Logan nodded. “Also cashews and almonds, salted.”
Sherry’s brow arched as he stepped around her, and then she asked, “What? No, salty nut jokes?”
Logan walked out of his office and placed a hand to his chest, his mouth falling open. “Why, Sherry, I’m appalled. I would never…”
Shaking her head at him, she went to her desk, and he saw a small smile curl the edge of her mouth. “It’s good to have you back, Mr. Mitchell.”
Logan chuckled and turned on his heel to head to Cole’s office, telling her, “It’s good to be back.”
* * *
Tate almost jumped out of his skin when three knocks sounded on Logan’s—no, their—front door. Wow, is that weird to think about.
When he reached for the handle, he reminded himself that this was now his home. No one had the right to make him feel uncomfortable in it. But as he came face to face with his father, all of those confident you-can-do-it words went right out the open door.
“William.”
Tate gave a curt nod and then moved aside. “Do you want to come in?”
His father’s eyes shifted beyond his shoulder, and when they came back to his, Tate said, “If you’re checking to see if Logan’s here, you’re in luck. He went back to work today.”
“I know.”
As those two words registered, Tate’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean you know?”
“He told me he was going back today when you were released from the hospital.”
Tate wasn’t sure why that piece of information totally pissed him off, but it did. He gnashed his teeth together and waited in stubborn silence as he faced off with the man who had essentially thrown him out of his life only months before.
“I asked him because I wanted to know if anyone would be caring for you when you left.”
It shamed Tate to feel the way he did in that moment, because instead of the concern he should’ve felt for his parent’s anxiety, he just felt rage. He was furious at them.
Angry for the way they’d treated him the weekend he’d brought Logan home. Hurt at the easy way they’d cut him off as though he didn’t exist, and after he’d been lying in a fucking hospital room, dying—they’d dared to ban the one person who gave a shit about him and had taken it upon themselves to control his life.
Well, fuck that.
He hadn’t had a real opportunity to relay his particular feelings about it all, but he’d be damned if he welcomed them back into his life as if nothing had happened. Not that his mother had even bothered to show up.
Before he exploded right there in the hall for everyone to hear, Tate walked back into the condo, leaving his father to either come inside or leave. He wasn’t going to beg him to stay.
When he reached the balcony doors, Tate turned and saw him standing in the living room. It felt weird to have him there. His father’s eyes seemed to get stuck on the bedroom door, and Tate wondered what he was thinking.
“What do you want?”
“Son—”
“Don’t,” Tate interrupted through grit teeth. “You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore.”
His father had the decency to look ashamed. Tate wasn’t sure, but he was almost positive that he was remembering the afternoon he’d told him to leave and never come back.
“Tate,” he said, this time using his middle name, the one given to him from his side of the family. “I…” he trailed off as if he weren’t sure what to say and then scrubbed a hand over his tired face.
Tate shoved his hand into the pocket of his jeans while he waited for his father to speak. When his eyes finally made their way back to his, Tate decided that enough was enough.
“Look, I’m fine, okay? You’ve seen me. I didn’t die. Now you can leave.”
“Stop it, Tate.”
“Stop what?” he boomed back at him. “God. How dare you,” he said and turned away, unable to look at the face so similar to his own. “Do you know how many days I’ve waited for you and Mom to call me? To maybe stop by my old apartment and see me since you kicked me out of your house?”
When his father didn’t answer, Tate faced him head on and said, “Every fucking day. But you know what I’d tell myself when Sunday rolled around and I’d hear nothing? That you were the ones who got rid of me. You threw me out. Not only out of your house. But out of your lives.”
“Tate—”
“I’m not done,” he snapped, walking across the room to where his father stood. “You’re standing in Logan’s home right now, which, coincidently, is also mine. And you’re standing here because he has the kind of heart that you lack, an open one. He invited you here to his place when you were so quick to throw him out of yours. That’s one of the reasons why I love him.”