November 26, 2020—Tel-Aviv, Israel—The Next Day #9
Later, as Adrian’s friends began trickling into the house, the atmosphere shifted.
The living room buzzed with life, the sound of laughter, clinking glasses, and easy banter filling the air.
Logan stayed close to Adrian, sitting beside him on the couch, their hands often finding each other’s between bouts of conversation.
Each time their fingers intertwined, Adrian would glance at Logan, his eyes brimming with something so pure it made Logan’s heart skip a beat.
That look—like Logan was the most perfect thing Adrian had ever seen—never failed to send a flush of warmth across his cheeks and a surge of love through his chest.
Snacks and drinks passed from hand to hand as jokes flew between English and Hebrew, the occasional laughter leaving Logan grinning even when he didn’t understand the words.
Dean and Adrian took turns translating whenever the group got tired of switching languages, though Dean’s translations often came with exaggerated dramatics that left everyone rolling their eyes.
Adrian chuckled and shook his head, glancing at Dean. “So… translating for Logan now, huh? Things really have changed.”
Dean smirked and gave Adrian a playful shove. “Just doing it so I can take the Maserati for a spin.”
“That’s it?” Logan teased, digging into his pocket before tossing the keys to Dean. “There you go, big boy. You can drive the grown-up’s car. Just be back by midnight.” The room erupted into laughter, with the other guys cheering and teasing Dean.
“Fuck you, princess,” Dean shot back with a smirk, the keys spinning in his hand.
Logan’s phone buzzed in his pocket. “It’s Ada Mae,” he said.
“I have to take this, baby,” he added as he kissed his temple and then stood.
Cat-calling and whistling erupted in the room, with the guys making exaggerated kissing noises and saying, ‘I love you, baby!’ to one another, mimicking them.
Adrian grabbed a couch cushion and hurled it at Sergi, muttering a curse in Hebrew while the others laughed.
In Adrian’s bedroom, Logan answered the call, listening as Ada Mae detailed the logistics.
The flight was booked for late Friday night, and the hospital in Seattle was ready to admit Adrian the moment they landed.
Logan thanked her for the hundredth time, gratitude heavy in his voice, and he was glad he had already emailed human resources about the bonus check and raise to her salary.
As he slipped his phone back into his pocket and turned to head back to the living room, the door opened, and Dean stepped in, leaning casually against it.
“We need to have a little talk,” Dean announced, his tone calm but laced with something sharp.
Logan nodded as he pushed his phone deeper into his pocket. “Okay.”
Dean’s eyes, piercing and unrelenting, locked onto Logan’s.
“The only reason I forgave you is because you’re the only one who could get Adrian to fight for his life,” Dean began.
“I tried for months to convince him to start treatment, but he wouldn’t listen.
Then you showed up, and now he’s finally agreed.
I was right, you’re the only one who could get through to him. ”
Logan opened his mouth to speak, but Dean raised a hand, cutting him off. “But don’t think for a second that I’ve forgotten what you’ve done to him. He may have forgotten what you did, but I haven’t.”
Logan’s breath hitched, and he dropped his gaze to the floor as Dean continued.
“Four times, Logan. Four times you’ve wrecked his life.
” Dean’s voice cracked slightly, but he pressed on.
“The first was when I flew to Australia to see him after you left. That wasn’t my friend in that room, it was a shadow of him.
He was losing his mind. At the beginning, he’d told me it was nothing more than a crush, but I knew better.
I saw it the day we met you. He was gone for you, completely gone, and you…
” Dean shook his head. “You left him. Then, two months later, he disappeared for three days. When he came back, he told me he’d gone to your wedding.
” Dean’s voice grew quieter, but the edge in it was unmistakable.
“He was wrecked, Logan. Tom and I had to scrape him back together. And then…”
Logan swallowed hard, his voice barely audible. “And then?”
Dean exhaled sharply, as if the memory itself was painful to recall.
“Then I heard the song,” he said. “It was brilliant, painful, beautiful, heartbreaking. But it was proof he wasn’t okay.
I filmed it, I put it on YouTube and Facebook, trying to maybe get to you, trying to make you realize what you’ve lost, and maybe try to get him some fame, some good things in his life.
And when he turned down treatment? I knew it was because of you.
And now…” Dean’s eyes darkened. “The fourth time was the day you came back. He didn’t think you ever would, and when you did, it tore him apart all over again.
I saw it, the anger, the sadness, the stress.
He’s sick, Logan. And he’s good at hiding it, but I know him better than anyone. He’s sick, and if you leave him again…”
Dean stepped closer, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper.
“If you leave him after everything you’ve put him through, if you turn his world upside down again and abandon him while he’s going through this hell, I swear to God, Logan, I’ll hunt you down.
I’ll put a bullet in your head, and I’ll do the time without a second thought. ”
Logan’s jaw tightened, his chest aching as he looked up at Dean. “I won’t leave him again,” he said firmly, his voice steady despite the weight of Dean’s words. “Never. I swear to you, Dean.”
Dean studied him for a long moment before nodding, the fire in his gaze dimming slightly. “You better not,” he muttered, stepping back toward the door. His voice softened as he added, “You know, it’s good you’re back. I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time.”
Logan smiled faintly and crossed the room, pulling Dean into a brief hug. “Thank you, Dean,” he said quietly. “For sticking by him when I didn’t.”
Dean didn’t say anything, just gave Logan a firm pat on the back before stepping out.
Logan lingered for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling in his chest. Then he turned, took a deep breath, and went back to the living room to find Adrian.
He was home now, and nothing would take him away again.
The late afternoon sun spilled gold over Tel Aviv’s skyline, a soft shimmer that kissed the glass windows of Logan’s hotel suite. He exhaled, steadying himself as he zipped up his suitcase. With a quiet nod to the empty room, he checked out, tossing his luggage into the back of the rental Maserati.
The drive was a blur of shifting blues—the sea stretching endlessly beside him, whispering in its ancient tongue.
It had always been the witness to their story.
The ocean had first carried Adrian to him in a rush of white foam and saving hands.
It had been their playground, their church, their silent observer.
And it had swallowed Logan whole when he left.
Now, it watched as he pulled into Adrian’s street, the sun dipping just below the rooftops.
Inside, Adrian sat on the edge of his bed, his form bathed in the amber glow of early evening.
The man who once carved waves with effortless grace now looked slightly more fragile, his illness a quiet undertow pulling at his strength.
But his smile—it was still the same. It was still the lighthouse Logan had spent two years pretending not to see.
“You’re wearing a suit, Lo?” Adrian’s voice was warm, amused, as Logan set his suitcase down beside his.
“Yeah, but it’s not my best one,” Logan admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I packed in a hurry when I left Seattle. Didn’t have much time to think.”
Adrian’s gaze softened. “You’re overdressed,” he murmured, the corner of his lips tugging up into a knowing smile.
“But we’re going to your parents’ place, right? Thought I should make a good impression.”
“You don’t have to wear a suit for that.” Adrian’s hands found Logan’s tie, his fingers curling around the expensive, slick fabric, pulling him closer. “But damn, you look so good in one.” His voice was a hushed tide lapping at Logan’s skin.
The heat between them ignited like the sun meeting the horizon. A gasp escaped Logan’s lips as Adrian tugged, their lips colliding in a kiss that tasted like longing.
Adrian’s hand slid up Logan’s neck, fingertips tracing old paths, rediscovering, relearning. Logan swore he could die in that moment, from the way Adrian whimpered against his skin, the way his breath ghosted over the pulse at his throat.
“How good?” Logan rasped, his voice caught somewhere between desperation and devotion.
“Really, really good,” Adrian murmured, his lips grazing Logan’s jaw. “Like I want to tear this suit off you right now.”
A shudder ran through Logan, the air between them thick with heat, with history, with the magnetic pull that had never really let him go.
“Fuck,” Logan exhaled, his forehead resting against Adrian’s. “We have to go.”
Adrian chuckled, pressing one last kiss to his lips before pulling away. “Yeah, we do.”
Logan inhaled deeply, willing his heartbeat to steady. He stepped back, tugging off the suit pants and replacing them with dark jeans, leaving the dress shirt on. He tossed the jacket onto his suitcase before turning back to Adrian. “Okay. Ready?”
Adrian gave him a once-over, a soft smile playing on his lips. “You really didn’t have to dress up. Dinner’s just homey, comfortable. You could’ve worn sweats.”
“I’m not going to wear sweats when I first meet your parents!” he said indignantly. “I still want to make a good impression.”
“You will,” Adrian said, pocketing his phone and wallet as they stepped out of the room. “You charm every living soul on this earth; you’ll be fine.”