Chapter June 27, 2020—Seattle, Washington—One Year and Nine Months Later
The hammering in Logan’s head was relentless, a rhythmic pounding that felt like someone was driving nails into his skull.
He forced his eyelids open, squinting against the dim light filtering through a sheer curtain covering a large window.
The room was unfamiliar, a stranger’s world of mismatched colors and thrift-store charm.
His eyes drifted to the floor, an ugly shade of brown that clashed with a round, threadbare carpet. Nothing about this place jogged his memory. He jolted upright, his heart racing, only to cry out as the pain in his head intensified, shards of glass stabbing behind his eyes.
Where the hell am I?
Logan scanned the room, the layout slowly coming into focus.
It was a loft apartment, open and spacious, with a small kitchen and a cozy living room visible from the bed.
The furniture didn’t match, but the space had a certain warmth, an odd, homey charm.
Tangled white-and-blue sheets clung to him, and the athletic pants and T-shirt he wore weren’t his.
Oh fuck.
The realization hit him like a wave crashing onshore: these weren’t his clothes, nor the ones he’d been wearing last night.
And he couldn’t remember anything past a blur of alcohol and pain.
He tried to piece it together, the pounding in his head growing louder with every failed attempt.
He pushed harder, trying to claw his way back to the moments before the oblivion, and then—
Adrian.
The name sliced through the fog. The video.
The song. Adrian, sitting under the dim lights of an open bar, his voice trembling with raw emotion as he sang about Logan.
About them. About love and heartbreak and longing.
Adrian’s tears, the way his voice cracked with every note, the way his words laid Logan bare.
It was too much to process, and last night, the only way Logan had known how to deal with it was to drink. And drink. And drink.
Now, the memory of Adrian’s face in the video made the ever-present ache in Logan’s chest burn with fresh intensity.
His breath caught, the weight of everything—the lies, the choices, the years—pressing down on him until he thought he might suffocate.
He wanted to curl into himself, to disappear into nothingness.
And yet, a small, desperate part of him wanted to find Adrian and hold him. Just once.
“You finally awake,” a voice cut through the haze, casual and amused. “Morning, sunshine.”
Logan turned toward the voice and saw Zack stepping out of what must have been the bathroom, a small black towel slung low on his hips. Water droplets clung to his chest and shoulders, catching the light as he moved with an effortless confidence.
“Zack?” Logan croaked, his throat dry and raw. “Where am I?”
“My place,” Zack replied easily, crossing to a nearby closet. He began rummaging through it for clothes, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
Logan’s head throbbed with every beat of his heart, and Zack’s words only made the situation more surreal. He felt trapped in a nightmare he couldn’t wake from, a concoction of shame, regret, and the bitter aftertaste of too much whiskey.
“What am I doing at your place? And why am I wearing different clothes?” Logan snapped, his voice laced with anger as he leapt to his feet, swaying slightly as dizziness washed over him.
“Take it easy, big boy,” Zack said, pulling a plain T-shirt over his head.
“Would you tell me already what the fuck I’m doing here, and why?” Logan barked, his tone sharpening as he gestured to the unfamiliar surroundings.
Zack’s expression darkened, and his own irritation bubbled to the surface.
“Hey! Relax!” he shouted back, his voice cutting through Logan’s anger.
“Believe me, I wanted to send you home last night, but you were drunk out of your mind and clingy as hell. You cried like a baby when I tried to put you in a cab and begged me not to send you back. You kept saying you couldn’t handle it anymore. ”
Zack’s voice softened, a flicker of guilt crossing his face as he remembered. “You were a mess, Logan. You wouldn’t stop crying. And then you started calling for someone—Adrian, I think? You kept saying you needed him, that he’d make everything better.”
Logan froze, his face flushing with equal parts humiliation and pain. Adrian. Always Adrian. The name was a ghost in the air, a reminder of everything he’d buried under layers of lies and self-denial.
Zack continued, his tone less biting now. “I couldn’t just send you home like that. You looked so miserable, man. Like, not just the usual ‘drown your sorrows in whiskey’ kind of miserable. It was another level.”
Logan dropped back onto the bed, burying his face in his hands. “I made a complete fool of myself,” he muttered, the words muffled by his palms.
Zack perched on the other end of the bed, shrugging with a wry smirk.
“Not the first time someone’s made a fool of themselves in front of me.
But no, we didn’t… do anything,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“As much as you’re a catch,” he added, rolling his eyes, “I like my partners to be a bit more... responsive. And, you know, not covered in puke.”
Logan groaned, mortified. “I threw up?”
“All over yourself. And my floor,” Zack confirmed, his tone tinged with irritation. “So, yeah, I showered you and put clean clothes on you. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“You showered me?” Logan repeated, his voice cracking as he ran a hand through his hair.
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t letting my sheets get wrecked by your fancy-suit-puke combo. Speaking of which, I threw the suit away. It reeked.”
Logan stood again, swaying slightly as the pounding in his head reached a crescendo. “Where’s my stuff?” he asked, scanning the room. “My phone, wallet, keys?”
Zack gestured toward the kitchen. “On the counter.”
Logan found his way to the kitchen, his steps unsteady. His phone, wallet, and keys were exactly where Zack said they’d be, and his eyes darted around for his shoes.
“Did you toss my shoes, too?” Logan asked, his voice quieter now.
“No. They’re by the door,” Zack replied from the sofa, where he flopped down with a pillow and blanket. Logan realized then that Zack had given up his bed for him and taken the couch instead. The pang of guilt in his chest deepened.
Scrolling through his phone, Logan’s stomach sank as he saw dozens of missed calls and messages from Sandy. He swore under his breath, gripping the edge of the counter to steady himself.
“Zack—” he started, turning to face him.
But Zack waved a dismissive hand without looking up. “Just leave, Logan. You ungrateful son of a bitch.”
Logan couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “I’ll bring the clothes back tomorrow,” he said as he headed toward the door.
He paused, realizing something, and turned back. “Zack, my underwear—?”
“Just keep the damn clothes and leave!” Zack barked, throwing a pillow in Logan’s general direction.
Logan chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he slipped on his shoes.
As he stepped out into the blinding light of the day, the weight of last night—and everything it meant—settled heavily on his shoulders.
He went straight to his car, knowing that he maybe should not be driving now, but not really caring.
Anyway, it seemed that he vomited the majority of the alcohol he had consumed.
Logan gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles pale against the worn leather as he navigated the quiet streets.
Zack’s words echoed in his mind, fragments of last night piecing together.
He felt the weight of them pressing down on his chest, but he drove anyway, the hum of the engine filling the silence.
The morning sun cast long shadows, the light too sharp for the heaviness clinging to him.
When he pulled into the driveway, Sandy burst out of the house like a storm, her face streaked with tears.
She reached him before he could fully step out of the car, throwing her arms around him in a crushing embrace.
He froze for a moment, caught off guard by the wetness of her tears soaking into the borrowed shirt.
“Oh, God, Logan!” she cried, her voice breaking.
“I was so worried! I called you all night! Are you—are you okay?” She pulled back just enough to cup his face in her hands, her eyes wide and searching.
“I didn’t know what to do. I thought… I was so scared something terrible had happened.
I wanted to call the police or your dad—”
Logan stiffened, his jaw tightening. “Did you call my dad?” he snapped, his voice sharper than he intended.
Sandy blinked, her lips parting in shock. “Wha—?”
“Sandy, did you call my dad?” he demanded, his tone rising. “You can’t do that. I’m not a teenager. I have responsibilities. I don’t need him meddling—”
“I didn’t!” she interrupted, her voice cracking. “I didn’t call anyone!”
The words hung between them for a moment before Logan exhaled slowly, his shoulders slumping.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice quieter now.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.
” He pulled her back into a hug, his movements stiff and automatic.
“I’m fine. I just slept at a friend’s place. ”
“A friend?” she asked, her voice uncertain.
“Yeah,” Logan said, stepping back and forcing a small smile. “I had some drinks, didn’t feel great, so I crashed on his couch.”
Sandy’s eyes brimmed with fresh tears, her lips trembling as she tried to speak. “Logan—”
“Everything’s fine,” he cut in quickly, his words clipped. “I’m fine, Sandy. Sorry for scaring you. I’m just late for work.” Without waiting for her response, he turned and jogged into the house.