Текст книги "Take (Temptation Series)"

Автор книги: Ella Frank

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

15.

What a difference a few hours could make.

Tate sat on his couch Sunday morning, flicking the lid of his silver lighter. He’d called his mom after Logan had dropped him off yesterday afternoon, and she hadn’t answered.

That wasn’t a good sign. She always answered.

He’d kept expecting a message on his phone all throughout his shift, but again—nothing. He’d only ever had silence from her once before, when he’d told her he was divorcing Diana.

Fuck. He hadn’t slept for shit.

All night, he’d been staring at his ceiling fan, thinking about his date with Logan, not to mention the night before.

The more time he spent with him, the more complex his feelings became. He was slowly peeling away the layers of the cocky man he’d met in the bar, and every time he discovered something new, he found himself getting more and more involved.

Logan, it turned out, was someone he wanted to know on every level. But Tate was afraid that, after today, Logan would run in the opposite direction.

Standing, he began to pace his living room.

He knew that Logan was going to be pissed about what was going to happen, but it was the only thing he could think to do, and he’d already explained what his mother had said about meeting him.

His phone buzzed in his hand, and Tate looked down to see the text he’d been waiting on.

Logan: I’m here. In the parking garage.

Tate stood, grabbed the keys off of the dresser, and text back as he made his way to the front door.

On my way.

He showed...

Tate got into the elevator and tried to pinpoint what he was feeling as the metal doors shut and the elevator began its descent.

Shock.

That was it.

He was shocked that Logan had come, because somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d expected him to bail.

* * *

Logan sat in his car and once again inspected himself in the rearview mirror. He smoothed his fingers over his hair and then pushed his glasses up his face.

Fuck. I feel like a nervous teenager.

Essentially, that’s what he was—some nervous fool going to meet his boyfriend’s parents. It just so happened he was thirty-four and Tate’s parents already hated his fucking guts.

Fantastic.

He was surprised he wasn’t sweating in his V-neck as he sat there waiting on Tate. He’d worried over his outfit way too long last night—even for him—then this morning, he’d changed his mind anyway.

Black pants, black V-neck, and a black sports coat seemed safe enough.

I want to fade into the shadows.

Just as that thought entered his mind, he saw Tate push open the door, step out into the garage, and make his way toward him. If he thought he was showing his nerves, the stranger walking toward him had him beat.

Tate looked like he hadn’t slept for a month.

His curls were all over the place, and the stubble lining his jaw was a couple of days old. While the result was hot, it wasn’t Tate.

As usual, he was in jeans, but instead of the ripped ones, these were dark and in one piece. He had on a white long-sleeved shirt that was creased and looked as if he’d slept in it, and he was holding his leather jacket down by his leg.

In his other hand, he was flicking the lid of a lighter.

Up, down. Up, down.

He walked around the front of the car, opened the passenger’s side door, and got inside. His left leg was bouncing up and down, and if Logan didn’t know better, he would have thought the guy was high. He was a completely different man from the one he’d dropped off yesterday afternoon.

Logan reached over and put his hand on top of Tate’s, causing the metal clinking to cease. The interior of his car now smelled like a combination of tobacco and leather.

“Hey there.”

Tate turned to him, and Logan frowned.

“You’re a mess.”

“Awesome,” Tate replied, his tone surly as he looked away.

Logan removed his hand and placed it on the headrest behind Tate’s head. “Did you eat anything last night?”

Tate eyed him as he buckled his seatbelt. “Yeah, at work.”

“Okay then,” he responded. Then he asked, “Did you speak to your mom?”

Tate faced him, and immediately, he knew the answer—no.

“Do they know we’re coming?”

Again, the silence confirmed the answer—no.

What a goddamn disaster.

Logan looked out the windshield and tried to calm himself, but he knew that, no matter how long he sat there, he was not going to calm down.

“Jesus, Tate! This is hard enough when they know it’s about to happen, but they don’t even expect us? What the fuck?”

“I tried,” Tate stressed. “She didn’t answer.”

Logan gripped the steering wheel. “Fucking great.” He leaned his head back against the car seat and muttered again, “That’s just fucking great.” The air in the car was tense as they both sat there thinking, and then he asked, “Got a cigarette?”

Tate’s head whipped around, and when their eyes met, Logan shrugged.

“I’d prefer a fucking joint, but I’m assuming you don’t have one of those.”

As Tate picked his jacket up off of the floor and fished the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, Logan opened the car window.

“Here,” Tate said, offering him one.

Logan took it, and when he placed it between his lips, Tate raised his hand and flicked open the lid to the lighter. As the flame lit up the dark interior, Logan inhaled, then sat back and closed his eyes. If ever a time called for a smoke, now was it.

“I’m sorry.”

Logan’s eyes opened, and he turned his head on the seat. “What are you sorry for?”

“All of this shit.”

Logan stretched his arm across the car to touch Tate’s jaw. “I started all of this shit. Did you forget that?” He took another drag of the cigarette and then blew the smoke out the window.

“Are you ever less than put together?”

Logan felt the side of his mouth quirk as he turned back to Tate. “Is that your way of saying you like what I’m wearing?”

Tate sighed and brushed a hand down his shirt. “No. It’s my way of telling you I feel like a fucking slob.”

“Nah, it’s not that bad.”

“Liar,” Tate huffed. “You just said I look like a mess.”

“Yeah. But it works for you.”

“Thanks, asshole,” Tate grumbled.

Logan searched his car, grabbed a half-empty bottle of water from the back, and dropped the butt inside. He put the cap on and threw it behind him before leaning across the car and grabbing the back of Tate’s neck.

He gave him a hard kiss, and when he pulled away, he said, “Pull yourself together and tell me how to get to your parents’ house. I may be an asshole, but you knew that before. So deal with it.”

Tate licked his lips and grimaced as he pulled the sun visor down to take a look at himself. “Oh man, I do look like shit.”

Logan decided it was best not to comment as Tate ran a hand over his face. But when he turned to him and said, “I don’t like it when you smoke. Just isn’t right,” Logan couldn’t hold his tongue.

“Touché, so do us both a fucking favor and quit.”

“Okay,” Tate agreed and slumped back in the seat. “Let’s get this over with. Head out and make a right.”

Logan put the car in gear, and as they drove out of the garage, he wondered what the hell he was driving into.

* * *

Twenty-seven tension-filled minutes later, Tate stared at the familiar streets of Elmhurst, IL. Ever since he’d mentioned where they were headed, Logan had gotten quiet—really quiet.

“Make a left here,” he mumbled, and when Logan looked over at him, he repeated louder. “A left. Here. At the end of the street.”

This was such a stupid idea, and the longer he sat in the car, the more apparent it was becoming. What the hell was he going to say when his parents opened the front door?

“Hi, Mom and Dad. This is Logan, my boyfriend.”

His mother wouldn’t even take his calls. He couldn’t begin to imagine her reaction to this. And the closer they got to his childhood home, the more uncomfortable he became.

It was easy to be strong in your convictions when no one was questioning them.

Isn’t that what Logan said? He hated to admit that he was right.

“Over there. The white two-story on the right.”

Tate could see his sister’s car and—

“Oh, fuck.” He was going to kill his mother.

Logan put the car in park and turned to face him. “Hey. It’ll be okay.”

Tate brought his hands up to his face and pushed his fingers against his forehead—hard—trying to calm his breathing. Finally, he lowered his hands to look at a confused Logan.

“The black Lexus—that’s Diana’s car.”

Logan glanced back out through the windshield. “You’re fucking kidding me?”

“Do I sound like I’m laughing?”

Logan looked back at him with narrowed eyes. “No, but you seem extremely wound up.”

Tate rested his head back on the seat and sighed. “I know. I’m feeling a little…I don’t know...”

“Do you always get like this around family?” Logan asked.

“No. Only when I bring home my boyfriends.” Tate knew his voice was laced with sarcasm, and as Logan silently watched him, he felt guilty—guilty for being such a prick. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s twice in the last hour,” Logan stated as he undid his seatbelt.

“Huh?”

“Twice you’ve apologized to me.”

As the seatbelt retracted and Logan opened the car door, Tate reached across and put his hand on his arm. Logan turned to face him, and Tate could see the strain on his handsome face.

Logan was just as anxious as he was.

“Then let me say it again in advance for anything I might say tonight that’s wrong.”

Logan pulled his arm away and reached back to grab his jacket. “Such as?”

“I don’t know,” Tate admitted. “But I’m sure I’m bound to fuck this up in some way. I just want you to know beforehand that I don’t mean it.”

Tate watched the usually talkative man beside him climb out of the car, shut the door, and shrug into his jacket. He followed suit, and when he came around to Logan’s side and shoved his hands in his pocket, he once again felt…guilty.

“Look,” Logan started and then stopped.

Tate didn’t have anything to say, so he waited and hoped like hell Logan had some magic words to calm him the fuck down.

“I know you must be freaking out, because I am too. But try and remember I’m on your side.”

He knew that—he did—but right now, it wasn’t helping.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Logan suggested. “So we can leave.”

Tate agreed and made his way up the paved walkway to the white steps he’d helped his father paint the year before. He stopped, took a deep breath, and climbed up with Logan close behind.

He felt sick. As if he were literally going to be sick.

He raised his hand and was about to knock, but then he lowered it and turned to find himself between Logan and his parents’ front door.

He looked into the blue eyes focused on him and remembered how much fun he’d had with Logan these past few weeks and days. Then he thought of Friday night and Logan’s family and then the intense pleasure he’d gotten from Logan’s body—from making him his.

Logan’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Whatever you want to do in there, whatever you want to say about us...I stand behind you.”

You. I want you.

“Do whatever you need.”

What do I need? He looked at Logan and managed, “Thank you,” right before the door behind him opened.

* * *

Logan glanced past Tate’s shoulder to the woman in the doorway and was almost happy to see it was Miss Fucking Cline.

Now here is someone I know how to deal with.

He felt all of his apprehension at the situation turn to annoyance that bubbled up through his veins and surfaced in the form of a smug-as-fuck smile.

Her eyes narrowed on him and then moved to the back of Tate’s head. Her voice cut through the air.

“Tate.”

Logan saw Tate’s shoulders visibly tense, and when their eyes connected, Logan raised a brow.

It was showtime.

16.

Tate concentrated on Logan and told himself not to panic.

I’m okay. This is family.

They might freak out at first, but they loved him, and he knew that, eventually, they’d be okay.

Closing his eyes, he thought, Do it. Just turn the fuck around and deal with her. But before he could open his mouth, Logan did.

“Miss Cline. We meet again.” Logan’s voice dripped of saccharine sweetness and was Tate’s only warning before he stepped around him and added, “How unfortunate.”

Tate steeled himself against what he would find when he turned, but nothing could’ve prepared him.

There, in front of him, were the two people who’d both ignited something inside him at one time or another—Diana a long time ago, and Logan only weeks, minutes, and, hell, every second he was standing near him. If he’d thought his life was complicated already, seeing his current lover facing off with his ex made this experience totally surreal.

“What are you doing here?” Diana asked Logan as she stepped onto the porch, the front door shutting behind her. Thank God.

Logan pushed his hands into his pockets, making his jacket spread open, and Tate didn’t miss the way her eyes lowered down over Logan’s body.

“I was invited by your ex. Which makes me wonder…Why are you here?”

Tate decided it was time to finally deal with the problem that was Diana and stepped up beside Logan. He was careful not to touch him though, as to not add fuel to the current fire.

“That’s a good question, Diana. Why are you here?”

Her eyes finally came over to meet his, and the urge to grab her and strangle her with the string of pearls wrapped around her neck was very real.

She gave off a regal disposition with her hands on her hips and her chin tipped up, but instead of portraying the classy image she was hoping for, she looked like a grade-A snob.

As usual, she was dressed to perfection. Her brown hair was pulled back into a tight top-notch bun at the back of her head, and a cream pencil skirt with the black cowl-neck sweater all molded perfectly to her curvaceous figure.

“I’ve always been here on Sundays. Or did you conveniently forget that sometime this week along with the fact you’ve been straight your entire life?”

Tate glared at her, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Logan turn toward him.

“She always comes to these things?” Tate was about to answer until Logan mumbled, “A heads-up would’ve been appreciated.”

“Tate’s never been great at remembering details,” Diana contributed, making his teeth clench, but Logan was more than happy to deal with her.

“I don’t remember asking you. And while we’re on the subject, he seems pretty clear about one important detail.”

Diana was too smart to ask what, and Logan didn’t bother waiting.

“He doesn’t want you here.”

Her shrewd eyes moved back and forth between them, but before she could open her mouth, Logan leaned in until their noses almost touched and spoke loud enough that Tate could make it out.

“Have to say, it takes balls to show up where you’re not wanted, so maybe it isn’t such a surprise that Tate likes me after all. Your pair’s almost as big as mine.”

Tate was sure that he’d misheard Logan until Diana turned her face and said, “You’re disgusting.”

To which Logan replied, as only he could, “You have no idea.”

Finally coming to his senses, Tate spoke up. “Diana?”

“What?” she snapped, taking a quick step back as if she just realized how close she and Logan were standing.

“You need to stop coming over here. We’re divorced.”

Diana crossed her arms almost in challenge. “Not yet, we’re not.”

He heard Logan chuckle beside him, but he couldn’t seem to find any humor in their current situation.

“I’m sorry,” Logan said innocently enough.  “But she actually said that as if she has a chance of getting back together with you.”

Diana outwardly fumed. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Now that is an interesting question. Would you like to answer her, or should I?”

Tate knew what Logan was thinking, and he had no doubt that the words would fall right out of his mouth, so instead of allowing that to happen, he decided to take over.

“This isn’t about Logan. This is about you. You shouldn’t still be coming to my family’s home. We’re separated. Divorcing. It’s uncomfortable enough in this house without you showing up, and honestly, it makes you look desperate.”

“It’s true. Looks really desperate,” Logan added, helpful as ever.

“Ha,” Diana laughed, and the sound was ugly as she ran her eyes over him. There’d been a time when Tate would’ve responded to that with something other than annoyance. “You think I look desperate? And how do you think you look? You’re with a man for God’s sake.”

Tate was beyond frustrated and he hadn’t even stepped foot inside his house.

Why am I standing on this porch having yet another argument with her?

“This is going nowhere. I’m not trying to be cruel—”

“I am, just so it’s noted,” Logan interrupted.

Tate frowned at him, but Logan had a point. It wasn’t as if she were even trying to be cordial.

“Are my mom and dad inside?”

A bitter sneer curled her lips. “Yes. Along with your sister and Sam. This, I can’t wait to see.”

Tate pushed past her and opened the door.

As he walked inside and Logan followed, he heard, “What’s killing you the most? The fact that you don’t have him or that I do?”

Tate didn’t wait around for Diana’s answer. Instead, he continued along the original wood floors and down the narrow hall until he came to the family room.

When he realized what he was about to do, he stopped so suddenly that Logan ran into him and they both ended up stepping into the archway.

Four pairs of eyes found them, and all Tate could think was, What a fucking entrance.

* * *

Logan stood beside Tate and had a revelation.

This must be how suspects feel in a police lineup.

He did a quick scan of the room and spotted yet another familiar face from last week’s stop in hell—Tate’s sister. She was looking at the both of them with an expression of total shock.

The man beside her, who Logan presumed was her husband, was in blue jeans and a flannel shirt, and he was looking at him as if he were an alien.

Yeah? Well, welcome to the fucking club. This isn’t exactly a normal Sunday for me either, pal.

That left the final two occupants of the room.

Tate’s father was seated over on a couch with his mother against the far wall. Once she spotted the two of them, the smile she had on her face twisted into a cruel, unforgiving line.

Mrs. Morrison stood and clasped her hands in front of herself.

Her short, brown hair was cut into a blunt bob and pushed back behind her ears. She was dressed for church. Her floral-print dress was very respectable, and she was exactly as Logan had imagined—unyielding.

As he continued to observe her, Logan noticed the way she completely ignored his existence and zeroed in on Tate as she straightened her shoulders until her back was rigid.

She was not happy that he’d brought the pervert to her house.

“William…” she started as he turned back to check on Tate.

Logan watched the way she approached her son as if he were a stranger. Then she stopped and turned her head his way to pin him with a look that spoke volumes.

The revulsion directed toward him was fierce, unlike anything Logan had ever encountered, and even though he’d sworn he wouldn’t care, he did.

“Mom,” Tate said, once again capturing her attention.

“I told you not to bring him here,” she spat out as her hands clenched by her sides.

Wow.

“His name is Logan.”

She didn’t even bother with a second glance as she answered in a tone so icy Logan was surprised it didn’t freeze Tate into a human Popsicle. “I don’t care what his name is.”

“Mom!” Tate shouted, clearly shocked by her rudeness.

“Tate, it’s okay,” he offered.

What did he care if she didn’t want to acknowledge his existence? It was nothing worse than his own father had done when he’d been alive.

“Don’t you call him that,” she told him, finally walking over to stand in front of him. “His name is William.”

Logan bit his tongue so hard he could have sworn he tasted blood.

He stood there, trying to remember that, as an adult, you were supposed to show respect to your elders, but did that apply when the elder was a cruel, ignorant—

“Stop being so rude,” Tate said for him.

Logan took a step back, not wanting to be close when the shit hit the fan. This woman was vibrating with rage, and it was all directed at him.

“How dare you talk to me like that.”

“Me? You’re the one acting as if I brought a murderer home,” Tate spat out, and Logan could see his hands had balled into fists by his side.

Her head swiveled toward her son as she announced, “You might as well have.”

“What did you say?” Tate demanded.

Mrs. Morrison looked back at him as if he really had committed the most heinous of crimes, and then turned back to Tate. “I don’t want him in my house. He’s taken what used to be good and pure, and—”

“And what?” Tate finally exploded. “What has he done to me, your good and pure son? I’m almost thirty for fuck’s sake! I’m separated because I married a woman who got bored and went elsewhere when I was out working two jobs. Yet she still sits next to you in church and comes over for Sunday fucking lunch!”

The room was so combustible that Logan was afraid to breathe, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tate’s father stand. He’d never seen Tate more furious. They’d both had their fair share of arguments, but not like this. Tate’s temper was riding him.

“He hasn’t done anything to you. He hasn’t even said hello and you’re treating him like he’s got the plague. I can’t believe you’re acting like this.”

“And I can’t believe you’d have sexual relations with a man and bring him to lunch like you think we’d be okay with it! That we’d share a meal with this...this queer.”

And there it is—the moment of truth.

This was the turning point into either acceptance or denial, and Logan could actually feel his palms sweating as he waited for Tate’s answer.

The room was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop.

Logan’s eyes moved over the other spectators until he reached Tate’s father. He was still over by the couch, but he was now watching him with suspicious eyes—Tate’s eyes. There, right in front of him, was a close-to-perfect duplicate of Tate twenty years from now. It was disconcerting.

“Unreal,” Tate murmured before he started laughing.

It was an odd, humorless sound that Logan never wanted to hear after today. It was the sound of someone cracking, falling apart, and not understanding why.

“It was stupid of me to think you would try and understand my side of things instead of the gossipy bullshit that Diana and Jill brought back to you. But yes, since it seems like that fact needs confirming. I am having sex with Logan, and you know what? I’ve never been more satisfied in my entire life.”

Well, I’ll be damned.

Logan was stunned, and as his eyes found Diana’s, he was more than slightly pleased that she was too. No one had shocked him more than Tate had right then. He was pretty sure Tate’s mother felt the same, because she sucked in her breath and then pointed to what looked like a side door.

“Leave.”

Tate tilted his head to the side as if he didn’t understand, but Logan did. His heart ached for what he knew was about to happen.

“Excuse me?” Tate asked.

“I said leave. Get out of my house.”

Logan watched Tate closely as the words seemed to register.

He blinked several times and then raised a hand to push it back through his hair. When he dropped it down and his palm hit his thigh, it was the only sound in the otherwise silent room.

“You want me to leave?” he asked again, his tone flat, disbelieving.

Tate’s father stepped forward, placed a hand on his mother’s shoulder—a sign of solidarity—and spoke for the first time.

“I think it’s best if you go now. You’ve upset your mother.”

Tate’s mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. His eyes flickered up over his parents and landed on his sister, and when she stood, Logan could’ve sworn he saw a glimpse of regret in her eyes.

Tate stuffed his hands into his pockets and nodded. His jaw was twitching, and from his side view, Logan could see the flush of anger and hurt spreading across his cheeks.

“Fine. I’ll go. But it won’t change anything.”

Tate looked over at him, and as Logan stared back, he’d never felt so fucking helpless in his whole life. He nodded to him, trying to silently convey that he was there—he wasn’t going anywhere.

Whatever you need.

Tate turned and started walking toward the door.

As Logan followed, he heard Mrs. Morrison call out, “William?”

It was Logan’s turn to hold his breath as Tate stopped where he was and glanced back at the people who were supposed to love him unconditionally. Then she landed her final blow.

“I didn’t raise my son to be gay. You’re a disgrace to this family, and you are no longer welcome here.”

If heartache had a face, it was Tate’s right then, but instead of responding, he spun away and marched out of the house, leaving him to follow.

Logan started toward the door, but at the last moment, he turned to face Tate’s family. He couldn’t leave without saying something to these people, and he’d be damned if they didn’t know they’d just let an amazing human being walk out their door because of their own ignorance.

“How could you treat him like that? You'd rather side with some malicious bitch than trying to understand your own son? I've never met anyone like Tate—”

“His name is William,” Tate’s mother cut in.

“No, it's Tate. That honest, stubborn man that you just let walk out your fucking door is Tate. I hope when you look at the empty chair at your dinner table this afternoon you realize what the fuck you just did and come to your senses. If you do, he’ll be with me, Logan Mitchell—the pervert. She knows where to find me,” he made sure to add, pointing to Diana, who was now standing by the side door, probably wanting to run after Tate.

Well she could fuck right off. That was his job, and he wasn’t about to let her try and hone in and promise to make shit better.

He stormed to the door, and as he opened it, he heard her say, “Think he’ll still want you now?”

Logan looked her in the eye and made sure he didn’t reveal the fact that he was terrified the answer was no. “I have no fucking doubt.”

He opened the door and walked around the porch until he spotted Tate with his backside up against the passenger’s side door.

Logan wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but as he made his way down the steps and over to the car, Tate turned to him, his face devoid of any emotion.

“Can we please leave?”

So cool, so polite, and—as Logan unlocked the car and Tate got in, he realized—so distant.

One thing was for certain. Tate sure as hell hadn’t denied a damn thing.

* * *

Tate didn’t remember getting into the car, and he didn’t remember the drive back to the city, but when they pulled into the parking garage and the ignition turned off, he realized he was home.

He was numb. Completely and utterly numb.

“Hey?”

Logan.

This was the first he’d been aware of him trying to talk this entire time, but he had nothing to say—not a thing.

“Hey, look at me,” he said again, and Tate made himself turn to face him. “This will work itself out.”

Tate wasn’t sure he believed him and found it too hard to look him in the eye and say so. So he turned away instead.

“They were shocked and angry, but I’m sure they’ll come around.”

Would they?

He didn’t think so, and what did that mean? That his family didn’t want to see him again—ever? The thought sent a wave of nausea through him, so he pushed the door open and forced himself to get out.

Jesus, fuck. What did I do?

He placed a palm on the side of the car and bent at the waist, trying to catch his breath. He closed his eyes when he heard the other door open, and when a hand touched his shoulder, Tate immediately backed up and straightened.

The hurt that skidded across Logan’s face tore at him, but as he struggled to remain upright, all he could hear in his head was, Don’t come back.

“You okay?”

God, since when did he start saying all the right things?

“Tate? Talk to me.”

He didn’t know what to say, so when he finally met Logan’s eyes, he swallowed and said all he could think of. “I need to go.”

Logan nodded and moved aside. “Okay. You want to go upstairs?”

“Yes,” he pushed past the lump in his throat. When Logan locked his car to come with him, he added, “By myself.”

Tate knew the second Logan realized what he was saying, because he walked closer and reached out to touch him.

Again, he backed away. If Logan touched him right now, he wasn’t sure what would happen. He felt as if he were about to fall apart.

“If that’s what you want.”

Tate couldn’t bring himself to look at him for fear of what he’d see. “It is.”

“Then I’ll go. I’ll call you later.”

“No,” he rushed out before he lost his nerve.

“No?” Logan questioned.

Tate heard the slight break in his voice, and he hated himself for what he was doing, even as he continued to do it.

“You need to be more specific than that, Tate.”

He knew the only way Logan would listen and believe him was if he looked at him and said it. So he made himself stand the fuck up and face him like a man.

“I need some time to process, some space.”

Logan pushed a hand into his pocket and brought the other up to his face, where he rubbed his chin. “Time? As in…”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. He hadn’t thought it all through. He just knew what he needed—to be by himself.

Logan took a step closer, but this time, he didn’t attempt to touch him. “How much time are we talking here? A day? Two days, a week?”

“I don’t know! I just need to think, to decide if this is worth—” He shut his mouth on the words he’d been about to say, but Logan wasn’t letting him off that easy.

“Go ahead. Say it. We both know you’re thinking it.”

Am I thinking it?

He didn’t seem to know what the hell he was thinking.

“Say it, Tate,” Logan demanded, his voice low and menacing.

He swallowed and faced Logan head on. He deserved that much. “I don’t know that this will be worth losing my family. I knew they’d be upset but…”

“I see.”

Logan spun away and began pacing with both hands in his pockets as if he weren’t sure he could control himself. When he came to a stop in front of him, his hurt finally surfaced in the form of anger, and Tate braced himself.

“You’re not sure that I’m worth it, is what you really mean.”

He didn’t know what he meant right then.

“I just need some fucking space, okay?"

“Okay. Fine. If that's what you need.” Logan brushed it off and walked back around to his side of the car.

“It is,” he told him, watching as Logan unlocked the vehicle and opened the door.