Элла Франк - Try

Logan straightened and stood up as Tate moved to the door. He was about to call out to him, stop him from leaving, when Tate placed his palm on the handle and turned back, pinning him with a look that shouldn’t have, but did, cut him to the core.

“Why don’t you understand that everything I’ve done and just did, I did because of how you make me feel, Logan? Even when I knew my family wouldn't understand, I did it anyway, just to get closer to you. How stupid was I?”

Logan couldn’t find the words to even begin to explain what he was thinking, and as Tate walked out of his office, Logan knew that Tate hadn’t wanted to hear them anyway.

Logan stood in the deafening silence that Tate had left behind. He felt the ache that had been growing, since Rachel and Jill stepped into his office, fester into a wide gaping hole that was now threatening to swallow him.

One minute, he’d been kissing Tate and planning exactly what he was going to do to the man that night, and the next, World War–fucking-female broke lose. Tate had pushed him for more, Logan had shut down, and now, Tate was gone. Fucking gone.

Jesus, he thought, storming around his desk to take a seat.

Just as his ass hit the leather, there was a knock on the door, and Rachel, Cole’s wife, poked her head into his office. “Hey.”

Looking up at her, Logan rested his head back against the chair and tried for a smile. “Hey.”

He watched the woman he loved as a sister walk in and stop on the other side of his desk. She placed her pink-tipped fingers on the surface and leaned in. “Oh God, how badly did I screw this up for you?”

Logan’s mouth quirked as he thought about how angry Tate had been, but the fault wasn’t anyone’s but his own. “You didn’t.”

Rachel made her way around the desk and when she was beside his chair, she turned, rested her hip up against the wood desk, and looked down at him.

Logan had known Rachel for a little over three years, and as usual, today, she looked gorgeous in her black leather pants and pink polka-dotted blouse. She was beautiful in a wild in-your-face kind of way, the complete opposite to her—

Knock, knock.

“Hello?” Cole called out as he pushed open the door.

Husband.

“Hey,” Logan replied.

Cole stepped through the door before shutting it behind him. Rachel was still staring down at him as though she was waiting for him to speak, but he really had nothing to say.

Huh, that has to be a first.

“Did Mr. Morrison leave?”

Logan raised a brow at his brother. “His name’s Tate, and he’s not here, and neither is the bitch you’re working with, so you can cut the polite shit.”

“Look, I was just—”

“Just what?” Logan snapped.

Rachel cut in by moving forward and placing a palm on his shoulder. “Hey, relax. He’s just trying to—”

“Tell me what I did wrong? That he was right? No, thanks, heard it all before.”

Rachel laughed softly. “You’re just like him.”

“Him is right here, Mrs. Madison,” Cole reminded her in a tone Logan figured worked for Rachel since she looked back over her shoulder to where her husband was standing.

Smoothly, she told him, “Oh, I know exactly where you are, smartass,” before turning back to face Logan, “Like he’s easy to ignore. But what I was going to say is, Cole’s just trying to see if you’re okay. He knows how much Tate means to you.”

Logan took off his glasses and tossed them onto the desk. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter. I’m pretty sure he just dumped my ass.”

Rachel frowned. “What? But I don’t understand. He said—”

“What’d you do?” Cole questioned, stepping forward to the desk.

“Excuse me?”

“What. Did. You. Do?”

Logan glared across at Cole with a look that screamed, Fuck off.

“That straight guy just told his ex-wife and sister that he was dating you, then you came in here, and now, you say he left and dumped you. So, what did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

Logan stood, hoping that would make him feel better about the situation, but it didn’t. Cole, meanwhile, stared him down until he had Logan rolling his eyes.

Screw Cole and his ability to wait me out. Two can play at that game.

“Go away. I have a busy morning and a boring night to look forward to, so please, leave.”

“He said something about family, didn’t he? His sister, his ex? What happened, Logan? He wants you to meet the parents?”

Rachel stood beside him and touched Logan’s hand. “Was that it? Because that’s great. He must really like you.”

Logan looked down into the wide blue eyes staring up at him. They were hopeful, sweet, and not-so-innocent since he knew his brother.

“Look, not everyone’s like you two. It’s too soon for all of that.”

From across the desk, he heard a mocking laugh, and his head snapped around, so he was once again facing Cole.

“You dumb shit. He just got outed to everyone he knows and stood up for you, and you told him no to meeting his parents?” Cole laughed again. “I would have fucking punched you before I left, if I were him.”

He very nearly did, Logan thought, remembering the rage on Tate’s face. But then he also recalled the disappointment and pain in the expression he’d seen right before Tate had walked out.

As Logan stood there silently, Rachel ran a hand up his arm to his shoulder. “Go to him, and apologize. Swallow your pride.”

Logan looked down at her and tried to diffuse the much-too-emotional moment with inappropriateness. “It’s not pride I’d have to swallow.”

A small smile tipped her lips as her eyes sparkled. “I’m not rising to your dirty bait, Logan Mitchell. If it’s not pride, then swallow your fear.” She looked over to Cole and whispered, “I did. It was the best thing I ever could have done.”

Logan glanced at the other man in the room, and the look on Cole’s face as he stared back at his wife made Logan—

Envious?

“You’re right. You’re both right. I have a few meetings, and then I’ll go and track him down.”

Rachel practically squealed as she bounced up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “See? Family can be a good thing! We just did a good thing, right? And we’re family. Now, make up you two, so Cole can ask you something.”

Logan frowned over at his brother.

“Go on,” Rachel urged.

Shaking their heads, they both grumbled out a pathetic excuse of, “I’m sorry,” and then Rachel patted his arm and moved around the desk to go and stand by Cole.

Taking her husband’s hand in hers, they both looked over at him, Rachel grinning and Cole looking as serious as ever.

“Okay, ask him.”

“Rachel,” Cole warned as though he wasn’t sure he wanted to right now.

“You told me you wanted to ask him as soon as we knew, but you both had a fight, and—”

“Rachel?” Cole interrupted.

“Yes, dear?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

Logan stood there, looking back and forth between the pair, and when Rachel turned and placed her hands on her belly, Logan felt a genuine smile spread across his face.

“Will you please be one of our baby’s guardians? You know, in case—”

“Don’t say it,” Logan grumbled quickly, raising a hand. Then, he laughed out loud. “Congratulations, you two! But are you crazy? Me? Are you sure?”

“No, not really,” Cole replied dryly.

Rachel whacked him in the chest. “Yes. We wanted both of our brothers.”

Logan looked over at Cole, extremely moved by the gesture he never would have expected, and when his brother finally smiled, he felt their relationship shift back to where it belonged. The only thing that was missing was the one thing that he’d driven away.

“Then, I’d be honored.”

As Cole hugged his radiant wife to his side, he glanced over at Logan and mouthed, We good?

Logan tipped his chin in agreement as his mind began spinning—spinning, planning, and plotting his next move. It all revolved around one thing—getting Tate back into his life.

Three and a—fuck, something hours later, and I still can’t stop thinking about him, Tate thought as he stared at the fan rotating slowly above him. Nothing would have been odd about that, except that his fan was turned off. Yep, the alcohol was doing its job, and he was nice and buzzed.

Lying on his back, he picked up his cell phone from his bare chest and stared at the screen. Still nothing. No calls of outrage from the family and not one call or text from that asshole telling me how sorry he is.

Well, fuck him, Tate thought, dropping the phone back to where it had been, as he lifted the bottle of Cuervo to his lips. Actually, don’t fuck him. He’d like it too much, Tate told himself just as his phone vibrated.

Picking it up, he made out the name and text he’d been waiting for. Swiping open the message, he stared at the two words on his screen and felt his mouth fall open. Twisting around and sitting up way too fast for his head, Tate continued to stare at the screen.

That arrogant fuck. Instead of the two words he’d expected—I’m sorry—there, staring back at him, was, I’m coming.

Tate glared at the phone as if the man who had typed it would be able to see. Placing the bottle down on the floor beside him, he typed back.