worse than anything else then to see him there, to Logan he was the best fucking sight he’d ever seen.

Reaching for the glasses he’d put on one of the boxes beside him, Logan slipped them on and took in a fortifying breath, then turned so he was facing Tate head-on.

With more patience than he knew he possessed, Logan waited for Tate to look in his direction, and when he finally did and Logan saw the bloodshot eyes, the weary features, and the fear all over Tate’s face, he wasn’t sure he was ready for whatever was about to come next.

He swallowed, trying to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth so he could actually speak. “I, uhh, didn’t hear you come in.”

Tate chewed on his bottom lip. “Got here about an hour ago.”

Fucking hell, this was painful to sit through. Logan had never felt so far away from Tate in his life, and just as he was about to say so, Tate stood. Logan looked up at him, and as Tate walked over and went down to his knees, Logan caught and held his breath.

He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands as he sat there staring at the man only inches from him, and he hated that he was suddenly afraid to touch him. And that’s what I am, totally fucking terrified. Because right then, Logan wasn’t sure he could keep his shit together if he actually touched that silky brown hair.

“Tell me you don’t hate me.” Tate’s words were so soft that Logan thought he’d imagined them, until he raised his face and pinned him with that bold and honest stare. “Tell me I didn’t break this. Break us.”

Always so brave, even when it hurts, Logan thought for the second time in a matter of weeks, and decided it was time for him to be too. He brought one of his hands forward and slid his palm along the dark stubble that Tate hadn’t trimmed for a couple of days now. As soon as his fingers touched Tate’s skin, he shut his eyes, and Logan bit his lip to stop himself from making a sound, allowing the reconnection to begin without words, since those were what had caused the disconnect in the first place.

Tate leaned into his hand as though Logan’s touch was giving him life, and when his eyes reopened, Logan said, “I could never hate you. Not ever. But Tate…” He paused, gathering his nerve and some backbone to get out his next words. “I need some kind of explanation here. A reason. I always thought I was the one who didn’t want this, not you—”

“It’s Diana.”

Logan froze, and when Tate didn’t continue, he said, “I’m going to need more than that.”

Tate nodded and reached up to where Logan’s hand still rested, and when he brought it down and held it, Logan waited, not sure of what he was about to hear next.

* * *

TATE HADN’T BEEN sure what kind of reception he’d get from Logan when he showed up this morning. After the way things had been left the night before and the fact that Logan’s phone had been sending him straight to voicemail, it could’ve gone one of two ways. But after spending the night at his father’s and talking everything out, Tate had woken up this morning determined to go and find Logan.

Now here he was. Kneeling at Logan’s feet and hoping that after he was done talking, Logan would somehow be able to forgive him. Tate looked up to find Logan’s blue eyes trained on him like a laser, and he felt choked up, unable to speak.

Shit, why is this so fucking hard to say? But he knew he had to, so, gathering his nerve, he did. “I failed when it came to Diana.”

He watched for some kind of reaction to his words, but Logan didn’t move a muscle. The only telltale sign that he was still breathing was the ticking of his jaw, and Tate knew he needed to keep going. He needed to get this out so the man staring down at him wasn’t wondering where his heart was at when it came to them, because it had never been more apparent to Tate that it was right there between them—in Logan’s hands.

“I failed with our relationship,” Tate said, and cleared his throat when it cracked. “And…I failed with our marriage. From the beginning to the end, I failed in ways I never thought myself capable of when it came to her.”

When Logan made a move to pull his hand away, Tate tightened his grip. “Logan… You asked me for an explanation. And trust me, this isn’t something I like talking about any more than you do, but—”

“She’s the reason you’re saying no to me now.”

As Logan’s eyes left his and he turned to look out the window, Tate could see the confusion and disbelief etched into his expression and knew that he was reliving everything from last night.

Getting up on his knees, Tate reached for Logan’s chin and turned his face back to him. “What I said last night was a knee-jerk reaction from panic. From…fear.”

Logan said nothing, just looked at him, clearly waiting for more, and Tate knew he wasn’t doing the best job. It was hard to confess to someone as confident as Logan that he was terrified of screwing up the thing in his life that mattered the most.

He sat back on his heels and ran a hand through his hair, frustrated for feeling the way he was, but at the same time knowing he couldn’t change it. And the only way they’d be able to move past this was to get it out in the open and deal with it.

“I was—am—scared, Logan. The entire time we’ve been together, you’ve never talked about wanting to get married. You’ve always been the one who refused to even acknowledge the word. And I was okay with that. I’d never try and change you or ask you to do something you didn’t want to, and my first go around was such a fucking disaster that I certainly wasn’t thinking about doing it again. But then…”

“Then I changed the rules of the game.” Logan held his stare with such determination that Tate felt it in his bones. Logan was still unsure of where he stood, and Tate needed to make this clear as a bell so it didn’t get misconstrued in any way.

“This is not a game. You are not a game for me, Logan. I failed Diana from the beginning because I didn’t love her. Not the way I’m supposed to.” Tate licked his lips, worrying them as he carefully thought over his words. “With Diana, I never felt like half of me walked out the door when we would fight and she would leave. And I never missed her like it had been a year instead of one night if for some reason I had to be away from her.”

He scooted forward until he was between Logan’s legs, and when Logan went to move back in the chair, Tate took his hands and brought them to his lips. “I also never felt as though my heart would stop because I may have broken hers. But last night, knowing what I had done to you just about fucking killed me. I failed Diana because I didn’t love her in half of the ways that I love you. And that is what made me panic.” Tate kissed Logan’s knuckles, apologizing without words for hurting him in ways he knew he would never be able to take back. And then he raised his eyes to Logan’s and said, “What if I fail with you?”

* * *

LOGAN DIDN’T KNOW what to say as Tate knelt there staring up at him, but as he began to pull his hands free, Logan knew he had to move. Before he thought better of it, he slid forward on the chair and ran his hands through Tate’s hair, allowing himself to savor the pleasure of finally having Tate back in front of him.

As Tate’s words swirled around them, Logan let them drift off in the periphery as he trailed his fingers down one of Tate’s cheeks and across his familiar lips, reminding himself that this face, this man, was everything to him, and that fact would never change, even though he was hurting.

He didn’t want to think about Diana. Didn’t want to think about a time where he wasn’t the one that Tate was with. But even as he tried to ignore what he knew to be true, Logan was more than aware that he was trying to erase something he couldn’t.

Diana was a reality that would never go away. She wasn’t a fling. She wasn’t merely a girlfriend. She had been Tate’s wife. His fucking wife. And somewhere in there, Logan had allowed himself to conveniently forget she even existed.

With his hands still threaded through Tate’s hair, Logan bent his head and rested his forehead on Tate’s. “What if you don’t fail?”

Tate wrapped his hands around Logan’s wrists and gently tugged them down. “What if I do? What if it all goes to shit? Then what? You walk out the door? You divorce me?”

Logan was stunned and totally taken off guard by the very real and obvious fear in Tate’s eyes—not to mention his words. Last night, Logan had been so consumed by his own hurt at Tate’s rejection that he hadn’t stuck around to listen, or hear, what had been behind it. And now as he looked into a face full of anxiety, full of apprehension, Logan felt guilty over his desertion.

Divorce? God, did Tate really think Logan would let him go anyfuckingwhere if he had a say in it? Oh no, there’d be no divorce between us. There’d be no leaving of any kind, married or not.

“Tate—”

“Logan. Don’t tell me I’m being stupid. Up until last night, I didn’t even know you wanted to get married,” he said, and got to his feet. As Tate turned, Logan also stood. “You’ve always been the one who refused to even say the word, and now you’re suddenly ready?”

Logan stared at Tate’s broad shoulders and frowned. “People can change. I can. It isn’t unheard of. I thought this is what you wanted?”

Tate whirled around and shook his head. “No. Don’t do that. I would never want you to change for me. I would never ask you to.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?” Tate asked, and took a step forward that ate up the distance between them in an instant. “You’ve always told me that we didn’t need a piece of paper, that we didn’t need to be ‘normal,’ to be complete.”

“I still think that.” Logan could feel his irritation at last night, this conversation—and his own words being thrown back at him—rising. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t change my mind.”

“And what’s to say in a year you won’t change it again?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed to slits as he glared at the man waiting for an answer, and he wondered if Tate was really worried about that or if he was just running scared. “Do you really see me changing my mind about you? About us?”

“No,” Tate said, jaw clenched, and then turned away. “But I never saw you changing your mind to this, either. And if you did? I can’t even go there, Logan. You were in that conference room. It was a fucking nightmare the first time around. And I don’t ever want to sit across some table from you while we divide up our assets.”

Logan grabbed his arm and spun him back to face him. “Would you stop for a minute? You have us divorced already and you haven’t even said yes to marrying me in the first place.”

“Yeah, well, if you divorced me, I’d be fucked, wouldn’t I, since you own a law firm?”

Logan’s emotions from last night and this morning were roiling through him, and he told himself to keep a lid on them, but with everything so close to the surface, he failed. “I don’t need to divorce you for that. But just so we’re clear, there’s no way on God’s green earth I’d let you leave me for any reason other than one that’s beyond my reach. And even then, I’d put up a good fucking fight.”

Annoyance flashed across Tate’s eyes. “Christ, you’re arrogant.”

“And you’re stubborn. So do you really see either one of us giving up on the other? Ever? I love you. Married or not. But don’t act like you aren’t the one who’s always told me it’s not a bad thing to be like normal people.”

The incredulity on Tate’s face at that comment would’ve been laughable, had it not been directed at Logan.

“Normal people? This is what I mean. Since when has Logan Mitchell ever done anything normal?”

“Since yesterday, apparently. And look how well that turned out.”

Tate let out a long sigh. “This is getting us nowhere.”

“Agreed. So that’s it, then. Topic is done and over with.”

“No,” Tate said. “The topic is not done.”

“Have you changed your mind?” When Tate frowned, Logan shook his head. “Then it’s done. I asked. You said no. And now I know why. We’ll just chalk it up to a momentary lapse of insanity on my behalf.”

God, he needed some space. He needed a minute or thirty on his own so he could process this without Tate’s eyes on him. Two no’s within twenty-four hours was about all his ego could take, and if he didn’t get out of there, and fast, there was no telling where this heated argument would go.

He turned around, about to head into their new en suite, when he realized he didn’t have clothes, there were no towels in there, and no damn soap. But before he could go and look for the box marked bathroom, Tate took his hand and pulled him back around.

“This topic is not done,” Tate told him. “I want to talk to you about it.”

“And yet suddenly I no longer want to discuss it.”

“Now who’s being stubborn?”

“I call it self-preservation. There’s only so many times I can hear you say no, Tate.”

“That’s not fair. Until yesterday, I didn’t even know this was on your radar, and with everything else that’s been going on this past week, you caught me off guard.” Tate tugged him in close and fingered the hem of his shirt, and it was only then that Logan remembered he’d pulled these clothes out of Tate’s box. “You don’t get to take this off the table,” Tate said. “You put it on there—”

“And you said no.”

“And I told you why. I need time with this, Logan. I want to talk to you about it. Do you understand?”

He did, but at the same time, he didn’t relish the idea of discussing something that might not ever happen. If he buried it now, and the conversation was over, he could forget how much he’d liked the idea and go back to his usual way of thinking. That way, this stabbing pain he felt every time he thought about last night would eventually dissipate—right?

“Well, do you mind if we talk about it later? I’m about tapped out right now.”

Tate reluctantly let him go, but before Logan got far, Tate pointed to the clothes Logan was wearing. “Only thing you could find last night, huh?”

“No,” Logan said as he headed to the boxes with his name marked on them. “It was the closest thing to having you here. They smell like you.”

“Logan?”

Logan stopped what he was doing and looked over his shoulder to where Tate still stood by the window with the sun making his curls shine. “Yeah?”

“Are we going to be okay?”

The worry on Tate’s face hurt almost as much as the question, but no matter what had happened between them last night, there was no way Logan would ever let him think this, what they had, was broken. Maybe a little bent, but certainly not broken. “Yeah, Tate, we’ll be okay.”

Tate slipped his hands into his jeans and gestured to the door with his head. “I guess I’ll go down and start unpacking.”

And though it would’ve been so easy to invite Tate to join him in their new shower, Logan let him walk out the door, finding he needed a few minutes by himself to work out how to be okay.