And maybe that had been his limit.
Maybe the universe had given him all the love he was allowed before it came back to take the rest.
Because now, the streams of water that had once given him everything were pulling him under, and this time, there was no one who could save him.
Adrian forced a smile, even as his chest ached, even as his ribs felt like they might crack beneath the weight of all the things he would never get to say.
“Come on,” he urged, his voice calm despite his heart’s turmoil. “Mom likely cooked enough to feed an army.”
And then, with one last touch, a firm hand on Alon’s shoulder, one last silent promise, he turned toward the stairs and together they climbed back up. As Alon pushed open the apartment door, Logan’s gaze found Adrian’s the moment he stepped inside, like he felt him coming. Those silver eyes, sharp yet full of quiet warmth, searched his face, asking a silent question.
Adrian nodded, just a small dip of his chin, a reassurance without words. Everything was okay.
Logan’s shoulders loosened slightly, and he gifted Adrian one of those half-smiles—beautiful in its simplicity, effortless. Then, without missing a beat, he took another bite of the cookie in his hand, his eyes flickering with amusement.
Adrian smirked as he slid back into his seat beside him, raising a brow at the half-empty plate of cookies and the cup of tea nestled in Logan’s hands.
“Your mom forced me to eat cookies,” Logan explained, holding up the half-eaten treat as proof, his voice laced with a boyish kind of mischief. “And she made me tea.” He took a dramatic sip, then turned to Tammi with a charming smile. “By the way, the cookies are amazing, Tammi. Thank you.”
Adrian snatched a cookie from the plate and handed it to Alon, grinning. “He’s not lying. She does that. She weaponizes food.”
Tammi let out an affectionate laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “I to make sure, you… a guest. You need to welcome.” Then, she asked, “You hungry?”
Adrian scoffed before Logan could even answer. “It’s Logan. He was born hungry.”
Logan elbowed him discreetly, his laughter spilling into the room like sunlight dancing on the waves.
Tammi shook her head, pleased, and motioned for them all to take their places at the small dining table. The chairs scraped softly against the floor as they settled in, the table suddenly feeling full. Bowls filled with steaming dishes were placed in the center, the rich scents of home-cooked food curling through the air.
Dinner unfolded with an easy rhythm. Tammi, ever the doting host, kept slipping food onto Logan’s plate, watching him with the same quiet care she gave Adrian. Conversation circled around his life and work, and Logan answered with a surprising openness, sketching the steady shape of his career and degrees while quietly omitting the fractures beneath. They surely knew about his marriage, about his sudden vanishing and storm-like return into Adrian’s world, but no one asked, and for that, he was grateful.
For the first time in a long while, Adrian let himself sink into it—the warmth of family, the sound of Logan’s voice folding into the rhythm of the room. He caught the way Logan laughed at something Tammi said, how easily he reached for another bite, how natural he looked here, as if he had always belonged. And Adrian thought, maybe some things really do find their way back to shore.
At some point, Tammi and Aaron asked about how they had met, and Logan hesitated.
He had expected them to already know, had assumed Adrian had told them the story in full. But as it turned out, Adrian had only ever given them the simplest version:Hawaii. We met in Hawaii.
As if the ocean itself hadn’t rewritten both of their lives that day.
So Logan told them everything—every last detail he could remember.
He recounted how the water had devoured him entirely, plunging his senses into darkness. He spoke of Adrian’s fearless dive into the abyss, of his grasping hands that had yanked him back from the brink of death, restoring him to the world with a trembling hope.
“And you gave me CPR,” Logan said, glancing at Adrian with a small, grateful smile. “How long was it again?”
Adrian shifted, a flicker of something deep in his eyes before he shrugged, a soft breath escaping him. “I don’t know. It felt like forever.”
His father had never looked prouder. And his mother looked at them like they had walked straight out of a fairytale.
The warmth of the moment lingered, stretching over the table like the last golden rays of sunset. Plates were cleared, cups refilled, and just when it seemed like the night might carry on in its quiet, steady rhythm, Adrian spoke.
“So, Dad,” he said, his voice measured, his tone deceptively light, “how come you never told me about Alon’s first ranks ceremony?”
He spoke in English, though his father would understand. A deliberate choice.
Aaron barely looked up. “It wasn’t a big deal,” he dismissed, slipping back into his native tongue. “You had better things to do.”
Adrian went still. His fingers curled slightly against the table, a quiet tightening. “No,” he insisted, his voice unwavering. “I wanted to be there.”
