Of course, he had. Of course, he would.
Because this was Adrian.
And Logan would spend everything—every cent, every breath, every piece of himself—if it meant Adrian could live.
“Thehospital will return the money to your account,” Robert said. Then, after a pause that felt heavy with finality: “Our deal is off, Logan.”
Logan blinked. “What?”
“I want you off the business. Completely. At least for now. When you’re ready to come back, it’ll be on your terms. But right now... You need to be here. Full-time. Even the few days a month you’re working, it’s too much.”
Logan staggered back a step, like the words had landed a blow.
“Why?” he asked, and his voice was raw, scraped down to the nerves. His anger cracked through it, unsteady, desperate.
His father let out a slow breath. “Because I realized, too late, that it wasn’t the right way.”
And something inside Logan broke.
The right way.
Coming from his father, those three words carried more weight than any apology ever could.
Robert Vaughn, the man who had always believed in control over compassion, discipline over tenderness, was standing here, admitting he had been wrong.
The air felt different. Like something in the world had shifted.
Logan turned his gaze back to the hospital door, his heart thundering. Adrian was behind it. Pale, shrinking, slipping.
He swallowed the knot in his throat.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
There was no reply. Just the sensation of strong and certain arms wrapping around him, and, for the first time in years, not stiff or brief or obligatory.
But real.
And Logan, who had held the world on his shoulders for so long, let himself lean into it. Just for a moment.
“I love him,” he choked into his father’s shoulder, the words so soft they might’ve been missed, but so full of truth they vibrated in his bones.
His father pulled him a little tighter.
“I know.”
They stayed like that, locked in something that wasn’t forgiveness exactly, but maybe something just as rare: understanding. They breathed in the same air. And in that breath, something between them began to heal.
Then, Robert spoke low and steady, the way only a father could speak. “Do you remember, son,” he started, “when you came back and told me you were going to marry Sandy?”
Logan froze, his jaw clenching tight. The memory was dim, disfigured by shame.
“I asked you if you loved her,” Robert said.
Logan closed his eyes.
“You didn’t give me a real answer. You mumbled something, but it wasn’t yes.” His father’s voice was calm, even. “I told myself maybe you liked her. Maybe you wanted a life with her because it felt safe. Predictable.”
It had been all of that. And none of it.
