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.

He stared across the roof at him and shrugged—the wall firmly back in place, the pissed-off expression saying all the things he wasn’t. “Okay.”

Tate knew he should leave it at that, but as Logan moved to get into his car, he called out, “Logan?"

He paused and looked his way, and it was the first time that Tate had seen those blue eyes of his full of hurt. “What?”

“I’ll call you.”

“Yeah...You do that.”

But as he got into the car and drove away, Tate knew he didn’t believe him for a minute. He wasn’t sure he believed himself either.

PART TWO

Acceptance:

Approval; agreement with an idea; favorable reception.

17.

Five days later…

It amazed Logan how a normal five-day week could turn into the longest stretch of time imaginable.

Five days. One hundred and twenty hours. Seven thousand, two hundred excruciating minutes.

That was how long it’d been since he’d seen or heard from Tate.

He’d told himself many times over to respect the guy, give him the space he needed, but as each day came and went and he heard nothing, he was slowly losing his resolve to stay away.

He’d gotten home Sunday afternoon and spent hours staring at his phone like some lovesick idiot. When nothing happened, he called Cole and told him he was taking Monday off.

Which has since turned into a week.

Sitting on his couch, Logan watched the reruns playing on TV and reminded himself that this was the very reason he didn’t do relationships. This ache in his heart. The way his chest constricted every time the phone rang. Not to mention the way he couldn’t stop wondering where the hell Tate was and what he was doing.

It was driving him fucking crazy.

He brought his bottle of Corona to his lips and drained it dry as a loud pounding started on his door. Closing his eyes, Logan wished them away. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone, unless it was—

“Open the damn door, Logan!”

Great. Just what I need. Cole.

“Your doorman said you were here!”

Fuck. Of course he did.

Standing, Logan dropped the empty bottle down on the couch and walked over to his front door. He pulled it open and scowled at his brother, who was standing on the other side.

Without so much as a hello, Cole stepped forward, and as their shoulders connected roughly, Logan stumbled.

“You look like shit,” Cole announced, quickly assessing him.

With a flick of his hand, Logan slammed the door and turned to see Cole had stopped in his living room and was surveying the damage he’d inflicted last Sunday night—he still hadn’t bothered cleaning up.

“Thanks. I dressed up just for you.”

Logan walked back down the hall and stopped behind Cole, using the wall for support. He waited as his brother silently scanned the room. Then he turned to face him. Feeling defensive, Logan crossed his arms over his chest.

He wasn’t in the mood for the third fucking degree.

“Are we going to ignore the obvious?”

Logan moved away from the wall and shrugged. “If you mean that you aren’t welcome, then no. I’m quite happy to tell you to get the fuck out.”

Ignoring that completely, Cole pointed out, “It’s not like you to cancel a court hearing and miss several days at such short notice.”

“I wasn’t aware that I had to run it by you. Last time I checked, the business card in my wallet read Mitchell and Madison. Which means I can take a couple of days off without you getting on my ass.”

It wasn’t often that Cole’s temper surfaced, but when it did, Logan tried to be a good distance away. However, that wasn’t the case right now, and as Cole strode forward, Logan stood his ground. He was spoiling for a fight, and if it couldn’t be with Tate, he’d take the next best thing.

“What the hell happened in here? Where’s Tate?” Cole demanded.

“None of your fucking business. Since when have you been so interested in my personal life and who I’m fucking?”

In a flash, Logan was shoved hard, and found his back against the wall with Cole snarling at him.

“If you were just fucking him, I wouldn’t give a shit either way. But you’re not!”

Angling his chin up, Logan glared at Cole so hard that his head began to pound. “What the hell do you know?”

“I know you have never referred to someone as your boyfriend ever. I’ve never seen you look at someone the way you look at him. And I have never seen you go crazy because someone didn’t pick you to be on his damn Pictionary team.”

Lifting his hands, Logan pushed Cole away, but the guy didn’t fucking budge.

“Get out of my way.”

“No. Not until you tell me what happened here. Why is the coffee table broken?”

Stubbornly, they stared at one another, and Logan knew nothing would move Cole but an explanation.

“Because I broke it.”

Cole frowned and looked down, obviously trying to see his hands. Logan held them up, showing his knuckles.

“I’m fine. I didn’t use my fists. I threw my loose change bowl.”

“And Tate?”

Just hearing his name made Logan wince.

“What about him?”

“Where is he?”