She’d done it again. Not only had she done it to him, but she’d done it in front of Tate.
Logan closed his eyes, willing himself to get a hold on his anger and not let Tate see how much he was fucking hurt. Not like this behavior is unusual for her. This is her “thing.” This is what she does.
She’d accused him tonight of being a hunter, and it was no surprise he’d turned out that way. He’d learned from the best.
“Logan?”
Finally, Tate’s voice broke through as he took his arm and ushered him toward the elevator. He didn’t respond though; he had nothing to say.
What is there to say?
It wasn’t until they were seated in the back of the taxi and Tate had gently touched his thigh that Logan turned his way.
“Hey.”
As Logan stared over at the man seated beside him, he was numb. No matter how many times he told himself not to let her in, she always, always, managed to weasel her way inside to pull this shit again.
When will I fucking learn?
He looked away from Tate, unable to bear the sympathy in those beautiful, brown eyes, and decided to talk. Maybe, that way, the silence wouldn’t suffocate him where he sat.
“When I was a little boy,” he started, staring out at the traffic as they pulled onto the main street. “My mother used to tell me a story about the scorpion and the fox.” He glanced over to Tate and asked, “Have you heard it?”
Tate shook his head and reached for his hand. Logan let him take it, but unlike earlier, there was no sexy flirtation here, no tension buzzing in the cab—just silence as Tate waited for him to continue.
“One day, there was a scorpion, and he was walking along the riverbank, searching for a way to cross. He looked around everywhere, but no matter which way he decided on, he knew it would mean instant death for him. That was until he spotted the fox. Casually, the scorpion walked over to him and struck up a conversation with the animal. He asked him to help him cross the river, but being a cunning and smart animal, the fox told the scorpion, ‘No. Why would I help you? You’ll only end up stinging me and then I’ll drown. Sorry. I just can’t do that.’ The scorpion disagreed profusely, swearing his honest intentions. ‘No, no, you have me all wrong. I’d never do something like that. I need you to help me cross the river. If I sting you and you die, then we both drown. So no, I don’t want to harm you, fox. I merely want us to both get across the river.’”
Logan looked at Tate and saw that he was frowning. He was totally caught up in the story he was telling, but Logan knew he was also wondering why he was reciting an old fable from his youth—but he would soon understand, just as he eventually had.
“The fox thought over the scorpion’s proposal and decided that maybe he had a point. Why would he endanger himself in such a way? So he agreed. ‘Sure. Hop on,’ he said, and the scorpion climbed onto his back. The fox then started across the river, believing that his leap of faith had paid off—until halfway over, when he felt the biting sting of a traitor at his neck and poison started to seep through his veins. Unable to comprehend why the scorpion would have done such a thing, knowing it would ultimately mean death for himself as well, the fox asked, ‘Why? Why have you betrayed me in such a way? Now, you too will drown.’” Logan stopped and caught Tate’s eyes as the tale ended the same way it always did. “‘I couldn’t help it,’ the scorpion said, offering no apologies. ‘It’s my nature.’”
As his words sank in, Logan took his hand from Tate’s and ran it over his face. He then looked out the window and whispered into the night, “The only thing she failed to mention to the child was that he was the fox and she was the scorpion.”
Chapter Ten
When Friday morning rolled around, Tate found himself sitting at Logan’s kitchen island after he’d left for work, much the same way he had for the past several days.
Ever since the cab drive home on Monday, Logan had been different. He wasn’t avoiding him or ignoring him in any way. In actuality, he’d been spending every moment he had free with him. But something had changed.
The usual arrogance that was always lying just below the surface, ready to be unleashed, had vanished. It was as if Evelyn’s visit had snuffed out the spark that usually lit him up so vividly, and he just wasn’t his Logan.
Trying to distract himself, Tate had brought over the paperwork he’d been putting off for the past week—Diana’s divorce papers. When he’d finally finished filling them out, he placed them in one pile and then looked at a second piece of paper he’d received yesterday. One of equal importance.