22. Not Enough #3
I lean forward, my voice as defensive as it is sincere. “No. Because we belong together, that’s why!”
Logan inhales a sharp breath beside me, and his hand slides under the table to soothingly stroke my thigh.
“Besides, you’re one to talk.” I glare at my brother and Lane, and the unspoken words poison the air between us. You fucked my best friend behind my back, even when I asked you not to.
Tears burn behind my eyes. I don’t know why I’m getting so upset. I don’t care about my brother’s opinion; this is what I want, regardless of what he thinks.
Logan puts a steady hand on the small of my back, grounding me and pushing the threat of tears away. I look up at him gratefully and scoot closer, lining up our bodies. His warmth calms me down further.
Mason shakes his head with a bitter smile. “You’re delusional. You’ve got it all twisted in your head.”
I don’t know how to convince him otherwise, but maybe what he needs is time to process. This is a lot to take in, and knowing my brother, once his anger has been sparked, it’s hard to douse it.
“Does Mom know?” he asks with a strained smirk, fully aware that this is a sore spot.
Logan visibly flinches against my side. I know Mom’s opinion bothers him, which makes sense, I guess. They used to be in love, which is hard to imagine now, and considering the type of relationship he now has with her son, it’s, um… a lot.
“No, Mom doesn’t know,” I say, and Mason scoffs.
“She’s going to freak the fuck out. You think I’m upset? Just wait until she finds out.”
A spike of anxiety shoots through me. “Don’t tell her. If it comes to that, we’ll tell her ourselves.”
“If it comes to that?” Mason raises a brow. “So you were just going to keep this a secret forever?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble. A few weeks ago, being with Logan like this seemed impossible, and I haven’t had time to think about what I’ll tell Mom.
Lane puts a hand on Mason’s arm. He doesn’t say anything, just looks up at him. Apparently, he’s cast some magic spell on my brother, because Mason rolls his eyes and relaxes again.
“Fine. I won’t tell Mom.”
Logan and I both exhale in relief.
“Anyway, I’m done here.” Mason stands up, pulling Lane with him. Frowning for a second, he seems to change his mind and leans over the table, eyes fixed on Logan. “If you walk away from him again, it will destroy him.”
“I know,” Logan says, voice low. “I won’t hurt him. That, I promise.”
Mason’s eyes narrow, but Logan’s words seem to be reassurance enough for now. He grabs Lane’s hand and starts pulling him out of the café. Lane throws me an apologetic look over his shoulder and mouths, “Text me,” before they both leave.
When I turn to Logan, he looks shaken, like he’s seen a ghost, but when he notices my gaze, he gives a small smile and squeezes my thigh.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I mumble, gaze downturned. “It just… kind of sucks.”
“He needs time.”
I shrug. “Maybe. Or maybe he’ll never accept us.”
“Would that bother you?”
“Wouldn’t it bother you?”
Logan sighs. “Of course it would. I just thought… You two were never very close.”
“I know.”
We’re quiet for a while, our drinks forgotten. I want to be close to him, want him to hug me and stroke my hair and kiss me, but that might make him uncomfortable. This is hard enough as it is.
I feel like the whole world is against us. Not only are we two men, but the other aspects of our relationship—the age difference and the complicated nature of our past—will never go away.
Even if Mason and my mom won’t accept us or give us their blessing, I know what I want. My conviction isn’t what I’m worried about; it’s Logan’s. I don’t want to doubt him, but when the risk of losing him again resurfaces in my mind, I can’t help it.
I lean against him, heart pounding from the heat of his body and the longing in my heart. I always yearn for him, even when we’re together. He has no idea… No idea how much I want this. I can tell him a hundred times, and it still wouldn’t be enough.
“Are you ready to go home?” he asks, and I shake my head.
Knowing what I need, he pulls me into a hug. He tucks my head into his chest and rests his chin on the top of my head. He holds me like that for a few moments, stroking my hair, enveloping me in his safety and warmth. I tilt my head up, eyes catching on his mouth.
“I want a kiss, Daddy,” I whisper.
He stiffens against me and clears his throat. “Not here.”
My heart sinks. I want to protest—I do—but the words get stuck in my throat. Other couples kiss in public—why can’t we? What do you think will happen? Are you ashamed of being with me?
I have a thousand arguments, but there’s no use in voicing them if he’s already made up his mind.
How can I convince him he’s not wrong for being with me?
I feel like I’ve already done all I can, said everything I’m able to say.
If it’s not enough for the world, that’s one thing.
But if it’s not enough for him, we have another problem.
No matter what I say, no matter how I reassure him, what if it’s not enough?