The sound he made wasn’t quite a cry; it was more like a guttural noise torn from deep within, under his ribs, as if a fracture had occurred. A rupture through whatever fragment of hope remained in him, a tear through the very essence of his soul, a fresh fissure to his already broken, bleeding, vacant of a heart chest.
He stood there, swaying slightly, his hand coming up to his mouth like he was trying to stop something—vomit, maybe. Or words too cruel to survive.
Then, softly, as if doing the math aloud: “So you left me on the thirteenth… the flight’s about seventeen hours. You would’ve landed the night of the thirteenth. And by morning—” he looked up, his voice caught like fabric on a nail, something inside him folding inward. “By morning you were…” The words were left to die on his tongue; betrayal required none. It was soundless, with no need for syllables or punctuation to reiterate the depth of deception, the cruel knife twisting in the absence of speech, without the courtesy of a final sentence, only guilt required.
And Logan—Logan felt it: the sharp, coiled fist of guilt tightening in his gut. Not just because of what he had done, but because of what he saw now: Adrian was unraveling, collapsing, crumbling in front of him.
His hands trembled, jaw locked tight, grief gnawing at his bones, pressing against the walls of his skin, yearning to shatter his soul, desperate to break through. The calculation was written all over his face: three weeks alone in that cabin, clinging to the last breath of something sacred. A silence full of belief. And meanwhile, Logan was already carving out a new life. Already erasing the one he’d promised without words to hold on to.
Logan saw it in Adrian’s eyes: the impossible comparison between waiting and forgetting. He saw it and couldn’t look away.
Adrian’s voice, when it came, was low and ragged, more heartbreak than venom. “I thought… I honestly thought it had taken you two weeks to go back to her.” He laughed. It was a hollow, bitter sound, more of a breath than a noise. “Turns out I gave what we had far too much credit.”
Adrian drew in a long, deliberate breath, as if pulling oxygen into a collapsed lung. He needed to make space inside himself for this new truth. And he had a place for truths like this—dark, sharp-edged things that couldn’t be held in daylight.
He found the box. He opened it. And gently, methodically, he folded this new betrayal and placed it inside, beside all the others. A private archive of pain. He would come back to it later, when he was alone, when thesilence was loud enough to echo. He would take it out and hold it against his ribs like a blade.
But not now. Now, he had to stay upright.
He stood straighter, jaw tight, gaze fixed on some invisible horizon. He couldn’t fall apart, not with Logan being five steps away, not while his hands still remembered the weight of that body, not while his skin still held the memory of a mouth that had whispered promises and then vanished.
He couldn’t afford to think about the timeline. Couldn’t afford to dwell on the math: Within twenty-four hours of leaving their shared bed, the one that still held the shape of them, their scent pressed into the crumpled sheets, heat trapped in the mattress, the ghost of their bodies tangled in cotton and sweat. A bed that hadn’t cooled before Logan gave himself to someone else.
Within thirty-six hours of breathing and whimpering against Adrian’s throat in the throes of passion, of tasting his skin.
Hours—mere hours—after their last kiss.
And still, Logan had gone back. To her. To the woman who would become his wife. With Adrian’s name still clinging to his lips. With Adrian’s breath still ghosting his skin. With Adrian’s taste still on his tongue. With parts of Adrian’s body still inside him.
That was the part that burned the deepest.
And Adrian knew: this was information he would use to destroy himself.
Not now. Not here. But later.
Later, when it was quiet.
Later, when Logan was gone again.
“And you know what?” he started again, feigning confidence, trying to finish his story. “Even after seeing the invitation and… it killed me. But… I wasn’t even angry at first. I was hurt, I was…But Iunderstood—I thought I understood. You panicked. You ran. You were trying to prove something to yourself, to the world, to your father. So I bought a ticket.”
Adrian’s voice cracked, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. “I didn’t tell Dean. I knew he’d stop me if he found out. But I bought it anyway. Because I couldn’t stand the thought of you suffering, Logan. I loved you too much to let you go through that alone. I thought I had to save you, rescue you, because that’s what I do, right?”
Logan couldn’t speak, couldn’t even breathe, as Adrian’s voice grew softer, his words heavier.
“I was sure,” Adrian’s voice trembled, caught between anger and the ghost of hope. “I was absolutely sure that once we saw each other—once I looked into your eyes and you looked into mine—you’d understand. You’d see what we had, what we still had. You’d realize it was a mistake, that leaving was a mistake.” He drew in a sharp breath, the kind that seemed to scrape against his ribs. “I thought all I needed was a chance, just one chance to stand in front of you, to let you feel it. To let you see me. I thought it would be enough. But I was stupid, Logan. So damn stupid.”
Adrian’s eyes flickered around the room as if in thought, as if he was searching the wall for answers, for words, for strength to keep going. Like the bare walls of this random place would have anything to offer him.
“And I was selfish too,” Adrian whispered, eyelashes heavy with tears that could not be contained. “Because I knew the pain of seeing you—seeing the man I love, the man Iadore—marrying someone else… that was a pain I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. To think…” His voice faltered, and he laughed bitterly, wiping at his tears with the back of his hand. “To think that it had only been a few days since I kissed you, since I held you, and there you were, planning a wedding.”
Adrian’s chest heaved with the effort of holding himself together, but it was futile. The tears came harder, and he muttered something in Hebrew, a broken prayer or curse, before switching back to English. “To think,” he repeated, his voice hollow, “that so little time had passed. So little time between you leaving me and you building a life with someone else. I never knew you could be so cruel, Logan. I never knew you cared so little about us. About me.”
Logan couldn’t take it anymore. He closed the distance between them, each step slow, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it might break free from his chest. Adrian’s pain was unbearable, and Logan couldn’t stand to see him falling apart. He stopped just a whisper away, his tears spilling over, his emotions laid bare.
“Adrian,” Logan pleaded, his voice raw and trembling. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Ad. Please. I never let myself think about it, about how you handled it, about what you went through. I was a coward. I’m so sorry. Please…”
Adrian lifted his gaze to meet Logan’s, his eyes red and brimming with tears. There was no forgiveness; only a lingering pain that merged with shattered dreams and tender memories. “Of course, you didn’t think about it,” Adrian said, his voice flat, his tone cutting like ice. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”
