Chapter 1
An Ocean on Dry Land
Logan had left the ocean behind, but the ancient streams never stopped pulling at his veins.
Logan Vaughn sat at the busy airport.
He gazed into the distance, his eyes fixed on a point that seemed to vanish into emptiness, surrounded by a world fading into a blur, blurred by the shimmering tears that hung perilously at the edges.
Within him, a chaos of thoughts clamored for recognition, a symphony of mayhem that he strove to silence, yearning instead for the comforting embrace of serenity.
With one hand clutching his phone and the other grasping a bottle of Coke, its chilled, dark liquid remained unspoiled.
Not a single sip had crossed his lips; the mere thought of it loomed large, an insurmountable challenge.
He had purchased it simply to grip something tangible, a distraction to hold onto as he longed for his escape from this place.
His nails pressed into the plastic while he quaked beneath the weight of his inner turmoil.
Logan sat in the bustling airport, surrounded by a whirlwind of travelers rushing to their destinations.
To him, they felt like ghosts, fleeting and insubstantial, their faces a blur as they hurried past. He didn’t see them; he could only sense the chaos they carried with them, a storm of urgency that swirled around him.
A wave of nausea rolled through him, threatening to overwhelm him.
He fought the urge to be sick, trying to focus on the world on all sides.
The burn of unshed tears filled his eyes, and he willed them to stay put.
“Just a bit longer,” he whispered to himself, clinging to the thought like a lifeline.
He was returning to the Vaughn family, and he recalled the lesson he had learned long ago: Be a man.
Men didn’t cry; they faced their challenges head-on.
And so, as he sat there, Logan steeled himself against the anguish within, determined to handle it all, no matter how heavy the weight felt.
The next flight to Seattle would depart in an hour, but Logan had already been waiting for two excruciating hours.
Each minute stretched endlessly, and he could barely catch his breath.
The thought of returning home was a mix of terror and angst, swirling in his chest like a tempest, taking his breath away.
He felt the urge to scream, to unleash all the frustrations and agony that weighed him down, to let out a cry that would pierce the air and lighten his burden.
Just then, his phone buzzed against his leg, the vibration low but enough to send a jolt through his entire body. He glanced at the screen.
Adrian.
The sight of that name conjured a heart-wrenching wave of emotion, making it nearly impossible to hold back the tears.
With eyes tightly shut, he surrendered to the overwhelming pain bearing down on him.
A fierce interplay of heat and cold surged through his body, while his hands trembled uncontrollably, betraying his attempts to maintain composure, showing the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to suffocate his soul.
Logan let the call slip into voicemail, caught in a fierce battle between the yearning for the phone to ring again and the desperate prayer for silence.
He craved a savior to emerge from the shadows, to rescue him from this chaos that engulfed him.
Yet, paradoxically, a part of him longed to escape on that flight, to flee. To go. To run.
Back to Adrian. His brain immediately completed as he thought of running.
Logan fixed his gaze into the void, the phone in his hand vibrating incessantly with calls and messages.
Each buzz seemed to echo the unease lodged deep within him, a reminder of the chaos swirling and building in every fiber of his being.
Memories flickered through his mind, and deep down, he silently called for Adrian, wishing he could conjure him up.
Adrian had a way of grounding him, of bringing clarity to the storm that raged inside.
His heart felt like it was bleeding, aching for connection.
It screamed at him to answer the call, to reach out and find solace in the familiar voice.
He knew that with just the press of a button, everything could feel manageable again.
But still, he hesitated, caught in the tension between his longing for comfort and the weight of his despair.
Logan Vaughn should have answered his phone. But he didn’t.
He hated Adrian for caring so much. For calling non-stop.
7:04 AM
Where are you? Is everything okay?
Lo, answer your damn phone!
Please. Please just tell me you’re okay.
I’m freaking out.
Please. Ahuv sheli, say something. Anything.
Logan. Please.
I’m sorry. If I did something, tell me. Just don’t do this. Not like this.
Logan Vaughn, I swear to God. Talk to me!
What are you doing? Where are you going?
Lo. Please.
You can’t just leave. You can’t do this to me.
7:12 AM
This is us. You and me. Remember? It’s me, Logan.
I’m begging you.
Please, answer the phone!
Please don’t run. Please, not from me. Please pick up the phone!
I love you. Okay? There. I said it again. I LOVE YOU. So now what? You’re gonna disappear on me?!
Logan, please. Come back. Please pick up the phone!
I’m not okay. I can’t breathe.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to lose you.
7:25 AM
Please answer. Please just… let me hear your voice. One word. Are you okay?
No.
Logan was the furthest from okay.
No.
Logan would not answer the phone.
The stream of messages kept strumming to his phone, and Logan lovingly let his fingers brush across the screen as if he could touch them, keep them inside of him where they would forever pump life into his veins.
In the midst of all this suffocating pain, a faint, worn-out smile stretched over Logan’s face, as he could feel Adrian’s worry and care embracing him; the genuine warmth of the man reached inside of him and softened the chill of the isolation, of the unspeakable thing he was about to do.
Logan ached inside and let the tears stream freely down his cheeks.
The quiet, steady loyalty was as unyielding as ever, and Logan knew that he wouldn’t be let go so easily.
And so, with his heart quietly bleeding and his breath trembling like a lone leaf in a chilled winter morning, he typed a message, pressing “send” the very moment his fingers released the last letter.
7:30 AM
I’m fine. At the airport, going back home. Goodbye.
The bitter words read. Every word was a lie, crafted to push Adrian further away, to sever the fraying connection, and to guide Logan back to where he believed he belonged. This was the moment Logan betrayed him, not to wound Adrian but to protect him.
Memories of the night before surrounded him, whispering around the brittle armor of his lonely heart.
His phone vibrated relentlessly, Adrian’s name and the chosen picture flickering on the screen, hunting him with the most beautiful smile and soulful eyes he’d ever seen.
Again, and again.
Logan’s gaze anchored to the display, a tumultuous ache unfurling within him, twisting his stomach in a vice grip, the nausea clawing at his throat like a rising tide.
He craved nothing more than to answer that call, the temptation pulling at him with fierce urgency.
But before succumbing to his foolish desires, Logan’s trembling hand reached for his phone, blocking Adrian’s number as tears streamed down his face, choking him with each sob.
Coward, he spat inwardly, shoving the phone back into his pocket.
He knew his own weakness, knew the pull of Adrian’s voice and the unbearable ache of wanting to respond, the undeniable temptation to let himself be drawn back in. Blocking him was the only way.
Logan rose from the stiff airport chair, running a weary hand through his overgrown hair, letting the tousled sand-blond strands fall haphazardly over his face.
He took one last breath—just one—to steady himself, to hold his cracking resolve in place.
He mindlessly grabbed the small bag he carried with him, a bag he had hastily packed in the quiet, fragile hours of dawn.
A few belongings thrown together with trembling hands as another man, the man he cared about more than he dared admit, slept soundly, unaware of Logan’s silent departure.
With a heart as heavy as a stone sunk in a darkened sea, he moved toward the gate, barely aware as he handed over his passport and ticket to the steward, each motion distant and mechanical.
He boarded the plane, found his seat, and slipped in his earbuds, hands moving almost by memory as he scrolled through his playlist. One song.
There was only one he could bear to hear, a song that once held a quiet comfort but in recent months had swelled into something deeply necessary, its words clinging to him, grounding him, aching with him.
Lifehouse—Everything.
The soft strum of the guitar filled his ears, and with it came a surge of warmth and aching, a quiet comfort that cut deeper than any silence.
The pain in his chest eased, then clenched all over again, unbearable yet oddly soothing, as if both the balm and the wound came from the same place.
And then the chorus began. The raspy, soul-bare voice cut through him, loosening what little control he had left.
The tears he’d managed to cage in the little time it had taken to board the flight slipped free, streaming down his face as if they’d waited just for this—one verse, one aching refrain to finally undo him.
He closed his eyes, his chest heaving, and suddenly it wasn’t the singer’s voice he heard.
It was a different voice entirely, one he knew intimately, one that filled him with memories he couldn’t bear to revisit yet couldn’t escape.
Adrian’s voice roared in the silence of his thoughts, amidst the hum of people moving around.