“Found him,” Mr. Boyed said without a preamble. “I’ve just sent you photos. Please confirm if this is the man you’re searching for.”
Logan’s fingers shook as he opened his laptop, quickly navigating to his inbox. He clicked on the email, downloading the attached photos, and as the first image appeared on his screen, his breath caught in his throat.
Adrian.
He stood upon the sunlit shore, his hair—still long, as Logan recalled, though now a deeper shade of brown than golden—waved gracefully in the gentle breeze. His broad, familiar frame appeared etched by the sun and caressed by the sea. The sight hit Logan like a fault line giving way beneath him, sudden, violent, impossible to brace for. His heart clenched and soared simultaneously, tears gathering in his eyes, igniting as his heart brimmed with the vision of Adrian. After so long, after everything, there he was.
For what felt like an eternity, or perhaps just a fleeting moment, Logan sat transfixed at the screen, his heart melting. The heavy weight he had borne for so long was finally lifted, allowing a breath of fresh air to fill his lungs.
There he was—the love of his life, his soulmate—still by the waves, still listening to their song, still gazing at the horizon.
“Yes,” Logan managed, his voice cracking. “That’s him.”
“Excellent,” Mr. Boyed said. “I’ll send his address, phone number, and additional details shortly. Would you like us to investigate further?”
“No, that’s fine,” Logan replied, barely finding the words as he stared at the photo. “Just the address and number. Thank you, Mr. Boyed. I’ll take care of the payment.”
“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Vaughn,” Mr. Boyed said before hanging up.
Logan leaned back in his chair, his hands trembling as his eyes stayed fixed on the photo of Adrian. His heart ached with longing, each beat echoing like thunder in his chest. But beneath the pain, something else stirred—hope. A spark reignited, spreading warmth through him.
He closed his laptop, the image of Adrian still burned into his cornea, as if the light itself had branded him upon his sight. Logan’s tears came then, soundless as they spilled in a mix of grief, relief, and the overwhelming realization that he had found him. Finally. Logan sat suspended in time, running Adrian’s photos in his mind again and again, in endless orbit, daring to hold him not as memory, but as living presence.
He drew out his phone and composed a brief message to his father; his fingers hovered, trembling above the keys, before he pressed ‘send.’
Taking a leave of absence. Don’t know when I’ll be back.
Logan shot upright, the chair scraping back, breath trapped somewhere between chest and throat. His pulse hammered against the side of his neck, loud, insistent, as if that organ itself wanted to claw its way out.
He staggered toward the door, stopped, turned back, paced. The office seemed to shrink around him, walls closing in, light swelling too sharp at the edges, too bright, as if the world had tilted. His fingers refused stillness—drumming the desk, twisting the hem of his shirt, clawing at the chain of his watch. He couldn’t anchor himself.
Scenarios collided in his head, a thousand different versions of what would come next, each rising, crashing, burning out before the next began. What would Adrian say? What if he turned away? What if he never forgave him?
He pressed his palm flat against the cold glass of the floor-to-ceiling window. The city stretched below, indifferent. Cars moved like blood cells through veins. None of it could hold him.
His chest heaved. His body wanted to run before his mind caught up.
The truth fell heavy and undeniable, cutting through the storm inside him.
I found him. I’m going to him.
His pulse reverberated in his ears, a drumroll of anticipation. Yes. He was on his way to Adrian.
He tapped the pane with his knuckles, once, twice, again—too much energy with nowhere to go. His breath fogged the glass, then vanished, then returned, quick and shallow. He stood enveloped in a storm of thoughts and fears; yet above all, a more potent force surged within him: excitement. An overpowering need consumed him, the need to possess knowledge, to uncover the truth. He bolted back to his office chair and opened his laptop; it didn’t matter that he could access it from his phone. Logic was a foreign concept to him, as his deepest desire grew from a faint hope whispered into an empty room and deaf ears, into a tangible reality he could hold as the most secret longing of his heart blossomed and expanded.
Opening the new email from Mr. Boyed, Logan carefully committed the nuances of the address to memory, his gaze lingering on the photographs and the mosaic of pixels that composed them. His fingers hovered over the screen, yearning to trace the contours of Adrian’s skin, to feel the softnessof his hair, the roughness of his stubble. Logan grabbed his belongings and left his office without a second thought.
“Ada Mae,” Logan said as he strode past his assistant’s desk. She looked up, startled, her bright red hair falling over her shoulders as she tilted her head in question.
“Look,” Logan started, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I’m leaving. I have no idea when I’ll be back. If my father is upset with you, just leave. Cancel everything I have on my schedule for at least two weeks. I’ll contact you when I can.”
Ada Mae blinked, her expression shifting from confusion to concern. “You can’t just cancel, Mr. Vaughn,” she tried to reason with him, standing. “You have—”
“I know,” Logan interrupted, shaking his head. “Trust me, I know. But I need you to do this. And one more thing, please book me the first flight to Israel. Anddon’ttell my dad where I’m going.”
Her eyes widened. “Israel? Logan, what’s going on?”
“A lot of things, Ada Mae,” he said with a deep exhale, his tone softening. “Please, just book the flight. I’ll transfer the money to Mr. Boyed now. And take the rest of the week off, okay? You’ve earned it.”
