Chapter 6 #10
The name rose like bile in Logan’s throat, sharp and bitter, weaving itself into every thought, every doubt.
Logan hadn’t asked Adrian not to go. He hadn’t had the right.
But still, it gnawed at him, the way Adrian had made the choice so easily, the way he had walked away, leaving Logan to sit alone at a table meant for two, to finish a meal that had turned cold in his mouth.
It felt like abandonment. Like a quiet kind of rejection.
And maybe that was unfair. Maybe it was selfish.
But as Logan sat there, watching the skyline blur into the sea, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Adrian had made a choice tonight.
And it wasn’t him.
A decision began to form like a closed fist in his mind.
He needed to leave, to go before he sank any deeper into the uncertain depths of whatever they had become.
He rose and walked back toward the cabin, glancing at the time on his phone.
Adrian had been gone just barely an hour, plenty of time for Logan to gather his things and find another place to stay before heading to the airport in the morning.
They needed to break this current that pulled them together; he needed to be on his own.
Back inside, Logan worked quietly, digging through drawstring fabric sacks, shoving his clothes into his duffel without bothering to fold them.
He grabbed his toiletries from the bathroom and stuffed them in, too.
Within minutes, nearly everything he owned was packed up, including his still-damp board shorts, which he shoved into the laundry sacks, not caring if they grew musty.
The door opened, and Adrian stepped inside, his hair damp as if he’d walked through a sudden burst of rain. The wet season could do that here, drenching a traveler without warning.
“Hey,” Adrian said.
Logan didn’t respond. He ducked back into the bathroom, making sure he’d left nothing behind. Adrian continued, as if oblivious to the tension. “What have you been doing tonight?” he asked lightly, noticing Logan unplugging his charger.
Logan ignored him again, slipping the charger into his duffel, followed by his laptop. He could feel Adrian’s eyes on him, searching for an explanation.
“Are you going somewhere?” Adrian asked. There was an unmistakable tremor in his voice, a note of panic that made Logan’s heart pound a little harder.
“Yeah,” Logan said simply, like it was a minor decision, like it hadn’t been boiling inside him for the past hour.
He moved to the chair where he’d been casually tossing clothes since they arrived, now just a makeshift pile of shirts and shorts.
He scooped them into a reusable cotton bag and shoved it into the duffel, not caring how crumpled they got.
“Where?” Adrian asked, his voice quavering as he came closer. Logan could almost sense him reaching out, though he didn’t touch him.
Logan zipped his duffel up, then scanned the room one last time before putting it on.
“I don’t know yet.” Logan’s voice was flat.
Controlled. Too controlled. The lie tasted bitter as it left his mouth.
“I just thought about it and… maybe it was a mistake. Us traveling together. I mean… we barely know each other.” The words took on an angry tone now, it was a failed attempt to use anger to mask the hurt he felt.
“It was nice,” he added, a final stab dressed as politeness. “But I think it’s time we part ways.”
He wouldn’t admit how much he’d miss Adrian or how hard it was to leave. Instead, he turned toward the door, determined to find his own path and break free from the uncertain bond tugging at him from behind.
But Adrian was faster.
In an instant, he was in front of him, planting himself between Logan and the exit like a wall made of heat and heartbreak. His body blocked the doorway, but it was his eyes that stopped Logan cold—wide, wounded, carrying the shape of something cracking open.
“Are you kidding me?” Adrian’s voice landed like a slap, sharp and bright as shattered coral beneath a calm wave. “You’re just leaving? Why? Because I went with my friends?”
He stood too close, close enough for Logan to feel the warmth radiating off him, close enough to catch the scent of alcohol on his breath and the cologne still clinging to his skin. The ghost of laughter followed him in, echoes of the night he chose to share with others.
And suddenly, Logan couldn’t breathe. He imagined Itay’s arm slung casually around Adrian’s shoulders, imagined Adrian smiling in that easy, familiar way he hadn’t smiled at Logan in hours.
It was unbearable.
He felt it again—that bite. Sharp. Merciless. The thought of Adrian choosing that tide over him, floating back into old currents as if Logan had never existed.
And here Adrian was now, blocking the door, eyes wide and voice cracking, asking why.
But Logan didn’t know how to answer. Because the real answer wasn’t about the party. It was about the pain of wanting someone who might still belong somewhere else.
Adrian chose him.
The thought of Adrian caught in Itay’s pull, orbiting someone else’s gravity, sent a hot surge through Logan’s chest, as if something had torn him out of place.
Logan tried to shoulder past him, but Adrian caught him, strong hands gripping tight, refusing to let go.
Beneath Logan’s skin, an undercurrent of frustration and hurt churned, dangerous and unseen.
He twisted free for a second, but Adrian held fast, determined, like a reef catching a stray line and refusing to give it back.
“How dare you?” Logan spat, voice rough. “You’re my only friend here, and you fucking ditched me! You left me alone to go and spend the night with your ex!”
“What are you talking about?” Adrian’s voice cracked, a sudden fault line. “I was gone for, what, an hour?” he pleaded. “Logan—”
“Let me go!” Logan snapped, eyes bright and ferocious. He flung Adrian’s hold off again, as if trying to scatter the memories of Itay’s lingering presence. “Go back to your fucking friends and their damn party! Go back to fucking Itay.”
Adrian’s eyes widened, caught between shock and something else—something deeper, a wound deemed to remain open for all the days to come, denied any chance to heal, left only to burn and ooze.
Logan lunged to open the door, but Adrian slammed it shut, blocking the exit with his body, like a wall of muscle and breath that refused to give way.
“Move!” Logan ordered, voice cutting through the humid air.
Outside, the rain-whispered night waited, heavy and warm, holding its breath.
Inside, Logan’s cheeks burned, not just with anger, but something more complex, something too large to name.
His eyes, shining in the lamplight, revealed not fury but a raw ache beneath the turbulent surface.
“Move!” Logan demanded again, voice just as harsh, just as unyielding.
“No!” Adrian replied, voice stern but not yelling, he was not going to move from that door. “You’re not going like that!”
“Like hell, I’m asking you what to do!”
“Logan—” Adrian started.
“Have you fucked him?” Logan spat.
Adrian saw it then; the ache that lived beneath Logan’s fury, the way every tender truth was buried beneath a blade of words.
He had seen it before, each time Logan’s guard slammed shut: fear igniting into violence, vulnerability breaking into a roar, and shame—worst of all—flaring into a fire that consumed everything within reach, even the things he loved.
Adrian felt something break inside his chest at the sight, like a longboard cracking in a massive wave, leaving him off-balance in the current.
“Logan,” Adrian said softly, voice trembling over the sound of distant surf. “Could it be you’re jealous? ‘Cause it sure as hell looks like it!”
For a moment, Logan froze, and the air between them thickened with unspoken desires and resentments, a salty humidity that pressed in from all sides.
Then Logan’s bag fell from his shoulder and hit the floor with a dull thud.
His hands came up to Adrian’s chest, pushing him hard against the wooden door.
Adrian’s body met the impact, breath hitching, heart pounding, but he did not yield.
“Go to hell, Adrian!” Logan shouted, each syllable tasting like bitterness.
“What could I possibly be jealous about?” He gripped Adrian’s shirt, shaking it as if trying to rid himself of the unwanted images flooding his mind—Adrian’s words in some dark corner with Itay, flashing him that beautiful smile with his molten whisky eyes, memories Logan could not compete with, Itay’s hand traveling over Adrian’s chiseled body, Adrian softly whimpering and moaning under Itay’s familiar touch.
He could have thrown Adrian harder. He could have hurled him off like a breaking wave smashes a swimmer against the reef.
But he didn’t. He held back. It was there in the trembling tension of his muscles, in the way his fury broke against Adrian’s steady gaze.
The storm inside Logan was fierce, but not merciless.
He would not truly hurt Adrian. He wanted him too badly, even if he couldn’t yet understand what that want truly meant.
His breathing was ragged, drawn too fast, like he was gulping air after being tossed beneath a breaking wave.
“Is there something going on between us that I don’t know about?” Adrian asked.
Adrian stood there, trembling, caught between terror and a strange thrill.
Logan’s fury—so raw, so bare—proved that this wasn’t some quiet misunderstanding.
There was a current tugging them together beneath all the half-spoken words and guarded silences.
Adrian’s heart twisted, half terrified, half exhilarated.
He wanted this longing to have meaning, to be something real, something that cut deeper than any surface friendship.