“That’s not true—”

“It is true,” Tate thundered. “And I’m done. You were the one who went elsewhere, not me. But I’ve found someone who’s smart, sexy, and makes me incredibly happy.”

While trying to keep a watchful eye on the volatile woman in the hall, Logan was also keeping track of the irregular beat of his heart. Tate kept giving it shock after shock—in the best way imaginable.

“Well, I sure hope he makes you happy enough to fill in all the missing people in your life.”

That was when he finally lost his cool and stepped up beside Tate.

“You vicious little bitch.”

“Logan—” Tate tried, but he wasn’t listening.

“How can you be so callous? To someone you say you loved.”

Diana slapped the manila envelope in her hand against Tate’s chest and pushed past them both to march over to the elevator. She jabbed the down button with her perfectly manicured nail and stood there with her arms crossed, but Logan was far from done.

“His family won’t talk to him because of you. Because you didn’t give him the time or the courtesy to tell them on his own.”

That was when all of the poison and all of the hate oozed to the surface and Diana Cline turned on them both. She pinned him with a look that was so nasty it made his skin crawl.

“Oh, no, Mr. Mitchell. You have it all wrong. It’s not because of me that they won’t talk to him. It’s because of you.”

Logan’s jaw clenched as her words slipped behind his defenses to the part of him that knew she was right, but the other part of him, the part of him he’d honed to keep him safe and protected, would not let her leave without getting in the final blow.

He walked forward just as the elevator dinged and whispered, “And it’s also because of me that you will never have him again.”

Her expression flashed from cruel intent to pitiful regret as she stepped back into the elevator and turned her eyes to Tate.

“I mean it, Diana. Don’t come back here again.”

And before she could respond, the doors slid shut and she was gone.

* * *

Logan was quiet. Too quiet in Tate’s opinion.

After Diana left, they made their way down to his apartment and no words were exchanged. They got to his door and Tate unlocked it before pushing it open. He dropped the envelope on the side table, not caring about the contents right this second. He would deal with her in his own damn time. Right now, he wanted to deal with Logan.

Logan stepped past him and Tate followed as they made their way farther inside.

“What’s going on here?”

Logan turned to stare at him, those blue eyes full of...doubt.

Doubt in me? Or himself?

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” Tate said, calling his bluff. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Logan licked his top lip and then shrugged. “She isn’t wrong, you know.”

Tate narrowed his eyes and walked over so they were standing face to face. “She isn’t wrong about what?”

Logan spun away from him, but Tate wasn’t about to have that. He reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him back around to face him.

“She isn’t wrong about what, Logan?”

He could feel the tension rolling off Logan in waves, but not like it’d been in the elevator. He was now irritated and apprehensive, and Tate couldn’t tell where it was directed.

Diana? His family? Himself?

“That I’m the reason your family won’t talk to you.”

Tate dropped his hand and took a deep breath then started moving. He took several steps forward until he had Logan’s back up against the wall of his foyer.

“No. You listen to me. They are the reason they won’t talk to me. Not you.”

Logan grimaced. “Tate—”

“Logan. Shut up.” He placed his hands on the wall on either side of his head. “I know I need to deal with them, and I will, but not right now.”

Logan closed his eyes as if trying to block out everything that had happened.

“I’m sorry...I just can’t think about anything else.”

Tate dropped his hands and took a step away. “Fucking Diana—”

“Is enough to ruin any good hard-on. Even mine,” Logan pointed out and kissed his lips. “You have papers to sign, and I need to…”

“What?”

“Punch something?” Logan suggested.

Tate shook his head, frustrated that they’d even had to deal with her. “I’m sorry she was here.”

“So am I. But maybe she was exactly what we needed.”

“How do you figure that?” Tate asked as Logan walked toward the front door.

When he got to it, he looked back and said, “She made us realize what we do and don’t want.”

Tate glanced in Logan’s direction, but he just opened the front door.

“Logan?” Tate waited until Logan stopped and faced him. “I want you. Seeing her doesn’t change that.”

The smile that split Logan’s full lips was worth a million run-ins with Diana, because right there, Tate knew that Logan really believed him.

“I know.”

26.

By midmorning on Sunday, Tate was slowing his bike to a crawl and making his way down his childhood street.

After Logan had left the night before, he’d had a lot of time to think. He’d signed the papers Diana had once again issued through her new lawyer, and then he’d come to the conclusion he needed to try and see his family.

It’d been a week since he’d seen or heard from them and he still couldn’t bring himself to believe that his own parents, the people who’d raised him, had actually...disowned him.

Maybe they’d just been angry.

He swallowed as he stopped by the curb of the house next door. Best not to pull into the drive, just in case they heard.

Fuck. What am I planning? A sneak attack?

Turning off the ignition, Tate removed his helmet and sat there for a few minutes staring at the familiar double-story house. He could remember running around the yard with Jill playing hide-and-seek, and the large tree in the back still had the fort their father had built for them both. Now, the one place that used to be his sanctuary, a place that was full of good memories, just reminded him of last weekend and all of the hateful words that had been spewed at him.

Getting off the bike, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second.

You can do this.

He’d been miserable for years, and now that he was finally happy, it was time to let his parents know that this was his choice—his decision to really be free. This was his life, after all, and if they didn’t understand that, then it was time to say goodbye.

Walking up the drive, he felt the gravel crunch beneath his boots. With every step he took, he felt as if he were walking toward his execution. He kept remembering the revulsion on his mother’s face and the waves of nausea would hit. But he was determined to do this—he needed to.

Turning onto the small path that led to the front steps, Tate stopped when he saw his father crouched down in the garden surrounding the porch. He still hadn’t heard him, so Tate watched as he worked.

As a child, he’d idolized his father. He was the man he’d wanted to be when he grew up. Tall, his father stood around six foot, and for as long as Tate could remember, he’d always been compared to him.

“You get more and more like your father every day. Such a fine young man. And those curls...You’re the spitting image of him, Tate.”

His father had always been proud of that comparison. He’d clap a hand on his shoulder and tell them, “That’s my boy, all right.” Tate wondered if he’d still feel that way now.

As he took a step closer, his feet crunched on the gravel again, this time alerting his father that he was there. Tate watched as he spotted him and slowly stood. Dusting the dirt off his hands, he then stepped out of the garden bed he’d been working in.