At first, it was subtle. His father covering all of Adrian’s medical expenses without a second thought. Then, giving Logan time off work, only requiring him for crucial meetings and deals.
Then, it became more.
His father visiting the hospital, sitting beside Adrian’s bed. Small talk, at first. Then genuine interest. Kindness, in his own quiet, awkward way. Inviting them both over when Adrian was home for brief moments between treatments.
Not just tolerating Adrian’s presence, but accepting it.
Acknowledging that Adrian was Logan’s heart.
That Adrian was his whole damn life.
And now he stood beside Logan, not as the cold, unreachable patriarch he had once feared, but as a man who had finally seen his son for who he was.
And who Adrian was to him.
Not a phase. Not a mistake. Not a deviation from the path.
But his heart.
His everything.
Robert Vaughn didn’t say any of that aloud. He didn’t need to. It was in the way he stood with him now, in the silence he held, in the steadiness he offered without ceremony. It was in his unflinching presence. It was in the way he carried this nightmare with Logan like it belonged to him, too. It was in the way he left that board meeting and ran after his son, for the first time, putting him first.
And Logan wanted—so badly—to lean into it. To let someone else be strong for him for just a moment.
Because if Adrian died—
If he was gone—
Then Logan would cease to exist.
He would fade into nothingness.
His father seemed to understand that.
And for the first time in his entire life, Robert Vaughn spoke to Logan not as an executive. Not as a son he wished had made different choices.
But as a father.
Robert Vaughn was one of the strongest individuals to ever walk this Earth. For a brief moment, Logan yearned to be the child who trusted his father to take care of things. Because if Robert Vaughn promised him he could retrieve that sample from the registry in Adrian’s country, then it could happen; Robert Vaughn had the power to make it so, and Logan desperately needed that power, as he felt completely empty inside. He longed to be that little boy again, wishing his father would shoulder that burden for just a moment. He wanted him to take on the weight he had been carrying.
“Take out your phone,” his father said, firm but gentle. “Call his brother. Now.”
Logan’s breath hitched.
“Stay calm,” his father continued. “Take a breath. Panic achieves nothing. If you want to help Adrian, be strong. Take care of what needs to be done.” And then, softer—softer than Logan had ever heard from him. “Then let yourself break. But not now.”
Logan’s throat tightened around something sharp. His fingers curled around the cool weight of his phone like it might ground him, like it could carry the unbearable.
He nodded once—more to himself than to his father—and swallowed hard against the ache rising in his chest. His thumb trembled as he unlocked the screen. The faint click of each motion sounded louder than it should have, like the whole world had gone silent around him.
His father was right.
He couldn’t fall apart. Not yet. Not while Adrian was still here, still breathing, still fighting beneath pale sheets and blinking monitors.
So he searched for the name and hurriedly clicked on the call button.
The line rang once. Then twice.
