He wanted to see Tate. He needed to see for himself that he was still there—still here with me. And until he got that, he was going nowhere.
Trying to occupy himself, he undid the buttons at his wrists and started to roll the sleeves up his arms. When he was halfway done with the second, the double doors pushed open and the woman he’d ironically been hoping would walk out…did.
Diana Cline—or should he say, Diana Morrison—stopped just outside the doors and scanned the waiting room. Her eyes hadn’t found him yet, and as Logan got to his feet, he noted that Tate’s ex looked terrible.
Her hair was in a mess of a bun on top of her head, she was dressed in baggy sweatpants, and the sweater she had on looked three sizes too big. She looked like a woman who’d been sitting at home and had to suddenly drop everything and go somewhere.
Diana looked as bad as he felt.
When her eyes finally skidded to a stop and latched on to his, his palms started sweating and he had to move them to his pants to wipe them. This was it. This was the moment he’d been waiting for. The moment where, if he needed to, he’d grovel at her feet to see Tate—even if it was only for a second.
He took a step toward her, and when her eyes widened, Logan raised a hand, trying to convey he was…what? Coming in peace?
Diana’s chin started to quiver as he continued to approach her. Her red-rimmed eyes blinked frantically, and Logan’s pulse picked up. He was so close, but just as he opened his mouth to say something, she clutched her handbag across her body, turned, and ran out the automatic doors.
Fuck. “Diana!” he called out. No. Damn it, he thought as he watched her go.
He was two seconds away from chasing after her when the doors opened again and there, standing directly in front of him, was Tate’s father.
“Mr. Mitchell, isn’t it?”
Logan dropped his hand to his side and tried to get his mouth to work. But as he stood before Mr. Morrison, all he could think about was the last time he’d seen this man and that he had Tate’s eyes.
Then he said something Logan had never expected to hear. “We need to talk.”
Logan followed Tate’s father over to an empty area in the waiting room. Rachel’s eyes were on them, and Logan gave a small nod of his head, indicating that he was okay, before he took a seat opposite the exhausted-looking man.
“Is he okay?” Logan rushed out, not knowing what he was there to say but needing to ask someone who’d seen him.
“He’s in rough shape.”
“If you’re here to tell me to leave, you can forget it,” he said. “I’m not going until I see him. If I have to wait two days, two weeks, two fucking months—I’m not leaving.”
Tate’s father held his hand up and nodded grimly. “I’m not here to tell you to leave.”
Logan swallowed back his next argument and instead asked, “You’re not?”
Mr. Morrison met his gaze head on, reminding Logan so much of his son. There was no argument Tate would back down from, and Logan could see where he’d gotten his determination.
“No, I’m not. I’m here to tell you that we’re leaving.”
Logan narrowed his eyes and sat back. “I don’t understand.”
“In a couple of hours, I’m going to take Tate’s mother and his sister home to get some food and get cleaned up. Then I’ll bring them back this afternoon around four.”
As what he was telling him sank in, Logan was at a complete loss for words. This was the last person he’d expected to show compassion. Never in a million years would he have guessed that Tate’s father would be the one to let him in to see his son—yet that was exactly what he was doing. Isn’t it?
Just to make certain, Logan said cautiously, “I can’t get back without—”
“They have your name,” Mr. Morrison said, and then he stood.
Logan looked up at the tall man towering over him, and in that moment, he felt the tears he’d been holding back since the moment he’d answered Cole’s call slide down over his cheeks. The gift this man had just extended to him was…was…
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I’m still not on board with all of this, but Diana mentioned that, just before his surgery, Tate regained consciousness for a few seconds. The last thing he said before they put him under was, ‘Tell Logan yes.’”
Logan brought a hand to his mouth and clamped it over his lips, trying to hold back the overwhelming heartache those words had caused. Even while lying on an operating table, in and out of consciousness, Tate had reached for him.
“I don’t know what he was talking about, but this is my way of honoring his words. I’m telling you yes. You can go in there. See him, talk to him, but don’t be there when I bring his mother back. If you can do that, I’m happy for you to try to get my boy to wake up.”