“Hey, Dad.”

“William.” His voice was steady and detached, and Tate could feel his palms grow clammy at the way he was looking at him, inspecting him as if he were somehow...different.

“I wanted to come by—”

“Why?” his father interrupted, which had Tate stumbling over his words. “Has anything changed?”

Tate knew what he was really asking. Have you realized you were wrong? But he wasn’t there to apologize for his choices.

“No. Nothing has changed.”

His father gave a decisive nod and then gazed off beyond his shoulder. “Then I’m not sure why you’re here.”

Tate flinched as if his father had struck him and then took a step forward. “Really? You don’t know why I’m here? This is my home, Dad.”

His father continued to ignore him, and the indifference infuriated him.

“Look at me,” Tate demanded, and his father turned steady eyes on him—his own eyes. “You’re willing to let me go, never hear from me again, just like that? Because of who I’m dating?”

“You’re dating a man, William. What did you expect? It goes against everything we believe.”

Tate balled his fists by his sides and tried his hardest to remain calm in spite of the turmoil brewing inside of him. “I was taught to love my fellow man. Guess I just took it a step further.”

His father’s eyes focused on him intently, and the repugnance made Tate wonder where his actual father was. Just like last week with his mother, the person in front of him was a complete stranger. They’d both mutated into vile, disapproving creatures.

“Your lack of subtlety just proves what a bad influence this man has been on you. Your behavior last week was unforgivable. You were rude, inappropriate, and impudent.”

Tate shook his head, disbelieving of what he was hearing. “I was rude and inappropriate? You’re kicking me out of your lives because of who I love.”

His father’s entire body tensed at his final word, and he looked him over slowly, as if he were seeing him for the first time. Then he told him in a voice Tate didn’t even recognize, “This conversation is over. Your mother was very clear last week. You’re no longer welcome here.”

The shock and the heartache was gone. Tate could feel his rage threatening to overwhelm him. He was now full of anger.

Anger at such rejection from his own flesh and blood.

“If I leave, I’m not coming back,” he stated, surprised his voice was stable when he felt like his insides were crumbling apart. “I’ve tried to talk to you, to make you understand, but I’m an adult. I’m going to do what makes me happy, and if that means no longer being your son, then so be it.”

Tate turned away and was about to leave when he heard his father’s final words.

“You’re no longer my son anyway.”

Tate was determined not to let his foot falter after that blow, and without turning back, he made his way along the path of what was once his home—his safe place.

He made it down the drive and heard his name as he climbed on his bike. He looked up to the porch and saw that his father had gone inside, but Jill was standing there. She was too late.

It was time to move on, time to go to his new safe place.

It was time to go to Logan’s.

* * *

Logan stood in the center of his living room and realized for the first time how large and empty the space was without the coffee table.

Maybe it’s time to fill it with things other than my furniture.

Last night, when he’d gotten home, he’d crawled into bed and lain there, wide awake. He’d been replaying the past few weeks over and over in his mind. His family, Diana, Tate’s family, Tate disappearing for a week, and then their time away.

It felt like it had been years instead of weeks, but it had made them both more than aware of what was important, what they each wanted, and Logan was just as shocked as Tate that it was bordering on that word he usually avoided—relationship.

He’d been cleaning up his place for the last few hours, ever since Tate had called to tell him he was on his way to his parents’ place. That thought made him feel ill.

The last time Tate had dealt with his parents was a disaster. Logan couldn’t even imagine how it would go this time, and he had to admit the fact that he wasn’t there made him slightly nervous.

What if they get to him? Will he change his mind?

No. Logan had to believe that what they shared was stronger than that, and he knew Tate. Tate was honest to the core, and there was no way he would have lied about his feelings—not after everything they’d gone through.

He’d just finished throwing the last of the broken glass away and was ready to sit down with a beer when the knocking on his front door began. After placing the bottle on the counter, he walked down the hall and opened it.

There, standing in front of him, was a dejected-looking Tate. He was staring back at him, and his eyes were those of someone who was grieving a loss.

“Come in.”

Logan stepped aside, and as Tate went to walk past, he took his fingers. Tate turned to him, and Logan didn’t ask. He knew he wasn’t okay.

“Why don’t you take your jacket off and have a seat. I was just about to grab a beer and watch some TV.”

Tate nodded and moved into the living room.

It hadn’t been that long ago that Tate had first walked into his condo, and now, as he removed his jacket and shoes and sat on the far corner of the sofa, Logan realized he looked right at home there.

He went into the kitchen and grabbed a second beer for Tate before making his way to the seat beside him. When he was settled, he placed his arm along the back of the couch. Automatically, Tate moved in and leaned against his side.

“Didn’t go so good, huh?”

Tate didn’t say anything, just shook his head.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Tate looked up at him and gave a smile so sad that it broke Logan’s heart.

“There’s nothing left to say. They both said their piece, and I said mine. It’s done. Over.”

Logan frowned down at him. “Is it?”

“Yes, it is. But it still hurts like hell.”

Logan went to put the bottle on his coffee table. Then he remembered that he didn’t have one and placed it by his feet.

“You really did break the thing,” Tate murmured.

“Yeah. Bad temper I suppose.”

Tate reached up to touch his chin. “No. I hurt you.”

“Nah.”

“Yes,” Tate said again and sat up to place a soft kiss on his mouth. “I hurt you, and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me. You needed space. We worked it out in our own ways and found our way back, didn’t we?”

Tate grinned at him, and every worry Logan had vanished under the power of it.

“Sometimes you’re very sweet, Logan Mitchell.”

Logan ran a hand down Tate’s cheek and cupped his chin. “Shh. No one can ever know.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell a soul.”

“You better not. My reputation’s already compromised.”

Tate took the hand on his cheek and entwined their fingers. “It is?”

“You mean you haven’t heard?”

Shaking his head, Tate looked up at him, and Logan winked.

“Yeah. Apparently, I tried something a little while back, and now, I just can’t seem to get enough. I’ve become…addicted.”

Tate chuckled and rolled to his side so he was lying stretched out along the couch with his head on Logan’s thigh, watching him. “That sounds terrible.”

“It is. People are talking…”

“I’m sure they are.”

“Complaining that I’m no longer available for…debriefings.”

Tate totally lost it then and started laughing.

“This is serious stuff,” Logan told him, face somber, mouth pulled tight. He was having trouble not laughing himself. “I don’t think you should be laughing about it.”

“Then what should I be doing? You want me to be upset that you’re no longer out sleeping with half of Chicago?”