As he drove home, the memories swirled—Adrian’s laughter, the warmth of his touch, the life he had walked away from. And the sound of glass breaking, the ache of betrayal.
He loved Adrian. He used Zack. And Sandy… Sandy deserved better than the vestige of the man she married.
Logan lost Adrian.
And this time, it was truly final.
When he arrived home, the world was still bathed in the muted gray light of early morning. The house was quiet, but as he stepped inside, Logan saw Sandy sitting on the couch. Her posture was rigid, her legs curled beneath her, her lap filled with design sketches and charts for her shop. She looked like she’d been waiting for him.
“Where have you been?” she asked, her voice cold, the warmth it once carried now a distant memory.
“Went surfing after work,” Logan lied, his words heavy on his tongue. “Then spent some time with friends. Crushed at their place.”
“Yeah, right,” she said with a bitter laugh, shaking her head as if she had heard this story before.
Logan didn’t linger. He jogged up the stairs, avoiding her gaze, and disappeared into the guest bathroom, skipping their shared bedroom altogether. He told himself it was better this way. The lie tasted bitter, but the truth would destroy them both.
As the shower hissed to life, Logan stepped under the stream, letting the scalding water hit his skin. It wasn’t cleansing him. It wasn’t washing away the shame or the ache lodged deep in his chest, but it was warm. It was the only comfort he had left in this cold, unrelenting world he had built for himself.
If Logan closed his eyes hard enough, if he focused on the rhythmic sound of water streaming and hitting the tiles, he could almost feel Adrian beside him. The heat of another body, the faint press of skin against skin. He could almost see the way Adrian would stand close, their bodies brushing as the steam rose around them, blurring the edges of the world.
He could hear Adrian’s laughter, low and teasing, as he tilted Logan’s face down to meet his.“You’re too tall for your own good,”Adrian would say with that mischievous grin, his hands firm yet gentle. Logan could feel it—the press of Adrian’s palms on his cheeks, the way his thumbs brushed his jawline, the warmth of his lips as they kissed him, soft at first and then deeper, more urgent. The kind of kiss that made Logan forget the world existed.
Adrian’s touch would follow, tracing the lines of Logan’s body with deliberate care, every movement a soundless declaration of love. Fingers sliding over his chest, down his arms, like he was memorizing him. Like Logan was something to be cherished, not just held. The water would stream down between them, tracing paths over their skin, but none of it mattered. There had only ever been Adrian, solid and real, grounding Logan in a way nothing else could.
Logan’s eyes flew open, the mirage collapsing into a thousand silent splinters as the dream dissolved in hush and shadow, brittle beauty undone in a breath, and though no sound escaped, the rupture rang throughhis bones. The tiles gleamed under the spray, cold and sterile, the room empty except for him. The air felt hollow, the warmth of the water a poor substitute for the heat he craved. Adrian was gone, just a memory now, and no matter how hard Logan tried to summon him, to hold onto that fleeting sensation, it remained only water always slipping through his fingers.
The ache in his chest deepened, a sharp pull that left him breathless. The ghost of Adrian’s touch lingered on his skin, cruel and bittersweet. Logan turned his face into the stream of water, letting it wash over him, hoping—praying—it could drown the pain.
The water cascaded over his face, his hair, his shoulders, but it couldn’t touch the filth beneath his skin. He braced himself against the tile, his breath hitching as he tried not to let the weight crush him. He couldn’t touch Sandy again. He knew it now, as surely as he knew the sun would rise. Porn wouldn’t help this time. Pretending wouldn’t help.
He wanted Zack again. Even now, even in the suffocating fog of self-loathing, the thought of Zack’s body—his touch, his warmth—sent a shiver through him. It was wrong. It was disgusting, the betrayal, the cheating, the mess he’d made of his own life. But it was also true.
Logan tilted his head back, the water streaming down his face, and mumbled lyrics from a song that had become his everything all of a sudden. Adrian’s song.Logan’ssong. The song that was born from the depth of pain Logan inflicted on Adrian.
“I am fractured, but if you are whole, then I’ll find my peace in your joy… I believe my fate was to cross paths with you, to be the one who saves you.”
The words felt like a cruel joke now. He was fractured, yes, but Adrian hadn’t been able to save him, not now, not again. And Logan—Logan had never been able to save himself.
When he finally stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel loosely around his hips, he didn’t look in the mirror. He couldn’t bear to see his reflection, the hollow man staring back at him. He grabbed clothes from the bedroom he shared with Sandy, her perfume lingering faintly in the air, and retreated to one of the guest rooms.
He texted Ada Mae, telling her to cancel his appointments. Sick day. That’s what he called it. Sandy passed by the door, pausing when she saw him lying in the bed meant for guests.
“I think I’m coming down with something, I don’t want to get you sick,” he said softly, his voice a fragile excuse. He saw the hurt in her eyes, the way she swallowed her questions, her pain, but she didn’t press him.
Logan flipped off the light and sank into the mattress. The soft pillow cradled his head, and for the first time in so long, he let himself collapse into the darkness. The blanket felt like a cocoon, wrapping him in an illusion of safety, shielding him from the storm he would face tomorrow.
Tomorrow, he would put on the mask again. He would be the devoted husband, the successful businessman, the dutiful son. Tomorrow, he would drink until the pain dulled, until the memories of Zack’s hands, Adrian’s laughter, and Sandy’s wounded eyes blurred into a haze.
But tonight, in this borrowed bed, Logan let himself sleep.
And in the early morning hours, within the ethereal realm of dreams, his essence discovered a sanctuary—a safe shore. There, amidst the chaos swirling in the subconscious depths of his mind, he found Adrian. Beneath the layers of hurt, he surrendered to the embrace of the man he loved, cocooned in a tender fantasy. And even if the moment bloomed only in the garden of dreams, conjured by ache and woven from want, it cradledhim with the tender gravity of truth undeclared, a bittersweet benediction soft enough to soothe, a lullaby of almost-s, strong enough to shatter.
Chapter 8
The Air I Breathe Underwater
October 29, 2018—Rottnest Island, Western Australia—One Year and Nine Months Earlier
