What if he’d say,“You did the right thing, Logan. We would’ve never worked. I’m actually seeing someone now. And I love him.”
Logan could hear it in his mind, the calm, measured way Adrian might say it. Not out of spite. But because hemeantit.
The words would drift gently, like an unstoppable rain. And Logan? He’d just stand there. Nodding, maybe. Pretending it didn’t cave something in his chest.
Because that would be the worst part, not that Adrian had moved on, but that he had done sogracefully. That he had survived Logan’s absence. Found love in someone else’s arms. Built something stable from the wreckage Logan left behind.
And if that was true, if someone else now knew the sound of Adrian’s morning voice, the shape of his laugh, the look he gave just before kissing you like he meant it—
Then what had Logan come back for?
Logan gritted his teeth, his hands trembling at his sides. He hadn’t let himself think about this, hadn’t let the idea creep too deeply into his mind because he knew—heknew—he wouldn’t have survived the flight, wouldn’t have made it this far if he had. But now, standing here, the thought had taken root, and it was tearing him apart.
And what was he even doing here? What was he hoping to achieve by finding Adrian after all this time? Did he think he could just show up, explain himself, and then leave? Did he want Adrian to forgive him and let him walk away again? Or was he hoping—desperately, selfishly—to get Adrian back?
And then what?
Logan stared at his reflection, his pale skin, his hollowed-out eyes, the man he barely recognized. What could he possibly offer Adrian now? He had broken him, walked away without giving him the love he deserved, and now he wanted to come back. For what? To ask for a second chance? To tear open wounds Adrian had probably spent years trying to heal?
The questions swirled in his mind, a tempest of guilt and longing, until his knees felt weak and he had to sit on the edge of the bed. His heart ached with every beat, pounding out a rhythm of regret and despair. The thoughtof Adrian happy with someone else was unbearable, but the thought of Adrian still hurting because of him was worse.
Tears pricked at the corners of Logan’s eyes as he buried his face in his hands. He didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know what he wanted, except that he needed to see Adrian again. To hear his voice, to look into those whiskey-colored eyes, toknow,toexplain.
Logan pulled open his suitcase, his hands shaking as he rifled through the clothes he’d hastily packed. His heart pounded against his ribcage, each beat a deafening reminder of the anxiety clawing at him. What was he supposed to wear? It was a stupid question, meaningless in the grand scheme of everything, but it consumed him in the moment.
He aimed to look good for Adrian, no, he needed to. It was essential for Adrian to see him and not think of the broken man who had walked away two years ago. His chest clenched at the memory of who he was then and who he had become. The Logan Adrian had known lived in board shorts and tank tops, always shirtless, with skin tanned and sun-kissed, barefoot more often than not. The Logan now standing here was a refined businessman, dressed in expensive suits and tailored clothing, a wardrobe carefully chosen to convey power and respectability.
But none of that felt right. None of it felt likehim.
He tossed aside a blazer, then a pair of slacks, pulling out a gray button-down shirt and some black jeans. He ran his fingers over the fabric, his mind a chaotic mess. Maybe he should call Adrian first.God, should I just call him?he thought.Talk to him before showing up at his doorstep? Test the waters before barging into his life again, uninvited?
But no. Logan shook his head. He needed to do this right, face-to-face. Adrian deserved at least that.
Still, the indecision made his breath catch. His mind wandered to Ada Mae, and for a ridiculous moment, he considered calling her for advice. Should he go casual? Stick with something sharp and professional? Would a suit scream desperate? Would jeans feel too casual?
“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He felt ridiculous. Here he was—twenty-seven years old, a successful businessman, part of the most powerful shipping company in the world, and heir to an empire—and he was standing in front of a suitcase debating what to wear to impress a guy.
The weight of that realization made him laugh bitterly. “God, I’m pathetic.”
He grabbed the gray shirt, slipping it on and buttoning it up with trembling fingers. If he chose it because Adrian always loved him wearing gray or light blue, as it made his eyes stand out, that was his own business.
The black jeans came next, followed by a spritz of cologne. He smoothed his hair back, trying to strike a balance between looking good and not looking like he’d spent an hour preparing to see Adrian. He stared at himself in the mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt before stepping back.
His reflection stared back at him, pale and nervous. He looked good, he supposed. Polished, put-together. But he also felt like he might faint.
This is fine. It’s fine,he told himself, shoving his feet into his shoes. Before he could second-guess himself again—or, God forbid, start changing his outfit in front of the mirror like a teenager—Logan grabbed his phone and left the room.
The cab ride felt like both an eternity and a blink. Logan handed the driver the address, barely looking at the screen as he asked if he knew where it was. The driver nodded, his English heavily accented as he reassured Logan he knew the place. The man chatted as he drove, filling the silence with small talk in broken English about the area, the weather, and the traffic. Logan barely processed the words, his mind too busy spiraling. Still, he was grateful for the distraction; it kept him from telling the driver to turn around and take him back to the hotel.
Logan’s hands rubbed against his thighs, the rough texture of his jeans grounding him as he tried to steady his breath. The cab stopped suddenly, jerking him out of his thoughts, and his heart stuttered in his chest.
“House over there,” the driver said, his voice kind as he pointed toward a small gray house nestled near the coastline in a line of houses. “Gray one, see, yes? Gray house, there, I’m talking about, yes? The last one in line. I with car, no get there, you… with legs, go, okay?”
Logan’s gaze followed the man’s hand, landing on the house. It wasn’t much, modest and weathered, but its charm was undeniable. And it was so close to the ocean that Logan could feel the salt in the air, hear the faint rhythm of waves in the distance. Of course, Adrian would live here, never straying too far from the water.
“Yeah,” Logan managed, his voice shaky as he stared at the house. “Thank you.”
He handed the driver some cash, not caring how much, and waved off the man’s protest that it was too much. Logan stepped out of the cab, the cool November breeze hitting him as he stood on the sidewalk. He watched the car pull away, leaving him alone with the weight of his decisions.
