But he didn’t.
He couldn’t.
Because a part of him was still back there, in saltwater and sun, in a voice that called him by name like it meant something. In arms that made him feel whole.
And Sandy… she didn’t ruin anything. She just stood where he put her—loving a man who was never reallyhereto begin with.
And that, Logan realized, might be the worst thing of all.
Sandy turned her back on him, quietly gathering the dishes. She didn’t speak, but her shoulders trembled. She didn’t want him to see her cry, but he did. He just didn’t know what to do with it.
“I’ll make the appointment,” he said, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
For the appointment he’d never make. For the silence he couldn’t fill.
For all of it.
She nodded. “Logan, you didn’t eat,” she said softly, holding up his untouched food. “You want to finish?” her eyes were glassy as she tried to change the subject.
“No,” he whispered, “I’m not hungry. I had a big lunch at the office.” He lied, the thought of food making him nauseated.
Later, as Sandy went to bed, Logan stayed behind. He grabbed his phone, pressing play on the one song that had become his lifeline, the familiar strings wrapping around him like an old memory.
And as the words drifted into the quiet, Logan closed his eyes, finally finding a moment of peace in the chaos.
The next night, Logan walked into the bar later than usual, moving with the kind of deliberate slowness that came from too many thoughts and too little patience for them. He scanned the room, bypassing the barstools, ignoring the glances of a few regulars, and choosing a table in the farthest, most uninviting corner. It was the kind of seat most people avoided—dimly lit, half-forgotten, tucked into the shadows where no one bothered to look twice. Tonight, that suited him just fine.
The place wasn’t much. It never had been. The neon sign outside sputtered weakly against the night, its glow barely cutting through the grime-streaked windows. Inside, the air carried the familiar mix of stale beer, cigarette smoke that had long since seeped into the walls, andsomething faintly metallic, like old coins left too long in a pocket. It wasn’t classy. It wasn’t even comfortable. But it was close to his office, and more importantly, it was familiar. A place with no expectations, no forced conversations, no one who cared enough to ask questions. His colleagues wouldn’t be caught dead here. That was the best part.
He scowled at the cornered table, resentment twisting his mouth as he dropped into the chair. Damn that bartender. Logan had claimed this bar long before he had, and now, thanks to their last encounter, he was exiled to the edges like some unwelcome stranger.
The waitress appeared, jotting down his usual order. Logan barely acknowledged her, already sinking into his own thoughts, pulling at the collar of his shirt like it was suffocating him. Then, his phone buzzed. Again. A useless habit—checking it, expecting something, waiting for a call that would never come. Like the ocean itself would decide to return something it had already taken.
And then, a voice.
“Hey.”
Logan looked up.
The bartender stood there, two glasses of whiskey in hand, his expression unreadable. For a moment, the hum of the bar faded, the world narrowing down to just the two of them. There was something in the way he looked at Logan.
Logan ignored him, his eyes returning to the phone in his hand. He scrolled absentmindedly, trying to silence the pulse of awareness thrumming in his chest. His thumb tapped across the screen until it landed on his favorite video. The video was old, a memory he couldn’t let go of. Adrian, effortlessly paddling through the ocean off the coast of Australia,his figure cutting through the waves with ease. Logan watched as Adrian balanced on his board, the sun casting a golden glow over his tanned skin. And then, in a flash, the board slipped from beneath him, and he tumbled into the water, swallowed whole by the swell of the wave. But what hit Logan hardest wasn’t the fall. It was the laughter that followed. Adrian’s carefree laughter, light and free, as if the world couldn’t touch him. Couldn’t touchthem.
The sound of a chair scraping the floor as it was drawn back cut Logan’s memory, the one where he heard Adrian’s laughter in his mind and not through the speakers. The bartender sat down across from him without waiting for an invitation.
Logan locked his phone screen and gazed at him.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice softer than Logan expected, then slid the drink to Logan, who caught it but merely for a second before letting go. “I waited for you last night throughout my shift.” Logan hadn’t replied. “I’m so glad you’re here,” the young man continued. “I waited for you last night.” He said again. “Even stayed two hours after my shift. When you didn’t show… I was very upset.”
Logan didn’t respond, his gaze staying fixed on the bartender’s face. He sighed, clearly trying to fill the silence, but Logan wasn’t ready to say anything back yet.
“I’m really sorry about the other night.” He continued.
Logan nodded to him.
“I’m glad you’re here,” the bartender continued like he needed to fix whatever crack had formed between them. “So... are you coming back to the bar? This table doesn’t really suit you. You’re more of a barstool kind of guy.”
Logan smirked, raising the glass the bartender had slid toward him. “I’m guessing this one’s on the house?”
