Chapter 6 #5
Logan’s fists clenched until his nails dug into his palms, his throat tight as he fought to keep his expression calm.
But the sight of Itay’s arm around Adrian, the way his hand settled so comfortably on Adrian’s back, made his vision pulse with anger.
He forced himself to breathe, jaw tight, every muscle twisted to the breaking point as he glared at the place where Itay’s hand lingered, resting on Adrian like a brand Logan wanted to rip away.
Adrian, noticing the tension, casually slipped from Itay’s grip, stepping out of his hold, but Itay didn’t flinch, didn’t seem fazed at all.
He looked at Logan then, eyes narrowing in a way that felt like a challenge, and muttered something else in Hebrew, his gaze flicking up and down, assessing, dismissive.
“Speak English,” Adrian muttered, barely hiding his irritation.
Itay frowned, giving Logan a look full of quiet disdain. “Speak English, Logan doesn’t understand you,” Adrian insisted, voice clipped.
The indifference in Itay’s eyes dissolved into annoyance as he stared at Logan with the same dagger-sharp look, as if Logan were an interloper, a stranger trespassing into something sacred.
Logan could feel his hands curling again, an instinct to retaliate thrumming under his skin, but he held himself back, watching with a barely contained fury as Itay’s expression turned smug.
Itay’s gaze roamed over Logan with a sharp, calculating intensity, as if measuring him, weighing the impact of his presence, gauging the intrusion he might represent.
Then his eyes dropped, settling on Logan’s wrist—and in a heartbeat, his hand shot out, gripping Logan’s wrist with a force that was almost desperate.
His face contorted as he stared at the bracelet, horror flickering across his features before he turned to Adrian, his expression unraveling into something far more wounded, raw, a depth of pain Logan had yet to see.
Itay’s gaze lingered on Adrian, fractured, as though each look cost him something.
His eyes glistened, catching the light, unshed tears brimming but refusing to fall, as though he were holding back a tide of words and memories too heavy to voice.
In that moment, a silent exchange passed between them, a conversation spoken only in the fragile language of old hurt and shared history.
Logan felt the power of it, felt himself pushed to the margins of a story he couldn’t understand, yet couldn’t escape.
“Yalla!” Dean called from the bus, snapping the tension. “C’mon, all of you. Boards are loaded, and we’re burning daylight!” Dean called in English.
Itay dropped Logan’s hand and walked away, the silence he’d left behind roaring.
The group started moving toward the bus, but Logan stayed back, grabbing Tom by the arm, hoping the thread of trust they’d begun to form would hold.
“Wait,” he said, his voice low, rough. He couldn’t tear his gaze from Adrian and Itay, couldn’t shake the searing image of Itay’s hands on Adrian.
“Are Itay and Adrian…?” He couldn’t finish the question; words faltered before the tumult of fear and anger simmering within him.
Yet, the way Itay’s touch brushed Adrian’s skin, the gaze they exchanged, it whispered of depths unfathomable, a silent symphony of intimacy.
The hurt shimmering in Itay’s eyes revealed a grief too profound for words, echoing the silent grief of a man mourning a lost loved one.
Tom hesitated, glancing at Adrian, who was busy talking to Dean. “Look, Logan, maybe you should talk to Adrian. It’s not my place,” he said softly, but Logan’s expression was relentless, silently demanding an answer.
With a resigned sigh, Tom looked back at him.
“Itay… and Adrian. They were… Itay… he shouldn’t have come.
They were…” Tom trailed off, his voice quiet, as if sharing a confession.
But Logan barely heard him. His pulse drummed against his ribs, too loud, too uneven, as if his body had turned traitor.
Heat gathered in his chest, not the clean burn of sun on skin, but something sourer, something that clenched his jaw tight.
Tom placed a hand on Logan’s shoulder, trying to steady him. “But whatever they had, it’s over,” he added, trying to calm the wildfire Logan could feel swelling in his chest.
Logan stalked toward the bus, each step heavy, anger and jealousy thrumming under his skin.
He shoved his board into the bus’s trunk without looking, as if the motion could burn off the heat rising under his skin.
His thoughts snagged on last night: the way Adrian had held him, touched him in the dark with a tenderness that felt unrepeatable, as if it belonged only to them.
This morning, Adrian had been wrapped around him, breathing him in, tangled so closely that doubt had no room to breathe.
But now he felt that connection slipping, tainted by the presence of someone who had once owned Adrian’s heart and, as it seemed, had no intention of letting him go.
Adrian caught Logan’s eye as he stepped onto the bus, something unspoken flickering there, half-question, half-concern.
Logan held the look, his own gaze sharp, words of so many questions pressing at his throat like broken glass.
He forced them down, lowered himself into the seat next to Adrian, the motion stiff, deliberate.
Logan sat rigid, caught between the memory of Adrian’s hand on him last night and the echo of another man’s touch that morning, both clashing inside him until he could hardly breathe.
“Thanks,” he muttered, not trusting his voice to hold steady.
“Of course,” Adrian said softly. “You’re sitting with me.”
There was no playfulness in his tone, only quiet certainty. Logan felt a rush rise within him, as the warmth of Adrian’s shoulder brushing his, the closeness that sparked something deep in his chest, equal parts comfort and ache.
Itay and Dean had slipped into the row across from them, Itay making sure to snatch the aisle seat to be closer to Adrian. Logan noticed how Itay leaned over to speak, just loud enough to draw Adrian’s attention, their exchanges marked by an easy familiarity that unsettled Logan.
Itay spoke something in Hebrew, which Adrian completely ignored until he repeated it in English. “Did you sleep well last night?”
Adrian responded with a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah,” the dryness in his tone unmistakable. He then turned to Logan, offering a warm smile that conveyed the shared memory of their night together.
“Where are you staying, Adrian?” Itay inquired again.
“We,” Adrian emphasized, “are staying not far from here.” His words were short and noncommittal. Logan couldn’t deny that it made his chest swell with a hint of pride that Adrian wasn’t trying to engage in conversation with his ex.
Then came Jack. Jack sauntered in full of confidence and a big Californian smile that seemed to light the entire bus. He slid into the seat behind Logan and Adrian, stretching long legs with a theatrical sigh of satisfaction.
“Well, damn,” Jack said, voice dipped in playful honey. “I was kinda hoping to sit next to you, Logan.”
Logan blinked, caught off guard, but only for a breath. He turned slightly on his seat, shoulders squaring, lips curving with dry amusement. “Already taken, I’m afraid.”
Next to him, Adrian went still. Not the easy kind of stillness, but the kind that coils under the skin—shoulders taut, jaw tight, his entire body drawing inward like a pulled bowstring.
Logan felt it more than he saw it. When Adrian looked at Jack, the warmth he usually wore like sunlight was gone, replaced by something sharp and glinting, cold fire behind calm eyes.
Jack leaned casually against the seatback, unbothered. “Just sayin’,” he went on, eyes locked on Logan, “I’ve got plenty of room right here.” He patted his thigh, smirking. “We could enjoy the ride, stretch out a little.”
It was more teasing than serious, Logan could tell that. A flirt, maybe half-hearted, maybe not. But the tension it stirred in Adrian was anything but playful.
Adrian’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, fingers twitching like he was holding back something with teeth.
Logan turned back to Jack, a slow grin playing at his lips. “I don’t think a ride with you would be all that impressive.”
The bus erupted in laughter—snorts, whistles, someone slapping the seat.
Jack clutched his chest in mock agony. “Damn, man, breaking hearts before we’ve even left the parking lot.”
Then, with a wink, he tugged at the hem of his shirt and leaned forward again. “In case you get cold… or tired of the view… I’m just a row away. Maybe we can meet up later, just the two of us?”
Logan laughed, shook his head, not unkindly, but next to him, Adrian was granite. Stone-faced. Furious. Maybe it was ridiculous, but Logan felt a thrill crawl up his spine. He loved seeing Adrian like that, possessive, fierce, unfiltered.
Adrian turned, shoulders squared, his voice low enough to cut but not rise. “Back off.”
Jack lifted his palms in mock surrender, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Relax, big guy. Just giving Logan some options.” His tone was light, but the words hung heavy, a spark tossed into dry brush.
Before Adrian could fire again, Logan’s hand found his shoulder. The touch was firm, coaxing him away from Jack’s smirk. “I’m not interested,” Logan said, steady, meeting Jack’s eyes without a blink.
“Suit yourself.” Jack’s grin slipped, but he slouched back into his seat as if nothing mattered.
The bus lurched forward, the windows rattling, the road unspooling along the coast.
Logan sank down beside Adrian, their shoulders brushing in the narrow space.
He leaned close enough for his words to be meant for Adrian alone.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice gentler now, “he’s just being an idiot.
” His shoulder pressed deliberately against Adrian’s, a quiet tether, a promise disguised as something casual.