Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
Logan set the two mugs of steaming coffee on the table beside the bed, where the gray quilt was sprawled in a rumpled heap, half-swallowed by the floor.
The shower had stopped, replaced by the chaotic sound of Ethan stumbling around, drunken groans reverberating through the thin wall.
Logan took a deep breath, raked a hand through his hair, and without hesitation shoved the bathroom door open.
Leaning against the frame, a humid wave of steam rolled out, thick with the sharp tang of lemon and the warm bite of spiced soap. “You okay?” he asked, his brow knitting with concern as he stepped inside. “I made some fresh coffee.”
Ethan braced a hand against the wall, palm flat against the slick tiles, standing naked and swaying, his towel dragging clumsily over the planes of his chest. He looked fractionally more lucid, eyes less glassy, movements less wild than before.
“Yeah,” he muttered, giving a slow, unsteady nod, the towel swiping haphazardly across his abs. “Head feels like a jackhammer going off, but…”
“What the hell did you drink?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve never felt this fucked up before.” His words slurred, a faint drawl clinging to them.
Ethan’s admission twisted Logan’s gut, and something in that sluggish tone—raw with genuine confusion—lit a flare of unease in the back of his mind. “C’mon, let’s get you in bed. Sleep it off.” He gripped Ethan’s arm, fingers firm against damp skin, guiding him back to the bedroom and steering him to the mattress.
“Sit,” he ordered, reaching for a small towel draped over a nearby chair—a faded blue scrap, threadbare and pitiful. Standing behind Ethan, he began drying his back with broad, deliberate strokes. The muscles rippled beneath his touch, water beading along Ethan’s spine before Logan’s steady hands swept it away.
Ethan slumped, and Logan handed him a mug of black coffee. “Drink,” he said simply.
With trembling fingers, Ethan clutched the mug and sipped. The first taste hit like a scalding punch, twisting his face, nausea flashing in his eyes. “Ugh…” he groaned, shaking his head as he shoved the mug back at Logan, his expression an apology.
Logan took it without comment, setting it on the table with a soft clink beside its twin. “C’mon,” he said, voice softening, frustration melting into something tender and patient. “Get in bed. Sleep it off. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
He straightened the quilt, pulling it back to reveal sheets creased from restless nights. For a brief moment, his gaze lingered on Ethan as he sank naked beneath the covers, the dim light tracing every curve of muscle and glistening skin.
His breath hitched—a shaky exhale escaping as he squeezed his eyes shut. It was too much, too raw, and too fucking tempting. Draping the quilt over him, he forced the image from his mind.
“Logan…” Ethan’s voice was faint, a fragile plea. “Stay with me… please.”
“Just go to sleep,” Logan replied, voice steady but strained as he met those wide, bleary eyes staring up. He wanted to—God, how he ached to slide in and press against that warm, bare skin—but he couldn’t. His jaw tightened, and he rooted himself in place, fighting the magnetic pull that clawed at his chest, sharp as a wound. “I’ll be just out there.”
He turned before he could waver, snagging a mug from the nightstand as he retreated.
The coffee grounded him, and he refilled it for a second time—black, no sugar, a bitter jolt to steady his fraying nerves.
The living room felt cooler, the air crisper—a stark contrast to the lingering heat of Ethan’s presence in the bedroom. Muted shadows flickered across the walls, the quiet pressing in, a reminder of how hollow he felt despite the man in the next room.
Logan sank onto the couch and stretched out, propping his boots on the armrest.
Cradling the mug against his chest, he let out a ragged sigh, running a hand through his damp hair. His fingers brushed the nape of his neck, lingering, before falling away, frustration carving deep lines into his brow. He took another sip of coffee. Ethan was right there, behind that half-open door, naked under the quilt, a warm, vulnerable sprawl in the next room.
Fuck.
Would Ethan remember that kiss tomorrow? Part of him hoped the alcohol would wipe it away from Ethan’s memory, make it easier to pretend nothing happened. Another part—a part he refused to acknowledge—wished Ethan would remember and want more.
Logan squeezed his eyes shut against the image. Vulnerable wasn’t Ethan—not the man who oozed confidence most of the time. But tonight? Tonight had left a version that stoked a fire low in Logan’s belly, one he couldn’t afford to feed.
Recently he’d dreamed of this—nights tangled with Ethan, skin slick against skin, their bodies knotted in sweat-damp sheets, pressed so tight the lines between them blurred. Those were the type of fantasies that haunted him ever since Ethan’s glances had started to linger too long.
But reality clamped down hard. They couldn’t cross that line. The fallout was too large. Sleeping with a teammate would shatter everything, taint every order, every mission, with the scorch of desire.
Logan was a leader—steady, unshakable—but letting lust bleed into duty would unravel everything he’d built. How could he command with images of Ethan’s naked form etched into his mind? It’d ruin them both, and endanger the team.
“Christ,” he muttered, taking another long sip from the mug still clutched like a lifeline. He closed his eyes, and again Ethan’s image flared—naked, glistening, that sloppy kiss in the bathroom. His cock stirred, a traitor to his resolve.
“Can’t happen,” he growled, a mantra against the throb in his chest, as if words could cement it. “It’s just the way it has to be.”
He’d vowed to keep his wants locked down tight, a rule he’d already bent too far with Ethan. But it wasn’t about rules or duty—it was survival. Giving in would mean surrendering control, and Logan wasn’t sure he’d come out whole.
Sleep was a heavy tide, and setting the mug on the table, he stretched out fully. Then, closing his eyes, he let it pull him under.