Chapter 31
NATHAN
It’s almost two in the morning, and I’m still wide awake.
I’ve turned over in bed so many times tonight that the sheets are twisted around my legs, half the blanket hanging off the side.
I gave up trying to sleep an hour ago, but I haven’t been able to get out of bed.
I’ve just been lying here, staring at the ceiling, my ears perking up any time I hear a creak in the hallway, hoping it’s him.
Austin and Ryan got back ages ago. I heard them come in, laughing as they walked up the stairs.
But Logan still isn’t home.
I glance at my phone again, seeing my message still sitting there, unopened.
I shouldn’t care this much. I shouldn’t be lying here, tense and restless, wondering who he’s with, what he’s doing, if someone else has their hands on him right now.
I press the heels of my palms to my eyes and exhale, long and slow, like that’ll help, but all it does is make the guilt in my chest churn harder.
Because the truth is… I was a dick. I shouldn’t have pulled away from him like that earlier, watching the way his face changed when Austin walked in—I can’t stop replaying it. Can’t stop thinking about the way he tensed when my hand slipped out of his and I shifted back, putting space between us.
And now he’s out, pissed at me and probably—
I sit up, my heart lurching in my throat when I hear a bang across the hallway, followed by a muffled groan.
I push the blanket off and lift onto my feet, moving toward my door. I crack it open and peer into the hallway, my stomach flipping when I see Logan.
He’s crumpled against the wall right outside his room. One hand’s braced against the floor, his head resting against his bedroom door.
“Logan?” I whisper, stepping out fully. “What the hell—”
He lifts his head, and his eyes flash with something when he sees me. “Hey,” he slurs.
My stomach drops. Jesus, he’s drunk. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this drunk.
I crouch beside him, instinct kicking in, even though my head’s still spinning. “What happened? Are you okay?”
He blinks at me, but doesn’t answer.
I reach out without thinking and grab his arm, steadying him as I ease him up to sit properly. “C’mon. Let’s get you inside.”
He doesn’t argue, just leans against me. I help him up, fumble for the doorknob behind him, and shoulder it open, before guiding him inside. It’s dark, except for the streetlight spilling in through his blinds, but the dim light from the hallway helps me see as I lower him onto the edge of his bed.
I stand there for a second, my heart pounding. “Where have you been?” I ask him.
He doesn’t even look at me.
I take a step closer, swallowing hard. “Why would you get this drunk?”
Finally, he lifts his head, and he stares at me for a second too long, like he’s trying to figure out what to say. And I hold my breath, waiting for his answer.
But instead of giving it to me, he leans back on his hands and glances away. “Best get going before someone sees you in here.”
My chest tightens. “Seriously?”
He shrugs. “Don’t want to ruin your reputation or whatever.”
“Logan—”
“You made it pretty fucking clear earlier,” he mutters. “Didn’t realize being seen near me was such a problem.”
I freeze. “I never said that.”
He lets out a scoff. “You didn’t have to.”
I step toward him, but he shifts away. Fuck. “Logan,” I say, swallowing hard. “Please just talk to me.”
He laughs, low and bitter, and pushes a hand through his hair. “What do you want me to say? That I got shitfaced because you made me feel like shit? That I went out because I didn’t know what the hell else to do with the fact that I let myself start to believe this was more than it is?”
I feel it like a puck to the chest.
He looks at me, his green eyes boring into mine. “I waited,” he says quietly. “I waited for you to say something. To give me anything. And you just… looked away.”
My throat feels tight and dry and… fuck. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Yeah, well,” he says, averting his gaze again. “You did.”
He pushes up onto his elbows and even through the haze of booze, I see the flicker of hurt behind his eyes. I hate that I’m the reason for it.
He lets out a breath, shaking his head. “I haven’t let myself want anyone in a long time,” he says. “Not after the shit with my parents, not after what happened in high school—” He shakes his head. “But you. I thought you… that we… fuck.” He groans, running a hand down his face.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. What do I even say to that? He doesn’t give me a chance to say anything, though.
“When it’s just us, it’s good.” He blows out a breath, meeting my eyes. “It’s so fucking great. You hold me, you touch me, you look at me like I’m—” He swallows hard, dragging a hand through his hair. “And then someone walks in and it’s all gone. Like it didn’t mean fucking anything to you.”
“It did,” I say, more forcefully this time. “It does.”
His eyes flash to mine. “Then why won’t you act like it?”
I don’t answer because I don’t know how.
He exhales sharply. “I can’t keep doing this if it’s gonna stay a secret forever,” he says with a slow shake of his head.
“That’s not fair,” I tell him, my stomach churning at his words. “You know I’m not ready.”
His head lifts slowly. “I know that. I’m not asking you to come out before you’re ready. I just… I don’t want to feel like a dirty secret anymore. Because every time I thought that maybe we were something… you made sure we weren’t.”
I step forward, my heart rippling in my chest. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?”
“I kissed you,” I tell him, a frown tugging at my lips. “Told you I wanted you.”
“Only when we’re naked and alone,” he points out.
“I brought you to my parents’ house,” I say, desperate to make him see the things I haven’t had the words to explain. “I’ve shared my bed with you. I’ve—” My throat tightens. “Don’t tell me you’re nothing to me.”
He doesn’t say anything at first. His jaw just clenches, and his hand curls around the blanket like he needs something to hold on to.
“I’ve already lived through this,” he says after a few minutes, blowing out a harsh breath.
“I’ve already lost people over this. I’ve already been made to feel like something to be ashamed of. And I’m not doing it again.”
He watches me for a second, and I can see the storm in his head, every emotion flickering across his face.
“I’m not going back into the closet, Nathan. Not for anyone.”
My heart thuds in my chest. I want to tell him I’m not ashamed of him, that I’ve loved every minute of the time we spent together.
That I’m just… scared. Scared of how much will change and how everyone’s perspective of me will shift when they realize I’m not the person they thought I was.
That he sees me for who I am and it scares the hell out of me how much I feel for him.
But I don’t say any of that, because his words ring in my head, and I feel like I’m going to be sick.
“What are you saying?” I ask, barely managing to get the words out. “Are you… breaking up with me?”
Logan shrugs. It’s the saddest shrug I’ve ever seen. “How can we break up if we were never together?”
My stomach drops.
He looks away, running a hand down his face. “Fuck. I just wanted someone who’d choose me. For fucking once in my life, I want someone who chooses me.”
I don’t know how to prove to him that he’s the only person on this goddamn planet that I would choose. That he’s changed me. That I don’t even know who I am without him anymore. That when I think of what I want my life to look like, it’s him. In my bed. On the couch. At games. At my fucking side.
He’s the only person who’s ever made me feel like me. Not the guy I’m supposed to be, or the one my dad expects, or the one my team knows. Just… me.
But I know that’s not enough.
Because what he wants—what he deserves—is someone who can love him out loud.
I wish I were the guy who could take his hand in a crowded room without thinking, who could look at him with the whole world around us and not feel that panic claw up my throat.
And it kills me that I can’t give him that yet, because he has already given me so much. Happiness I didn’t know I was capable of. A version of myself I didn’t think existed.
And I know I’m losing him.
I move without thinking, reaching for him because I can’t stand the distance, especially when it feels like something is slipping through my fingers and I’m too slow to grab it.
My hands reach for him before I can stop them, my fingers curling gently around his jaw. His skin is warm beneath my touch, a little flushed from the drinking, but it’s his eyes that gut me.
Those gorgeous green eyes I keep dreaming about.
They’re tired. Sad.
Done.
I step closer and wrap my arms around him, pulling him into me, like maybe if I hold him tight enough, he won’t leave. If I stop being a coward for one goddamn second, he’ll believe me when I say he matters.
He stiffens for a moment, but then his body sags against mine and he buries his face in the curve of my neck, his fingers gripping the back of my hoodie.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and the words scrape out like they’re being torn from my chest. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
I’m sorry I’m such a coward. I’m sorry I can’t love you in the daylight just yet. You deserve someone who does. You deserve everything.
His breath hits my neck. “Me too.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, holding him close, wishing I could be braver, wishing tonight didn’t have to end like this, but knowing it’s too late.