Chapter 27
CHAPTER 27
Logan stood under the scalding spray, head bowed, arms braced against the wall as the water pummeled his shoulders.
Steam coiled around him, thick and suffocating, fogging up the small bathroom until it felt claustrophobic.
He shut his eyes, letting the water trace the hard planes of his chest and abdomen, rivulets carving paths through his skin as though they could wash away the night itself. But no matter how hot the water or how rough his hands as he lathered the generic pine-scented soap across his body, it wasn’t enough.
It couldn’t erase what had happened. And it couldn’t erase him .
Ethan. His name reverberated in Logan’s mind like the vibration of a struck bell.
He paused and fought to steady his breathing. The scent of Ethan’s aftershave lingered in his nostrils. It was citrusy and clean, and like sunlight on freshly cut grass, it clung stubbornly to him despite his efforts to wash it off. It was overpowering, teasing him with memories he didn’t want to face.
He could still see Ethan sprawled on the bed when he’d slipped out at dawn. His sandy curls against the pillow, sheets tangled around his lean frame. Peaceful. Vulnerable. And Logan had left anyway.
“Fuck.” The curse escaped in a broken whisper, carried away by the water. He reached up and turned off the faucet, then for a long moment, he just stood there, dripping and motionless as the room rapidly cooled around him.
He pressed his forehead against the tiles, which felt cold and unyielding beneath his skin. Droplets of water slid down his back in erratic patterns, pooling at his feet before spiraling down the drain.
“What the hell, Logan?” His voice cracked slightly. “That was so fucking dumb.” Each statement was an accusation, ricocheting off the walls. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, sending beads of water flying from his dark hair.
He clenched his jaw so tightly it ached, while the weight in his chest wouldn’t budge—the crushing mix of desire and regret coiling together like barbed wire around his ribs.
He’d crossed a line last night, one he’d sworn never to go near. Ethan was supposed to be off-limits: a brother, a colleague, someone who trusted him implicitly.
And now…
Logan inhaled sharply through his nose and pushed off from the wall. There was no point dwelling on it.
He stepped out of the shower, snagging a towel from the rack without looking—it was probably gray from too many washes—and wrapped it tightly around his waist.
The damp fabric clung to his hips as he rubbed a similar towel briskly over his dripping hair, then tossed it onto the counter.
His living area greeted him like an old adversary. It was sparse, a utilitarian space that mirrored its occupant perfectly.
Gray walls bore scuff marks from years of boots carelessly kicked off or gear that had leaned against them after long shifts. A recently purchased leather couch occupied one side of the room, its armrests already worn smooth from endless use.
Logan barely glanced at any of it as he padded toward the kitchen, a nook tucked into one corner.
The fridge hummed faintly saying welcome back, as he yanked the door open and looked inside at his sad collection of condiments, leftover takeout containers stacked precariously on one shelf, and a half-empty carton of milk shoved into the door with a bottle of juice that had been there too long.
Grabbing the milk, he tipped it back without hesitation, drinking straight from the carton. The remaining liquid hit his tongue with a sour edge that made him wince slightly, but he swallowed hard, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
He muttered something under his breath about “needing more milk,” as though saying it aloud might make him remember it later.
He tossed the empty carton onto the counter and closed the fridge door then began to pace aimlessly across the room.
His bare feet scuffed back and forth, back and forth against the linoleum as his thoughts churned in similar chaotic circles and refused to settle.
“Why the fuck did you do it?” he muttered, now dragging a hand through his damp hair in frustration.
He could hear Ethan’s voice murmuring softly in the dark, his hands tracing patterns down his spine. It was like they’d known each other forever instead of being thrown together by circumstance barely eight months ago.
The towel hung precariously low on his hips as Logan stopped abruptly near the window overlooking nothing but another brick building across an alley.
He pressed both palms flat against the sill and leaned forward slightly until his forehead rested against the glass. “What the fuck am I gonna say when I see him?” he whispered, half expecting an answer from beyond the grimy panes of glass.
But there wasn’t any answer—only silence stretching endlessly ahead like an unmarked road disappearing into fog.
And Logan? Logan had no idea where to go next.
He sank heavily into the chair, its wooden frame groaning beneath his weight as if protesting his burden. His hand raked constantly through his damp hair, the strands clinging stubbornly to his fingers. He tugged at them in frustration, the motion sharp and restless.
Beads of sweat formed on his brow as his skin still carried the heat of the shower.
He leaned forward, elbows digging into his knees as he stared at the floor. His breathing came shallow and fast, his pulse hammering like the little hammer on the bell of an old alarm clock.
Sitting still was impossible, and he tapped his foot constantly against the floor before he suddenly shot up and started pacing again.
Thoughts churned in his mind, gnawing at him like a wild animal clawing at a cage and his gaze went to the table where his phone lay.
He snatched it up, the smooth surface slick under his fingers. It was smudged with fingerprints and the battery blinked low. He barely noticed as he unlocked it.
Ethan’s message was there—bright against the dim screen, every word cutting through him with precision.
Thanks for last night. I really enjoyed it.
Why didn’t you say goodbye?
Where are you? Maybe we could grab breakfast? x
He read it once, twice, three times, and a dry laugh escaped before he could stop it—a short huff that carried no real humor but softened enough for a fleeting smile to touch his lips.
His heart twisted at the sight of that single ‘x’ tacked onto the end of the message. It was casual but warm, and so easygoing, it made him ache.
It was so... Ethan.
Logan’s smile fell away, replaced by a deep frown that furrowed his brow and tightened his jaw. “A kiss…” he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with incredulity. “A fucking kiss on a text.” He shook his head as if trying to dislodge the anxiety rising within him. “Is this kid for real?” That small gesture—the twenty-fourth letter of the alphabet—it said too much and yet not enough all at once.
The coil in his chest wound tighter until he couldn’t breathe, and he pressed his fingers to his temple, kneading the skin hard enough to leave faint red marks.
“Shit,” he hissed through gritted teeth, pacing again as if moving around could shake loose the thoughts tangling his mind. “What the fuck am I gonna do? Hell, I knew how he felt—dammit—I knew.”
Logan’s voice cracked, frustration bleeding through every syllable. He glanced down at the phone, staring again at that solitary ‘x’ like it held all the answers.
He hurried back to the bathroom. The tiles were cool beneath his bare feet, and as he stepped inside, he let out a slow exhale.
Without hesitation, he twisted the faucet, and the shower roared back to life.
He stepped under its relentless stream, and the water hit hot and hard against his chest. It should’ve been soothing. It should’ve dulled the edge of everything clawing at him. Instead, it was a punishment.
He grabbed the soap, lathering furiously between calloused hands until thick suds coated them. He scrubbed at himself with an almost frantic energy: across his chest, down his arms, over his thighs, everywhere Ethan’s touch had lingered.
It didn’t matter how hard he scrubbed or how many times he rinsed himself clean, Ethan’s scent still clung to him: faint but unmistakable, with an edge of something uniquely Ethan that defied description. Usually that scent would’ve been a comfort, but now it mocked him.
“Damn you, Ethan Parker,” he yelled, as if somehow Ethan might hear him.
Thoughts of Ethan flooded his mind: his smooth skin beneath his hands, the way their bodies moved together in a perfect rhythm, the soft gasps and rough moans that filled the room until they’d both come undone in each other’s arms.
Heat stirred low in his belly, a familiar ache that sent blood rushing southward faster than reason could keep up.
Logan wanted to hate himself for what had happened—for crossing lines that should’ve never been blurred—but part of him didn’t regret it at all. And maybe that’s what scared him most of all. It wasn’t just that he’d fallen into bed with Ethan, but that some part of him… wanted to fall again.
He pressed his palms flat against the tiles, trying to ground himself, trying to will away the ache that pulsed between his legs.
It was impossible.
His chest rose and fell unevenly, and every time he closed his eyes, Ethan’s face came surging back into focus: sharp jawline, lips slightly parted, those eyes—those frickin’ blue eyes—looking inside him with the same hunger he’d seen last night.
There was no fighting this anymore.
He exhaled with a frustrated growl and dropped one hand lower, wrapping his fingers around himself. His body gave a shudder, as he began slow strokes, deliberate and measured, but enough to feed the craving.
The friction sent sparks up his spine and his grip tightened.
“Fuck.” The word was a confession.
His movements quickened, each stroke sending fresh waves of heat. His pulse surged violently as Ethan’s image blazed in his mind—sprawled naked on the bed, chest rising and falling with barely restrained need. The memory was vivid enough to almost make his knees buckle and the way Ethan’s voice trembled when he whispered his name, the way his hands had clutched at him like he couldn’t bear to let go…
It hit fast—too fucking fast—and there was no stopping it.
As pleasure overtook him in an unstoppable rush, Logan clenched his jaw. His body tensed and he groaned loudly, raw and unrestrained as the climax tore through him. It was like a strike of lightning, leaving him trembling in its wake.
White strands of cum splashed the tiles before being swept away, twisting and disappearing down the drain. He braced himself, trying to catch his breath. The ache inside him wasn’t just physical, it was deeper than that. It was rooted in everything he couldn’t say and everything he didn’t know how to feel. His release had dulled it, but it hadn’t quelled it entirely.
He pushed away from the wall and turned off the shower. Stepping out, he grabbed the towel and dried off.
The silence was deafening,
When he finally looked at the mirror above the sink, its edges fogged with condensation, his reflection stared back like a stranger.
Stubble shadowed his jaw darker than usual, and his eyes—fuck, they looked hollow. His gaze lingered on the tension in his face and his lips pressed into a thin line.
“How do I deal with Ethan?” He questioned the stranger who ran a hand through his damp hair before turning away with a shake of his head.
His phone buzzed from the dresser in the bedroom, and securing the towel around his waist, he padded out of the bathroom.
The phone lit up to reveal a text notification, and snatching it up, he swiped the screen with his thumb.
Briefing in thirty mikes.
His lips pressed into a grim line as a bitter laugh escaped them. “Well… looks like I’m about to find out.”
The thought of seeing Ethan sent an involuntary jolt through his core. He could already picture him standing too close during the briefing, their shoulders brushing accidentally—or maybe not accidentally—and those fucking eyes locking on him with all their intensity.
Last night had been reckless and wild and perfect in so many ways, but that terrified him.
He tossed the phone on the bed and opened the closet door. As much as he wanted to avoid Ethan, there was no running from it now. And whatever was going to happen next would happen whether he was ready or not.
But God help him if those eyes burned into him again like they had last night… because only divine intervention could save him.