“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.