TATE HEARD THE shower turn on upstairs and headed through the living room and into the kitchen. There were boxes all over the place. Some empty, some still taped shut, and some that had been left halfway unpacked when they’d left the house yesterday.

He stepped over some bubble wrap and headed toward the office that would soon be set up for Logan. As he pushed open the double French doors and saw the heavy oak desk that had been used as a storage shelf in their previous study, Tate made his way over to it and ran his fingers over the shiny surface. He looked over to the opposite wall and the inbuilt bookshelves and thought about the man upstairs and how perfect this space was for him. He could imagine Logan in here, surrounded by his books, with the walls decorated by his many degrees and accomplishments. Maybe a lamp in the corner, over by the window there.

Tate liked the space. It was perfect for his lawyer. Yes, my ever-surprising lawyer, Tate thought, as he headed over to a box sitting in front of the shelves.

Office was scrawled across the side of it, and Tate figured it was as good a place to start as any. He grabbed a Stanley knife from the kitchen counter and then headed back in to slice through the tape holding the box shut. After he’d safely put the knife on one of the shelves, Tate opened it to see some of the contents from the desk.

He carried it over and placed it on the floor by the sturdy wood piece, and started unpacking pens, Post-its, a stapler, files, and notebooks. He stacked them one by one on the desk and then pulled out a drawer organizer and put all the pens inside. Once they were neatly in order, Tate slid open the top drawer and found a yellow notepad sitting inside. He pulled it out so he could put the organizer in place, and when he did, the top page fell open and some writing caught his eye.

He shut the drawer and then flipped the first page of the notepad over again, and when he realized what he was staring at, he turned around and rested his ass up against the desk because, fucking hell, he suddenly needed the support.

There at the top of the page, in Logan’s perfectly precise handwriting, was the date. It was a memo from at least a month and a half ago, right after their New Buffalo trip, and under that were the names of several real estate agents and areas around Chicago. But that wasn’t what had Tate bracing a hand on the desk beside himself. He’d known Logan had been researching neighborhoods in the area. It was what was under that.

There, in the same handwriting as above, was his full name—William Tate Morrison—and under that:

Tate stared at the page and tried to remember if Logan had ever hinted anything about this, but no—hang on, wait. Logan had been sleeping like shit for the last few weeks now. He’d been restless, preoccupied, but he’d told Tate it was just work and the move that had him a little off.

Then there was the way he’d been looking at him lately, Tate thought, remembering that day the realtor had given them the keys, and in the bar with Priest, and last weekend after dinner with Jill… Shit. He’s been thinking about this for weeks. Almost two months? Why didn’t he say anything—

“Starting in the smallest room in the house, huh?” Logan’s voice behind him had Tate quickly turning. Logan walked into the office in a grey Killers t-shirt and jeans that outlined his long legs, as he headed over to the boxes in front of the bookshelf. Tate dropped the legal pad into the drawer guiltily and shoved it shut with his thigh just as Logan faced him with an expectant look on his face.

“Oh, uhh, yeah. Seemed less overwhelming that way.”

“That’s smart,” Logan said, and grabbed the knife Tate had put down on the shelf. “I guess I’ll start with the books, then. When I came downstairs and saw the disaster in the living room, I was reminded of why I hate moving.”

Tate had tuned out somewhere around living room and zeroed in on Logan’s face instead. He’d swept his damp hair back from it and must’ve put his contacts in, because he’d left his glasses off. He hadn’t bothered with a razor this morning, whether it be because he couldn’t find it or just couldn’t be bothered, and even as he continued to talk about anything that wasn’t last night, Tate was crossing over to where Logan stood.

As he got within a couple of feet, Logan must’ve seen something in his eyes, or sensed it, because he stopped talking and backed up until he was boxed in against the wall.

When they were toe to toe, Tate tilted his head to the side and let his eyes roam over the familiar, but suddenly different, face in front of him, and when he got to Logan’s lips and he licked them, Tate realized he was making Logan…nervous.

“You know that I love you, right?” Tate said, his eyes locked with the insanely blue ones he’d been mesmerized by from the first time he’d met Logan. When Logan slowly nodded, but said nothing, Tate desperately wanted to ask if he felt the same. But he didn’t. He just worked on reassuring the cautious man staring back at him. “That hasn’t changed for me at all.”

“It hasn’t for me either,” Logan said, unknowingly answering him.

Logan sucked in an unsteady breath, and Tate let his hand fall away, not wanting to push his luck. He was more than aware of the tension that still thrummed in the air between them, and knew he’d been the one to cause it. But before his hand was out of reach, Logan took his fingers and brought it up to his mouth. Tate held his breath as Logan’s eyes fluttered shut, and as he pressed his lips to the center of Tate’s palm, more was said in that one gesture than any words ever could. I love you. We’ll get through this.

When Logan opened his eyes and let his hand go, Tate didn’t lower it immediately. Instead, he gently traced his fingers down Logan’s sculpted jaw to his chin and held it steady, then he leaned in, allowing Logan a chance to stop him if he wanted, and brushed a kiss across his lips.

At the intimate contact, Logan shuddered and brought his hands up to clutch at Tate’s waist as he teased his tongue along Logan’s lip, seeking permission to enter.

A soft groan left Logan as he opened to him for the first time in what had to be the longest twenty-four hours of his life, and Tate slid his tongue inside. The hands on his waist moved around to his back, and as Logan drew him in closer, Tate cradled the sides of his face and was reminded of a moment very similar to this, yet so far removed it had a smile curving his lips.

As he raised his head slightly, Logan’s eyes opened, and Tate could see they were full of questions.

“Do you remember the first time that I kissed you?”

Logan blinked at him, and when Tate ran a thumb along his bottom lip, he groaned.

“It was in your conference room…”

“Yes,” Logan sighed.

“I had you backed up against the wall just like this, and I remember thinking: what is this guy doing to me? You’d just kissed my brains out, and as I stood there I thought over and over, You need to leave. I told myself to pick my shit up and go.”

When Logan swallowed but said nothing, Tate traced the lines of his lips, chin, and cheeks with the pads of his fingers, making sure Logan was real. Making sure he wasn’t still trapped in the nightmare from last night, where Logan was nowhere that he couldn’t reach him. And once he was satisfied Logan was there, that he was in front of him, Tate said, “And do you remember happened next?”

“Yes. I do.”

“I didn’t pick up my things, and I didn’t go anywhere other than right back to you. Back to where I belong. And with you there against that wall, I got so lost in you that I never wanted to leave. Now here we are, years later, and I feel exactly the same.”

Before Logan could respond, Tate crushed their lips together, and a deep rumble came from Logan as his fingers dug into Tate’s waist. It was always like this with Logan. Always had been ever since he’d walked into Tate’s life, and the thought of anything he’d done coming between them made Tate desperate to prove what they had hadn’t changed.

“Don’t shut me out,” he whispered against Logan’s lips as he gently ran his fingers down the sides of Logan’s face.

Logan’s body trembled as his eyes found his, and he ghosted a kiss across Tate’s lips that just about had his knees buckling. “I wouldn’t even know how.”

Tate shut his eyes as Logan’s lips found his cheek, and as they kissed their way up to his ear, he felt his heart thud harder with each touch.

“Put your hands on me, Tate.” The request was husky, and sounded slightly broken. But Tate slipped a hand under Logan’s t-shirt to run his fingers over the warm skin of his abs.

“I don’t ever want to be away from you again. Not like last night. Logan, I’m—”

“No. We’re not doing this right now, remember? I need… Shit, Tate. I just need some time before we examine this all over again, okay? Can we just, I don’t know, have the morning to unpack and forget it happened for a while?”

Tate nodded, but once again felt as though they’d taken two steps back. He lowered his hand and moved away, granting Logan his wish for time. It was the least he could do.

Last night still lingered in every move they made and every word they said, and Tate hated that instead of focusing on the new house they’d bought together, all they could seem to think about was how to move around while dodging the land mines they’d discovered upon closer inspection. “Yeah, we can do that.”

“Okay, good.” Logan pushed off the wall and pointed to the bookshelves. “I’ll start on the books.”

Tate watched as Logan turned back to the box he’d opened minutes earlier, and tried to squash the hurt he felt from the dismissal, but he knew Logan wasn’t blocking him out. This was Logan’s way of protecting…Logan. And for right now, Tate would let him do whatever he needed to heal.

* * *

LOGAN COULD FEEL Tate’s eyes on him as though he was still touching him, but told himself to stay where he was. There was nothing he wanted more right now than to turn around, strip Tate down, and lose himself in how good he knew he would make him feel.

But that would just be putting a Band-Aid over a wound that required much more. And Logan wasn’t quite sure he could handle Tate’s body inside of his right then—even though it was the exact thing it craved.

There were some serious points of contention between them right now, differences he never could’ve imagined, and Logan couldn’t help but wonder how the hell the tables had turned so drastically. It was like the world had shifted off its axis and he was still trying to get his footing. But every time he was close to being steady, Tate opened his mouth and Logan once again found himself struggling to stay upright.

He just needed an hour of normalcy between them, a day where things felt as they always had, and then maybe he’d be able to move on from there.

“So,” Tate said, as he pulled several binders out of the box he was digging through, “I thought I’d call up Jill and cancel this afternoon.”

Oh shit, Logan had completely forgotten about that. But there was no way he was letting Tate skip out on something so important. He turned around with a couple of books in hand and shook his head. “No, no. Don’t do that. What time is it again?”

“Logan, come on. I doubt you really want to—”

“Tate,” Logan interrupted, making it clear he wasn’t interested in getting out of anything. “What time?”

Tate stared at him from behind the desk. “She texted that it starts at three.”

“Okay.” Actually, that was the perfect excuse to get out of talking. If they were around others, Logan could have a little more time to…process. “Let’s get as much done here as we can and then we can head over.”

Tate scrunched his nose up and ran a hand through his hair. “I, uhh… I’m not sure I really want—”

“Tate.” Logan put the books on the shelf and then walked over to Tate. Logan could see the nerves riding him, and suddenly wished he had the ability to make everything between them easier right then, but he couldn’t. The truth was, he couldn’t even make them easier for himself. “This is important. Just a couple of days ago, you told me you were ready for this, remember? That you wanted to see your nephews again. I refuse to be the reason you don’t go.”

“You’re not. I’m not worried about them meeting you. I want them to.”

The instant way Tate came to his defense made Logan want to kiss him. But he’d missed Logan’s meaning. “I wasn’t talking about that.”

“Oh.”

“Right.” Logan backed away then, knowing he only had so much self-control. “So let’s do what we can in here, and then we can deal with that this afternoon.”

As he walked away, Logan heard Tate call his name and stopped to look back at him. The frown had gone but had been replaced with a serious expression that bordered on grim as Tate said, “You’re everything I want. Promise me you know that.”

Fuck, he hated this. Hated that they were in a place where they had to reassure each other. “I do.”

Tate nodded but didn’t look overly convinced as he lowered his eyes to the box he was rifling through, and Logan knew that no matter how hard last night and right now were, the two of them loved one another and would work their way back to where they were meant to be.