Tate wrote something else, and Logan peered over at it and chuckled.

“You don’t look so great yourself, FYI. But I suppose that’s acceptable after being hit by a car.”

When Tate winced, Logan nodded. “Yeah. If you think for one fucking minute I’m letting you ride that damn bike of yours again, forget it.”

Tate sighed and then wrote: How long have I been here?

“It’s the third of September, so nearly a month,” Logan answered as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Tate’s eyes became so wide that, if it weren’t so tragic, it would’ve been comical. Logan couldn’t begin to imagine how he was feeling. He’d had a hard enough time waiting for Tate to recover. How must it have felt to be the one waking from pretty much a month of his life gone?

Trying to lighten the mood a little, Logan shrugged. “Yeah. And I never thought I’d say this, but you need a haircut.”

Tate glanced down his body to the tabs stuck to his chest and his bandaged arm then brought his eyes back to his.

“Yep, you went all out. Broken ribs, broken clavicle, couldn’t breathe on your own. I mean…” Logan stopped as he remembered Tate lying there with tubes taped to his mouth and ribs and the machines surrounding his head, and he lost his ability to keep it cool. “Fuck, Tate, I thought you were going to die… It was…”

“Hey,” Tate’s voice rasped, and Logan looked into his solemn eyes before Tate lowered them to write on the paper.

Sorry you went through that.

Logan sat forward to rest his elbows on the bed and pressed his lips to his steepled hands. “It was worth every hellish hour just to see you awake and looking at me again.”

When Tate reached out a hand to touch his, Logan took it. “My parents?”

Logan grimaced at that question and shook his head. “Have been here every day.”

The scowl on Tate’s face had Logan rubbing a hand over his own. He understood that reaction. It had been his at first too. But after having a month to comprehend the anguish they must’ve been feeling, he had—

Did you call them?

Logan rebuffed that with a shake of his head. “No. But that brings up a very important discussion you and I need to have. Your emergency contact is still listed as Diana.”

“Shit.”

Logan gave him a tight smile. “Yes. Getting in to see you was a fucking nightmare. I was going out of my mind. But…” He let his next words loop in his head before he said them out loud. He wasn’t quite sure how Tate would react to them. “Your father gave permission for me to be back here in the evenings, but only after they would leave. Your mother still doesn’t know.”

A flush of annoyance colored Tate’s cheeks and his jaw tightened.

Logan tried to calm him by saying, “He was pretty decent, all things considered.”

Tate grabbed the paper out of his hand and furiously wrote. When he thrust it back at him, his eyes were alight with anger.

Permission? I’m not fucking ten. Where have you been this whole time?

Logan ran a hand through his hair then said softly, “Out in the general waiting room.”

“For a fucking month?” Tate’s voice cracked around the words.

“Hey,” Logan said, and trapped Tate’s hands between his palms. “I got to see you every night. That got me through.”

Logan kept his eyes on Tate’s, making sure he knew he was telling him the truth, but when Tate’s eyes started to fill and a lone tear slipped free, Logan wiped it away.

“Don’t you cry for me. It’s time for you to get better. I now have your permission to be in here whenever the hell I want, and you know what? There will be no slacking, Mr. Morrison. It’s time for you to come home.”

Tate blinked away the tears and mouthed, “Yes.”

Logan winked back at him and said, “Just so you know, that doesn’t count. And it won’t until you’re back on your feet, giving me hell, and then telling me yes.”

And with that, nothing more needed to be said. The challenge had been issued, and the prize was now within reach.

Chapter Eighteen

“Come on. It’s all ready.” Logan’s voice echoed down the hall to where Tate was seated on the couch.

“You’re really going to make me do this?” he asked as Logan walked into the living room and crossed his arms. He’d rolled the sleeves up on his black, knit pullover and was barefoot in his jeans as he stood there with his brow raised, tapping his foot.

“Yes, I am. So come on. Time to get up,” Logan said, holding his hand out.

Tate took it and got to his feet with a wince.

“This will do you good.”

It had been a couple of hours since he’d been released from the hospital and gotten a haircut, and ever since then, Logan hadn’t stopped—until now.

“I don’t remember the doctor saying anything about this,” Tate pointed out.

“Everyone knows that a soak in a bathtub is good for sore muscles.”

“Really? And how many times have you used this bath of yours after a long, hard workout?”

Logan wrapped an arm around his waist and smiled at him. “Never. But we aren’t discussing me.”

As Tate leaned against Logan’s side, he rolled his eyes. “Of course not. You do remember the doctor saying I can walk on my own now, right? I’m also allowed to bathe myself.”

Logan stopped them at the bathroom door and scrunched his face up. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that for me?”

Tate chuckled. Logan had been amazing since he’d woken up two weeks ago. Hell, from what he’d been told by the hospital staff, he had been pretty damn wonderful the entire time he’d been unconscious. Not only had he spent each night by his bed, they’d told him that he would play music, read to him, and even, at times, yell at him.

He studied Logan’s side profile and smiled. Tate had no trouble believing that Logan would get frustrated at him while he was lying out cold, and every now and then, when he closed his eyes and really thought back, he almost remembered parts of it.

“Okay. I’ll get in the bath if you—” His words came to an abrupt stop when he spotted the tub filled with… “Bubbles? You ran me a bubble bath?”

“Of course,” Logan said. “That’s the only way to take a bath, isn’t it?”

“How would you know, since you’ve never had one?”

Logan’s lips twitched as he looked from the tub back to him. “I watch TV?”

“Mhmm. And what kind of bubble bath is it?”

Logan gave a small shrug and helped him over to the sink, where Tate rested against the vanity. “I don’t know. Lavender or some shit. The woman told me it was soothing.”

“Did she?”

“Yep, she sure did,” Logan said, examining the sling strapped around his shoulder. “So the doc said we could take it off for a little and then put it back on, right?”

Tate nodded. “Right.”

“And you feel okay? You don’t need to lie down?”

“Logan?”

Logan brought his worried eyes back to his.

“I feel fine. And I’d love a bath. Thank you.”

“Okay,” Logan answered, tapping his fingers against his lips in concentration. “We should take off your clothes, then.”

Finding Logan’s nerves endearing, Tate waited to see what he would do next, and when he didn’t move, he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“You sure? Because I can do this later. By myself.” He didn’t want Logan uncomfortable in any way, and if helping him take a bath crossed too many lines—

“No. That’s not it. I…” Logan sighed. “It’s stupid.”

“Tell me,” he coaxed.

Logan looked at the bath, a sheepish expression crossing his face. “I don’t want to hurt you. That’s all.”

Tate took Logan’s hand, and when their fingers touched, Logan faced him. It was high time to lighten the mood around them, and why not start here? He couldn’t imagine the stress Logan had been under for the last month and a half, and as he stood in front of him, exposing his most vulnerable side, it just made Tate love him even more.