“You finally awake,” a voice cut through the haze, casual and amused. “Morning, sunshine.”
Logan turned toward the voice and saw Zack stepping out of what must have been the bathroom, a small black towel slung low on his hips. Water droplets clung to his chest and shoulders, catching the light as he moved with an effortless confidence.
“Zack?” Logan croaked, his throat dry and raw. “Where am I?”
“My place,” Zack replied easily, crossing to a nearby closet. He began rummaging through it for clothes, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
Logan’s head throbbed with every beat of his heart, and Zack’s words only made the situation more surreal. He felt trapped in a nightmare he couldn’t wake from, a concoction of shame, regret, and the bitter aftertaste of too much whiskey.
“What am I doing at your place? And why am I wearing different clothes?” Logan snapped, his voice laced with anger as he leapt to his feet, swaying slightly as dizziness washed over him.
“Take it easy, big boy,” Zack said, pulling a plain T-shirt over his head.
“Would youtellme already what the fuck I’m doing here, and why?” Logan barked, his tone sharpening as he gestured to the unfamiliar surroundings.
Zack’s expression darkened, and his own irritation bubbled to the surface. “Hey! Relax!” he shouted back, his voice cutting through Logan’s anger. “Believe me, Iwantedto send you home last night, but you were drunk out of your mind andclingyas hell. You cried like a baby when I tried to put you in a cab and begged me not to send you back. You kept saying you couldn’t handle it anymore.”
Zack’s voice softened, a flicker of guilt crossing his face as he remembered. “You were a mess, Logan. You wouldn’t stop crying. And then you started calling for someone—Adrian, I think? You kept saying you needed him, that he’d make everything better.”
Logan froze, his face flushing with equal parts humiliation and pain. Adrian. Always Adrian. The name was a ghost in the air, a reminder of everything he’d buried under layers of lies and self-denial.
Zack continued, his tone less biting now. “I couldn’t just send you home like that. You looked so miserable, man. Like, not just the usual ‘drown your sorrows in whiskey’ kind of miserable. It was another level.”
Logan dropped back onto the bed, burying his face in his hands. “I made a complete fool of myself,” he muttered, the words muffled by his palms.
Zack perched on the other end of the bed, shrugging with a wry smirk. “Not the first time someone’s made a fool of themselves in front of me.But no, we didn’t… do anything,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “As much as you’re a catch,” he added, rolling his eyes, “I like my partners to be a bit more... responsive. And, you know, not covered in puke.”
Logan groaned, mortified. “I threw up?”
“All over yourself. And my floor,” Zack confirmed, his tone tinged with irritation. “So, yeah, I showered you and put clean clothes on you. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“You showered me?” Logan repeated, his voice cracking as he ran a hand through his hair.
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t letting my sheets get wrecked by your fancy-suit-puke combo. Speaking of which, I threw the suit away. It reeked.”
Logan stood again, swaying slightly as the pounding in his head reached a crescendo. “Where’s my stuff?” he asked, scanning the room. “My phone, wallet, keys?”
Zack gestured toward the kitchen. “On the counter.”
Logan found his way to the kitchen, his steps unsteady. His phone, wallet, and keys were exactly where Zack said they’d be, and his eyes darted around for his shoes.
“Did you toss my shoes, too?” Logan asked, his voice quieter now.
“No. They’re by the door,” Zack replied from the sofa, where he flopped down with a pillow and blanket. Logan realized then that Zack had given up his bed for him and taken the couch instead. The pang of guilt in his chest deepened.
Scrolling through his phone, Logan’s stomach sank as he saw dozens of missed calls and messages from Sandy. He swore under his breath, gripping the edge of the counter to steady himself.
“Zack—” he started, turning to face him.
But Zack waved a dismissive hand without looking up. “Just leave, Logan. You ungrateful son of a bitch.”
Logan couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “I’ll bring the clothes back tomorrow,” he said as he headed toward the door.
He paused, realizing something, and turned back. “Zack, my underwear—?”
“Just keep the damn clothes andleave!” Zack barked, throwing a pillow in Logan’s general direction.
Logan chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he slipped on his shoes. As he stepped out into the blinding light of the day, the weight of last night—and everything it meant—settled heavily on his shoulders. He went straight to his car, knowing that he maybe should not be driving now, but not really caring. Anyway, it seemed that he vomited the majority of the alcohol he had consumed.
