Trust (Temptation #3)(64)

When Logan straightened, Tate felt a keen sense of déjà vu, and he noticed that Logan was wearing his leather jacket. His lips curved as he nodded up at him and said, “You dared me to.”





* * *





How does he know that? Logan stared down at Tate’s upturned face and couldn’t resist the urge to touch him again. He ran his fingers across one of his eyebrows and down the side of his cheek to his chin. Does that mean he heard me talking every night?

“And how would you know that?”

Tate seemed almost as confused as he felt, and then he shrugged his non-bandaged shoulder. “Dunno. Will…” he started but coughed.

Logan looked around and spotted a pad of paper and a pen. He brought it back and gave it to Tate. “Don’t try to talk right now. Write it.”

Tate took the pen and scrawled on the pad: Tell me what happened?

Logan read the request and sat back in the chair. “No one has told you?”

Haven’t asked. Wanted to see you.

“So badly you didn’t ask why you were in the hospital? Have to say, you’re doing wonders for my ego right now.”

Tate wrote something else, and Logan peered over at it and chuckled.

“You don’t look so great yourself, FYI. But I suppose that’s acceptable after being hit by a car.”

When Tate winced, Logan nodded. “Yeah. If you think for one fucking minute I’m letting you ride that damn bike of yours again, forget it.”

Tate sighed and then wrote: How long have I been here?

“It’s the third of September, so nearly a month,” Logan answered as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Tate’s eyes became so wide that, if it weren’t so tragic, it would’ve been comical. Logan couldn’t begin to imagine how he was feeling. He’d had a hard enough time waiting for Tate to recover. How must it have felt to be the one waking from pretty much a month of his life gone?

Trying to lighten the mood a little, Logan shrugged. “Yeah. And I never thought I’d say this, but you need a haircut.”

Tate glanced down his body to the tabs stuck to his chest and his bandaged arm then brought his eyes back to his.

“Yep, you went all out. Broken ribs, broken clavicle, couldn’t breathe on your own. I mean…” Logan stopped as he remembered Tate lying there with tubes taped to his mouth and ribs and the machines surrounding his head, and he lost his ability to keep it cool. “Fuck, Tate, I thought you were going to die… It was…”

“Hey,” Tate’s voice rasped, and Logan looked into his solemn eyes before Tate lowered them to write on the paper.

Sorry you went through that.

Logan sat forward to rest his elbows on the bed and pressed his lips to his steepled hands. “It was worth every hellish hour just to see you awake and looking at me again.”

When Tate reached out a hand to touch his, Logan took it. “My parents?”

Logan grimaced at that question and shook his head. “Have been here every day.”

The scowl on Tate’s face had Logan rubbing a hand over his own. He understood that reaction. It had been his at first too. But after having a month to comprehend the anguish they must’ve been feeling, he had—

Did you call them?

Logan rebuffed that with a shake of his head. “No. But that brings up a very important discussion you and I need to have. Your emergency contact is still listed as Diana.”

“Shit.”

Logan gave him a tight smile. “Yes. Getting in to see you was a fucking nightmare. I was going out of my mind. But…” He let his next words loop in his head before he said them out loud. He wasn’t quite sure how Tate would react to them. “Your father gave permission for me to be back here in the evenings, but only after they would leave. Your mother still doesn’t know.”

A flush of annoyance colored Tate’s cheeks and his jaw tightened.

Logan tried to calm him by saying, “He was pretty decent, all things considered.”

Tate grabbed the paper out of his hand and furiously wrote. When he thrust it back at him, his eyes were alight with anger.

Permission? I’m not fucking ten. Where have you been this whole time?

Logan ran a hand through his hair then said softly, “Out in the general waiting room.”

“For a fucking month?” Tate’s voice cracked around the words.

“Hey,” Logan said, and trapped Tate’s hands between his palms. “I got to see you every night. That got me through.”

Logan kept his eyes on Tate’s, making sure he knew he was telling him the truth, but when Tate’s eyes started to fill and a lone tear slipped free, Logan wiped it away.

“Don’t you cry for me. It’s time for you to get better. I now have your permission to be in here whenever the hell I want, and you know what? There will be no slacking, Mr. Morrison. It’s time for you to come home.”