March 9, 2020—Seattle, Washington—One Year and Eight Months Later #4
And as the words drifted into the quiet, Logan closed his eyes, finally finding a moment of peace in the chaos.
The next night, Logan walked into the bar later than usual, moving with the kind of deliberate slowness that came from too many thoughts and too little patience for them.
He scanned the room, bypassing the barstools, ignoring the glances of a few regulars, and choosing a table in the farthest, most uninviting corner.
It was the kind of seat most people avoided—dimly lit, half-forgotten, tucked into the shadows where no one bothered to look twice. Tonight, that suited him just fine.
The place wasn’t much. It never had been.
The neon sign outside sputtered weakly against the night, its glow barely cutting through the grime-streaked windows.
Inside, the air carried the familiar mix of stale beer, cigarette smoke that had long since seeped into the walls, and something faintly metallic, like old coins left too long in a pocket.
It wasn’t classy. It wasn’t even comfortable.
But it was close to his office, and more importantly, it was familiar.
A place with no expectations, no forced conversations, no one who cared enough to ask questions.
His colleagues wouldn’t be caught dead here. That was the best part.
He scowled at the cornered table, resentment twisting his mouth as he dropped into the chair. Damn that bartender. Logan had claimed this bar long before he had, and now, thanks to their last encounter, he was exiled to the edges like some unwelcome stranger.
The waitress appeared, jotting down his usual order.
Logan barely acknowledged her, already sinking into his own thoughts, pulling at the collar of his shirt like it was suffocating him.
Then, his phone buzzed. Again. A useless habit—checking it, expecting something, waiting for a call that would never come.
Like the ocean itself would decide to return something it had already taken.
And then, a voice.
“Hey.”
Logan looked up.
The bartender stood there, two glasses of whiskey in hand, his expression unreadable. For a moment, the hum of the bar faded, the world narrowing down to just the two of them. There was something in the way he looked at Logan.
Logan ignored him, his eyes returning to the phone in his hand.
He scrolled absentmindedly, trying to silence the pulse of awareness thrumming in his chest. His thumb tapped across the screen until it landed on his favorite video.
The video was old, a memory he couldn’t let go of.
Adrian, effortlessly paddling through the ocean off the coast of Australia, his figure cutting through the waves with ease.
Logan watched as Adrian balanced on his board, the sun casting a golden glow over his tanned skin.
And then, in a flash, the board slipped from beneath him, and he tumbled into the water, swallowed whole by the swell of the wave.
But what hit Logan hardest wasn’t the fall.
It was the laughter that followed. Adrian’s carefree laughter, light and free, as if the world couldn’t touch him. Couldn’t touch them.
The sound of a chair scraping the floor as it was drawn back cut Logan’s memory, the one where he heard Adrian’s laughter in his mind and not through the speakers. The bartender sat down across from him without waiting for an invitation.
Logan locked his phone screen and gazed at him.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice softer than Logan expected, then slid the drink to Logan, who caught it but merely for a second before letting go.
“I waited for you last night throughout my shift.” Logan hadn’t replied.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” the young man continued.
“I waited for you last night.” He said again.
“Even stayed two hours after my shift. When you didn’t show… I was very upset.”
Logan didn’t respond, his gaze staying fixed on the bartender’s face. He sighed, clearly trying to fill the silence, but Logan wasn’t ready to say anything back yet.
“I’m really sorry about the other night.” He continued.
Logan nodded to him.
“I’m glad you’re here,” the bartender continued like he needed to fix whatever crack had formed between them. “So... are you coming back to the bar? This table doesn’t really suit you. You’re more of a barstool kind of guy.”
Logan smirked, raising the glass the bartender had slid toward him. “I’m guessing this one’s on the house?”
The bartender grinned, his eyes flickering with something that Logan couldn’t ignore. “Nope. This one’s on Zack,” he said. “I’m Zack, by the way.”
Logan gave a single nod. “Logan.”
The silence that followed felt different this time, like something unsaid was hanging between them.
Zack’s attention flickered to the bar, but it didn’t last long.
Logan noticed the way Zack’s hair was slicked back, shiny and dark, and the sharp lines of his jaw, a little stubble lining his face. He looked good. Too good.
“So,” Zack’s voice lowered, a little huskier now. “What do you say, Logan? Are you joining me at the bar?” Voice suggestive.
Logan felt a sudden spark of excitement flicker in his chest as his eyes tracked Zack’s movements.
The black button-down shirt Zack wore clung to his body in all the right ways, accentuating the lines of muscle beneath.
The top buttons were undone just enough to show a hint of his chest, the sleeves rolled up casually, exposing forearms thick with strength.
Logan’s gaze followed the way Zack’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he spoke, a subtle, rhythmic motion that drew his focus.
His eyes then drifted to the cross necklace hanging loosely around Zack’s neck, the metal catching the light in the low-lit bar.
Logan couldn’t look away.
“Tell you what,” Logan circled his finger around the rim of his glass, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “For now, I’m good here. But tomorrow… maybe I’ll sit at the bar. You won’t have to wait to see me then.”
Zack’s grin widened, and Logan finished his drink. “Another. Please.”
Zack took the empty glass and stood up, his height and broad shoulders filling the space around him. As he walked away, Logan’s eyes followed, taking in the way Zack moved, the way his jeans clung to his hips, the confident swagger in every step.
Logan couldn’t help but watch as Zack ignored the rest of the bar and the long lines of patrons that had piled up during the moments that they’d talked, as he poured the drink with deliberate ease.
As their eyes met across the room, Zack gave him a slow, teasing wink.
Logan felt a jolt of heat shoot through him, his body reacting instinctively, tightening in his pants.
Everything about Zack screamed “Bad Boy”—the raw confidence, the daring smirk, the mystery.
There was a wildness in his presence, an allure that was both dangerous and magnetic.
Logan could feel the pull, the rush, the undeniable drawing toward something unfamiliar, something thrilling.
Zack exuded sex in every movement, and it was impossible for Logan to look away.
It was a subtle thing, but it was enough to make Logan’s pulse quicken. Something was happening, something neither of them had fully acknowledged yet. But Logan could feel it—something had shifted.