The curls Tate wore messy and long had clearly come from his father, who wore them cut close to his head. But there was still a noticeable kink there. His weathered features were tan, just like Tate’s complexion, and a moment ago, when he’d smiled across at his son, Logan had recognized the expression as the same easygoing one Tate would flash.
Tate was the spitting image of his father—and for a minute, it had made Logan wonder how he would have measured up if he’d ever had a chance to stand beside his own father.
“I was just telling Dad I want you two to meet,” Tate said, interrupting his thoughts.
Logan cocked his head to the side and eyed him. “Pretty sure we’ve met a few times now.”
“That’s what I told him,” Mr. Morrison said before he raised his glass and took a sip of his drink.
“Okay, smartass,” Tate said to his father. Then he faced Logan. “I meant it would be nice if he got to know you outside of a hospital.”
“Ahh, I see,” Logan said. He then turned to Mr. Morrison and extended his hand. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but when he reached for it, Logan decided that it was about time to make his intentions crystal fucking clear. He clasped it in a strong grip and inclined his head. “I’m Logan, and I’m in love with your son.”
He refused to look away from the man who still had his hand. When Tate’s father shook it, his mouth twitched at the side. And he floored Logan by saying, “Yes. I can see that you are, son.”
Logan wondered if he’d imagined what he just heard, but when Tate put a hand on his back and his lips by his ear, saying, “You can let go of his hand now,” he knew he hadn’t.
Did his dad really just call me son? he thought, and released his hold.
When Tate’s father chuckled, Logan reached for the tumbler in front of him and downed it. So Tate poured another glass for him, clearly sensing he needed it, and then started asking questions.
“You said Mom was over at Jill’s? What’s that about? She didn’t know I was coming.”
“No,” his father agreed. “She didn’t. But ever since…”
As his words faded, Logan lifted his glass back to his lips. He didn’t think what was about to be spoken aloud was going to be anything good, and he wanted to be a little more inebriated before it was voiced.
“Dad?” Tate urged. “Just say it. Ever since what?”
Logan cleared his throat, hoping in some way to dissuade Tate’s father from speaking—it didn’t work.
“Ever since you woke up in the hospital and she found out Logan had been coming to see you—that I had been letting Logan in to see you—things changed.”
Tate rested his hands on the counter and asked, “Changed? How?”
“Tate,” Logan warned softly, not at all comfortable witnessing this conversation.
“It’s okay, Logan. He deserves to know. Your mother… She’s staying with Jill right now.”
“What do you mean?” Tate asked, and then he looked over at Logan as if he knew what was going on—which he certainly did not. “She left because of a decision I made? That’s…that’s—”
“Not what happened,” his father interrupted, grabbing the bottle from Tate. He poured himself a much larger serving than before and then turned to Logan and added to his glass, saying, “He can drive you home. I think you need this as much as I do.”
Awesome, Logan thought and sat his ass down on the barstool at the kitchen island.
“Tell me what happened,” Tate said as his father reached for the pack of cigarettes on the table.
He held them out toward Tate, but he shook his head.
“I quit.”
His father turned Logan’s way and asked, “This your doing?”
Logan wasn’t sure if he was about to get in trouble or be praised, so he stammered a little. “I…ahh…may have mentioned something once or twice.”
Tate laughed at that, and when Logan glanced up at him, he caught him rolling his eyes.
“Do you disagree?”
“No. You just make it sound like you suggested it so nicely.”
“Didn’t I?”
“No. You told me to ‘do us both a fucking favor and quit.’ So I did.”
Logan thought about that and then, arrogant as ever, said, “I don’t see the problem. You quit, didn’t you?”
Tate smirked at him in a way that made Logan feel like they were the only two people in the room. “I did.”
“And I only mentioned it twice.”
Tate poked his tongue into the side of his cheek and nodded. “Sure, counselor.”