#logan croft

An eclectic collection of sturdy mis-matched chairs were set about, with a low, narrow table lining big bay windows. Emptier than Logan had anticipated for a Sunday morning, he suspected most were either having a slow start to the day or had already gotten their caffeine fix and had jumped into the next part of their routine. The dog park across the street was bustling and, after Logan had ordered his coffee—and a birthday tiramisu—he spent some time watching the dogs and their humans navigate each other.

Drinking slowly, he eventually finished his coffee. The phone set on the counter in front of him remained silent, so Logan ordered a second cup. While he waited for it to brew, his book, t he book, rejected by Goodwill, sat heavy in his satchel, but he kept his bag closed. Instead, he perused a small shelf of books meant to enjoy over a cup and a scone. A thin red and black volume by Audrey Lorde stood out and he pulled it down from the shelf.

Cover and layout achingly familiar, he thumbed through the pages. He owned this edition, tucked away in a plastic tote in the garage for longer than he liked to think about, kept company with stacks of similar books quietly rescued from Kelly’s decluttering efforts. His own copy was just as worn this one, purchased secondhand back in law school.

The barista set a fresh cup on the table next to him and smiled. “Lorde’s great,” she said, gesturing at the book.

Logan nodded, thank ed her for the coffee, then sat and scanned its pages, searching for the words of a fuzzy memory.

Tears burned the edges of his eyes when he found it.

For those of us who were imprinted with fear like a faint line in the center of our foreheads learning to be afraid with our mother’s milk for by this weapon this illusion of some safety to be found the heavy-footed hoped to silence us

For all of us this instant and this triumph We were never meant to survive

And when the sun rises we are afraid it might not remain When the sun sets we are afraid it might not rise in the morning When our stomachs are full we are afraid of indigestion When our stomachs are empty we are afraid we may never eat again When we are loved we are afraid love will vanish When we are alone we are afraid love will never return And when we speak we are afraid our words will not be heard nor welcomed

but when we are silent we are still afraid so it is better to speak remembering we were never meant to survive

Logan’s coffee was half drunk and cold when his phone rang.

“Hey there, Logan,” Hopkins laughed into the phone. “Pat’ s done and ready to head home.”

~

The rest of their day was a celebratory whirlwind. They picked up sandwiches from Logan’s favorite deli, ate entirely too much cake and ice cream, and laughed as they debated which of the many—many—Star Wars films they should watch to cap off the day. Patton had even surprised him with a new journal he’d caught him eyeing at the book store last month.

They were half-way through a re-watch of Andor when they heard a car knock over the recycling bin outside.

Frowning, Logan paused the show and peered out the kitchen window. Just two days after the recycling had last been picked up , the bin was near-empty; only a dozen or so cans and bottles had been left scattered over the driveway.

But Kelly’s car sat on the lawn, the big green bin caught under the front bumper. Phone in her hand, do or open and pinging, she stabbed at the console, likely trying to power down the car while it was still in Drive.

“Pat?” Logan called, breathing deeply to keep his voice calm. “Pat, why don’t you head up to your room for a bit while I take care of this?”

“Dad?”

Eyes wide, Patton stared back at him from the kitchen doorway when Kelly’s voice rang out. “ Goddammit! ” The car door slammed, lights still on.

Logan met his eyes. “Head upstairs.” He found a smile and moved closer, giving his shoulder a little squeeze. “It’ll be okay, Pat, ” he promised. “Just head up to your room.”

Patton lingered for just a moment longer, then nodded and dashed up the stairs. Logan waited for the sound of his bedroom door closing before moving to the front door.

The door rattled in its frame, knob wiggling. “Hello?!” she called after a while. The doorbell rang repeatedly. “Logan! Open th’ door! Key’s stuck!”

Her drunken slur only confirmed what her ‘parking job’ had implied.

“Just a moment!” he called, hands opening and closing at his sides as he concentrated on slow, steady breaths. Just put her to bed and let her sleep this off. “Just a—“

“ Diddja change th’ fucking locks on me?! ”

Logan jumped, shaking his head. “No! No, Kels,” he called back loudly, moving to the door. “Of course not!”

How did she know he had the number to a 24-hour locksmith in his bag? It wasn’t even labeled. He shook away the thought. No. No, she’s drunk, that’s all.

Still struggling with the lock, she fought his attempts to turn the knob. Finally, he wrenched it open.

Her keys jangled from the door handle , her mail key jammed into the lock. “I believe you had merely selected the wrong key, that’s all,” he said, voice low. Working the key loose, he glanced over her head at a dog walker staring unabashedly from across the street. He waved half-heartedly and returned to his efforts.

“Gimme that,” she hissed, ripping the keys from his hand the moment they were free. “Selected the wrong something alright.” She dropped the keys back in her purse and zipped it.

She stumbled past him and down the hall, kicking off her shoes as she went. Logan closed and locked the door, biding his time before plucking up any of the thousand questions running through his mind. What happened to your trip? Did something happen? Are you alright?

Did you actually drive home like this?

He took a slow breath and followed her to the kitchen. She’d pulled down a glass and was working out the cork on a fresh bottle. “It’s a pleasant surprise to have you home so soon, Kels,” he said quietly.

“ W ell, yeah, I live here, don’t I?” she muttered, swearing under her breath as she fought with a corkscrew.

Logan’s hands jerked with an instinct to help, but perhaps with a bit more struggle she’d give up on drinking more tonight and sleep off the rest of this.

Her purse dangled from her arm.

“Fuck,” she spat, bits of shredded corkscrew dusting the counter and the floor. She dropped the corkscrew on the counter and reached for a different bottle. One with a screw cap.

“We didn’t expect—“ Logan cleared his throat and pressed a smile onto his face. “We thought we wouldn’t have you back home for at least another week.”

She shrugged and the bottle cap made a cracking sound as the seal broke. “Sorry I didn’t give you enough notice to get your girlfriend out ta here.” She glared at him over her shoulder. “Or your boyfriend.”

“That would be ludicrous,” he shook his head. He chuckled like she’d told a joke. “Pat and I were just—“

“Where is Patton, anyway?” she said, suddenly turning and pushing past him. Her voice grew louder as she approached the stairs. “I’ve been away for a week and my own son doesn’t even come down to greet me?”

“He’s—It is rather late and he was up early for the SAT this morning,” Logan said, hoping his own voice would carry. She stumbled and he slid between her and the first step. “I believe he is sleeping. Or nearly so, at least,” he added when he caught sight of his watch. It was barely 8:45.

“Maybe you were in bed by nine at his age,” she huffed. “Normal teenagers are up half the night.” Kelly looked down at the bottle in her hand, brow furrowed.

“I…” Logan gestured behind her, back toward the kitchen. “I believe your glass is on the counter.”

She started to turn then rolled her eyes. “I have one upstairs.” Suddenly she narrowed her eyes at him. “Unless you’ve been snooping in my office.”

“Of course not, Kels,” he said, shaking his head. He hadn’t set foot in her office in months. And certainly never when she wasn’t there. Truth be told, he’d been under the impression she kept it locked.

She humphed and continued on her way toward the stairs. Logan stepped back, staying two or three steps higher so he’d hit the landing first. “You… you haven’t mentioned if…”

“If what, Logan?” she spat back at him. She paused. One hand gripped tight on her wine, her other clung to the banister. Her bag—with her car keys—still hung from her shoulder. “What? What haven’t I done now, Logan ?”

“I…” Logan resisted the urge to move to her side and instead watched the wavering strength of her hold on the handrail. “I was merely wondering what hap—Well, why you were able to return home early.”

She scoffed then and advanced up the stairs, strength and focus fueled by annoyance. “Does it matter? Do you need every sordid little detail of my meetings? I’m home now.” He matched her step for step up the stairs as she spoke.

“I… I meant nothing by it, Kels,” he said, hands open and palms up. He tried to smile but it felt more like a grimace. Not that it mattered, she wasn’t looking at him anyway. “I was… merely curious. That’s all.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should just curb your curiosity,” she muttered, fumbling with the door to her office. It was, indeed, locked. “Dammit.” She reached for her purse without setting down the bottle. The wine inside sloshed, a few drops spilling out onto the floor and splashing on her pantyhose. Her purse clunked against the wall, heavy, far heavier than the small handbag should have been.

It wasn’t until she got the zipper open that Logan saw why. A yellowed ivory handle poked out from the corner, silver edges on the butt worn to a dull polish.

“Is that you father’s old pistol?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

“What of it?” she snapped, nearly dropping the wine in her haste to clutch the bag to her chest.

“ ’What of…’ ” he started. “You—you reported it stolen. Years ag—“ Logan shook his head, searching his memory. Had he somehow misremembered? He blinked, recalling the weeks of disagreement over installing the gun safe in their bedroom. The break-in three months later, with the busted safe lock hanging loose on the door. The police report, the fingerprinting, the lengthy interview at the station.

And a decade later, all of their assurances to Virgil’s therapist that no, of course they didn’t keep a firearm in the house.

“You’ve just been… carrying it around?”

Kelly sucked her teeth, fishing through the bag for her keys. “Y’know, I don’ even know why I came home. I don’t need this shit,” she muttered to herself. “No other woman would ever put up with this bullshit from you.” She looked up at him then. “And you know it.”

The words shouldn’t hurt. He should’ve been ready for them, should’ve prepared for whatever stones she might sling the moment he saw her car pull up.

The words always hurt.

“Aw,” she cooed, sickly sweet. “Truth stings a bit, don’ it, honey?”

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, but couldn’t force himself to meet her eyes. “I am merely concerned for the safety and welfare of our—“

“Oh, now you give a fuck about Patton’s welfare?” Kelly roared. “Where the hell was all this ‘fatherly’ concern over his welfare when the school was talking you into letting them leave him behind a year, huh?”

“Forcing him into an unreasonably aggressive summer quarter simply to—“

“Schmuck.” She turned away, not listening. “Big time lawyer can’t even defend his own—”

“Just shut up! You’re always so mean to him!”

Logan hadn’t heard Patton’s door open and he had no idea how long he’d been standing there, listening.

“Pat, it’s okay,” Logan murmured, watching Kelly from the corner of his eye even as he moved closer to his son.

A little slow to react, Kelly turned from the door, unfocused eyes on Patton. “Whaddija say t’ me?” she slurred.

“It’s ok—“ Logan began, hands up as he shook his head slightly at Patton.

“No!” he said, arms crossed. “No, it’s not okay!” he said to Logan, then turned to Kelly. “You’re always so mean to him and he’s never done anything to you.”

As much as Logan tried, Patton wouldn’t meet his eyes. And once he’d gotten started, the words bubbled up and out, beyond his control. “You just complain about every little thing, no matter what he does, no matter what any of us does, it’s never good enough! Just shut up already!”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that! Why do you think I’m even here?”

Logan felt her move behind him and he spun to face her. She’d let her purse fall to the floor. One hand clutched her bottle, the other pointed a long, manicured nail at her son.

“Who cares?” Patton shouted back. “We’re happier without you! We were fine, we were having a great time and then you showed up.” He moved closer to his room, turning his back on her. “No-one cares. No-one—“

Kelly growled. Bottle raised above her head, she charged.

Too quick to think, too quick to warn, Logan just moved . Her arm came down.

With Logan standing between her and Pat.

The bottle cracked against Logan's head. It fell but didn’t break, cold wine running through his hair and down his shirt. “Look what you made me do!” Kelly’s shout fuzzed on the edges, quiet under the roar in Logan’s ears.

“Dad? Dad!” Patton was shaking his shoulder. “Dad, are you okay?”

Logan sat on the floor, back against the wall. Wine dribbled out of Kelly’s bottle, a dark red stain spread over the ugly grey carpet.

“Dad?” Patton’ s face swam into his view.

“’M okay,” he said, nodding. It hurt to move , so he stopped. He held Patton’s gaze, though, and tried to smile. “I’m okay,” he said more carefully.

“Don’ need this,” Kelly muttered from the other side of the hall. Stumbling, she scooped up her purse and kicked the bottle out of her path. It rolled and hit the wall at the other end of the corridor with a hollow thunk. She sneered back at them but Logan’s eyes dropped back down to her purse.

Her purse that still held her car keys.

And her father’s old gun.

“Kels, wait,” he managed, pushing up to his feet. He swayed for a moment. Patton kept close, gripping his arm. “Kels, please don’t drive like this.” The time for finesse was over.

“Oh, that scares you, doesn’t it?” she laughed, dry and sharp. She shook her head and continued toward the stairs.

“Mom, Dad’s hurt!” His voice was so small.

Logan hugged his arm close, giving the gesture all the strength he could muster. “I’m okay, Pat,” he murmured. “Really.”

“He’s fine,” Kelly muttered, fumbling her bag.

“You broke a bottle on his head,” Patton shot back, moving closer to her. Logan held tight to his arm, keeping him close.

“Don’t,” he whispered, pleading with his eyes.

Kelly’s fingers flexed on her purse, more uncertain than Logan could remember seeing her in a long, long time.

“He’s fine,” she said again. “Aren’t you?” she prompted him.

Logan squared his shoulders and nudged Patton a little behind him, keeping his own body between them.

Thankfully, this time Patton followed his lead.

“See?” she said, turning and heading toward the stairs.

“Kels,” he tried again, his own voice piercing his brain. “Wait.”

“Wait ‘ what?’” she sneered.

Patton made an outraged noise beside him, but Logan stroked his hand. It calmed him for now. “You shouldn’t…” Logan’s voice wavered and he stepped closer. Something warm trickled past his left ear and he shifted, keeping Patton on his right side. “Kels, you’re in no shape to—“

“You can’t tell me what to do!” she snapped back, clutching her purse to her chest. “Besides, you’re the one who’s in a ‘state.’ Can’t hardly stand up straight, drenched in wine.” Eyes flashing, she seemed to come to a decision and she started down the stairs. “I don’ hafta listen t’ this.”

“Kelly—“ Logan winced, hot pain shooting through his head. He breathed deeply and waited for the pain to fade. It was getting better. It would get better. It had to. “Don’t… don’t drive like this, Kels. Don’t—“

“Fuck you, Logan,” she said calmly. “You’re not the boss of me.” She moved down the steps with purpose now.

Logan kept his eyes on her bag more than anything else as he navigated the stairs after her. Gripping the banisters with both hands, he had to release Patton’s hand. Patton followed, quiet.

Unsteady, her heels clicked across stone tile in the downstairs hall. There was a thunk and she groaned, swearing softly, but after a moment, the door rattled and opened.

“Kelly, wait!” Logan called again, rushing down the last steps. He turned the corner just as she’d stumbled over the threshold.

She sneered over her shoulder. “I’ll be back after you’ve figured things out.”

“Kelly, you shouldn’t—“

She slammed the door.

“Dad, she can’t drive,” Patton started toward the door but Logan held him back. “She’s—“

They both listened to her car ding, backing out into the street. Plastic bottles from the overturned recycling bin crunched under the tires.

Logan rushed to the door.

She’d pulled out onto the street and drove slowly to the corner.

“Dad, what do we do?” Patton's voice was thin, near panic.

Logan drew him close, pushing down his own fear. They were out of options.

ACAB, ACAB, ACAB, ACAB, ACAB screamed in his head, colliding with the image of that ivory inlaid grip in her purse. He pulled out his phone and held down the emergency preset.

Patton’s eyes widened when he saw what his father had done.

After a moment, the 911 dispatcher picked up. “Police, fire, or medical?”

"Let's take a trip for Thanksgiving this year," she suddenly said over dinner, smiling at him over her half-empty wine glass. "How does that sound?"

"Wh—weren't—ah…" Logan stammered, her quickly smothered flash of annoyance pushing his gaze to Patton.

Patton looked back at him, still and silent, eyes cautious.

Squaring his shoulders, Logan met Kelly's eyes. She was smiling again. "Weren't you planning to visit your parents over the long weekend?"

Lips pinched, she waved her hand like she was dismissing a server and took a long draw on her glass, draining it. "There's been a change in plans." She poured herself more wine, gaze and attention fully consumed with the task. Quiet, she sipped her fresh glass before meeting his eyes again. "Wouldn't a trip together be fun?"

"I—Wel—well, yes, of course, Kels." Logan gulped his own water.

With the holiday only a week away, the family's Thanksgiving had already been planned. Kelly's parents were too unwell to travel or to host and she planned to visit with them over the long weekend. Virgil and Remy were coming down from Bellingham to stay at the house. He and the boys had planned a quiet-ish Thanksgiving break at home.

But Logan would be foolish to reject this obvious olive branch from his wife.

"I'll call the boys tonight and we can"—he nodded to Patton—"work out how best to pick them—"

"No, Logan," Kelly interrupted, stabbing the table between them. "No. Me and you going on a trip. It's been… years since you've taken me on a trip, just the two of us. We could make the drive out to Wolf's Head Lodge. Besides," she turned to Patton then, faded lipstick brightened with a stain of wine. "Wouldn't you have more fun with your brothers for the weekend?"

Patton's focus jumped from Logan to his mother, then back to Logan. He searched his eyes for the answer, head tilted to one side.

He seemed to find it.

"Virge has been saying he wanted to show me where he works," Patton nodded slowly, a smile painted on his face. While his words were addressed to Kelly, his eyes didn't leave Logan's. "Yeah, that sounds like it could be really cool. Then…" He finally looked again to his mother. "When you have to travel next month, Remy and Virge can still come down for Christmas break."

"That's settled then." Nodding, Kelly finished her second glass. "You'll book the room?" she asked. Without waiting for a response or even really looking at Logan, she rose from her seat, empty glass and the open bottle clutched delicately in one hand. "I've got a conference call with Tokyo," she said and shuffled upstairs.

As it turned out, Remy and Virgil were thrilled at the chance to show their little brother around Bellingham, excitedly mapping out the entire four-day weekend over their group chat minutes after Logan broke the news.

Patton chattered excitedly the entire drive up. They’d found a recycled craft store Remy’s roommate Emile was fond of—'obsessed with'—was the phrase Patton used, and they’d planned a walk through the old downtown on Saturday. The boys expected to get all their Christmas shopping done at the thrift and antique stores up and down the main stretch, an unsurprising passion for the two environmental science majors.

Patton’s excitement was infectious and by the time Logan had parked and followed him up the narrow stairs to his eldest son’s apartment, despite the tumult and the difficulty of the pre-Thanksgiving day traffic, he was grinning just as broadly.

In a flurry of hugs and laughter, Remy, Virgil, and Emile met them at the door. Logan toed off his shoes to help get Patton settled, the cheer of the boys' reunion warming him to his bones. It didn't take long and he was about to leave them to their adventure when Remy snagged his arm.

“Um, Dad? Do you… do you have a sec, well…” Toes turned in, Remy’s thumbs twisted in his belt loops and he shifted his weight from foot to foot. He chewed the inside of his lip and avoided Logan’s eyes the way he would as a tiny child, working up the courage to confess some wrongdoing.

“Of course,” Logan said and slipped his shoes back off. He was already packed for the trip and he and Kelly weren’t due to leave for Wolf’s Head until tomorrow morning, long after the boys would want him out of their hair tonight.

He had all the time in the world. Especially when Remy was looking at him like that.

Grinning, Patton sidled up between them and hooked one arm through each of theirs. “Why don’t we all sit down in the living room together?”

Logan raised an eyebrow at his youngest son but Patton gave no hints to what he obviously knew.

“Sounds good,” Logan nodded and reached across Patton to give Remy’s arm a little squeeze. “Whatever you need, Rem, we’ll figure it out together, okay?”

Unconvinced, Remy nodded back weakly.

Attention tuned into the rest of the boys’ little apartment as they moved to the cozy—if cramped—living room, Logan searched for any sign of what could be amiss in his son’s life. He wasn’t really sure what he was looking for—it was only in movies that people left out teetering stacks of opened bills stamped with ugly red OVERDUE notices across the top.

Their home was clean. The kitchen smelled like leftover pizza and Dawn dish soap. The water filter on the faucet glowed with two green lights; not freshly replaced for Patton’s visit, but not neglected, either.

School appeared to be going well, with well-read textbooks stacked on the kitchen table. A pair of laptops sat nearby, charging. They'd tacked a large school calendar on the wall, bearing cheerful reminders of exams and tuition dates. He smiled at the big happy face sketched over today’s date in honor of Patton’s arrival.

Everything appeared to be in order and well-handled, particularly for such young adults. Their apartment was hardly the chaotic site of some major catastrophe, nor was it the cluttered recluse of someone struggling through depression or other mental crises. Jaw tight, Logan looked closely at his eldest son.

Logan's own house appeared orderly, too.

He sat on the loveseat between Virgil and Patton, while Remy pulled up a fluffy ottoman and sat on half of it. Emile squeezed in next to him. Each sported freshly dyed hair, Remy’s black with a bright fuchsia streak, Emile’s pink with waving stripes of black.

Just like in his dream.

Logan looked between them, a relieved hope bright in his chest. Could this be as simple as Remy deciding to confess they were dating?

Remy hung his head and addressed the floor. “Dad… um…” Remy’s toes cracked as they scrunched against the carpet. “I’ve been keeping something from you. Something… big. Real big.” Logan shifted and Remy looked at him, both hands up in supplication. “Just… just hear me out, okay? I… We…” His mouth worked silently, hunting for words that wouldn’t seem to come.

The other boys remained silent, giving him space to speak. But each nodded encouragingly when he looked up. “I shoulda told you sooner, Dad, but…” His voice faded away again.

Logan leaned forward and cupped his cheek, just like he would when Remy was tiny and got lost in his thoughts. “Rem?” he murmured.

Probably only half aware he was even doing it, Remy tilted his head, leaning in to the touch.

Logan chuckled quietly at the feel of his firstborn’s stubbly jaw beneath his fingers. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right? Whatever this is.”

The nature of his work came together with the strength of Remy’s reluctance and Logan suddenly wondered if perhaps this confession genuinely was as fraught as Remy seemed to think it was. Perhaps he'd been overly optimistic in his assumption of what his son had to say.

Perhaps his son finding love had been nothing more than a dream.

“Rem,” Logan’s voice grew grave, possibilities racing through his mind. “Are you in trouble? Do you need an attorney?”

Remy huffed out a laugh at that and Patton leaned against Logan’s side with a giggle. “Nah,” Remy shook his head. “But Ro said you might ask that.”

“Ro?” Logan repeated, the name familiar and sweet and strange on his tongue. He shook his head. Remy couldn’t possibly mean Roman.

“Um, yeah.” Remy caught Emile’s eye, who just nodded at him to continue. He swallowed hard and looked back at Logan. “Y’remember, um, Mr. Prince? My… my old preschool teacher?”

Virgil smirked. “You mean the cute one you had a giant crush on.”

"No!" Remy and Logan said together. Remy had been louder and his response sparked a flurry of good-natured teasing from his younger brothers.

Logan’s cheeks warmed and he looked down at his own hands before clearing his throat. “I recall your preschool teacher,” he hedged, glancing at his sons to see if they’d heard him over Remy. He couldn’t tell if they had, and his gaze was drawn by the gentle squeeze Emile gave Remy’s hand.

Emile let go once he saw Logan was watching.

“I’d… “ Remy continued. “I’d been thinking about him a bit—“ Emile knocked their knees together with a crooked smile. “Okay, a lot recently. I… I looked him up.” He glanced up at Logan to see his reaction to that piece of information.

When Logan nodded, he went on. “Well, I… I called the school and his old theatre and… a couple other places I’ve seen him perform at and gave them all my number. Asked them to pass it on to him.” A pleased little smile spread across his face. “Ro called me a few days later. I… I was surprised he remembered me. He…” Remy’s voice got tight again and he shrugged. “He remembered you, too, I mean.” Remy smiled then, brow still crinkled. “He was pretty sure you’d be… cool, y’know? Said I didn’t need to worry about telling you. Just…”

“Just not Mom,” Virgil finished, jaw clenched.

“Yeah,” Remy nodded. “Not Mom. She can’t… You can’t share this with her, Dad.”

“Of course not.” The words came out before Logan could really think about it. He didn’t have to.

Nodding again, Remy took a deep breath and reached for Emile’s hand. He laced their fingers together then looked up and met Logan’s eyes. “Emile and I aren’t just roommates, Dad… We’re… we’re married.”

“Ma—married?” Logan’s mouth fell open, eyes dropping to their intertwined fingers. Emile wore an onyx band on his left hand but Remy's was bare.

Remy fished out a silver chain from under his collar and took it off. A pink quartz ring hung from it, spinning gently as he held it aloft.

Emile took it and, with practiced fingers, freed the ring from its chain and slipped it onto Remy’s hand.

Logan’s eyes burned. Married. He'd missed everything. He’d missed Remy’s first inklings of feelings for this man, he’d missed their entire courtship. He’d missed his proposal.

He’d missed his son's wedding.

He’d missed so much of his son’s new life because Remy couldn't trust him enough to share it with him. “You thought you had to hide from me,” he whispered slowly, struggling to breathe past the ache in his chest.

Patton rubbed his arm and Virgil shrugged next to him. “We all know what Mom would say.”

“I’ll deal with Mom.” Despite the war raging between his heart and his head, Logan managed to keep his voice steady.

“That’s what I said!” Patton cried, hugging Logan’s arm.

“Yeah, that’s what Ro said, too,” Remy nodded. He searched Logan’s eyes, squeezing Emile’s hand tight. “Are you okay with this, Dad?”

The fear in Remy’s eyes cut through Logan’s composure and his own eyes grew wet. “Of course I’m okay, Rem—More than okay! Congratulations!” He lurched forward, kneeling between the couch and the ottoman so he could pull both Remy and Emile into a hug. He sniffled and held them close. “I’m happy for you both. So, so happy for you,” he whispered. He held on for a long time before whispering, “I’m sorry I let you feel like you had to hide this. That you had to hide yourself.”

Remy didn’t say anything and just held his father tight. Logan hugged him back just as tightly, shoulder wet with his son’s tears.

~

Logan stayed at Remy and Emile's until well after dark, drinking coffee as the—somewhat—newlyweds shared photos and stories of last June's ceremony and all that had led up to to it. Eventually, though, it became time for Logan to drive back down.

He hugged each of his sons, smiling when Emile laughed and leapt into his arms when Logan turned to hug him, as well. “I knew Rem got his good heart from somewhere,” Emile whispered.

Logan didn't know what to say to that.

As the others busied themselves in the kitchen, he lingered in the hall with Remy. “Walk me to the car?” he asked, smiling gently at the worried pinch in Remy’s brow as he agreed.

“Be right back!” he called over his shoulder as Logan gave them all one more wave.

Father and son were quiet as they walked downstairs. It wasn’t until they got to Logan’s car that he gathered the courage to say what he needed. To ask what he needed.

“Are you… Is Emile…” Logan massaged his right hand, the cold, wet November weather delivering a fresh ache to the old injury. “Is he good to you?” he finally asked.

A soft, sad smile stretched across Remy’s face and he nodded. “The best, Dad. He’s not—“ Jaw snapped shut, he inhaled sharply and nodded again. “Emi's really good to me. And I’m good to him.” A gust of wind coming up off the bay pushed his hair into his face, a riot of pink and black and Remy chuckled, brushing it away. “We take care of each other.”

Pulling Remy close for one more hug, Logan nodded. “Just how it should be.”

Remy went quiet, then nodded against his shoulder, hugging him back fiercely. “Yeah,” he finally whispered.

The sea-scented wind cut through the trees again and he shivered.

“You should probably head back in,” Logan said at last, giving him one more squeeze before letting him go.

“Yeah,” Remy said again with another shiver. “Drive safe, Dad,” he added as Logan climbed inside for the trek back down I-5.

“Always.” Logan smiled and then turned on the engine. He watched Remy dash back inside, catching a bit of movement through the front window when Remy made it back inside his—and his husband’s—apartment.

They were so damn young, Logan thought as he pulled out onto the quiet street. As he drove, he did the math… Remy and Emile were young but Remy was now slightly older than he himself had been when he not only became a husband but a father.

He gasped for breath, wheeze-whispering over and over again, “I broke it, I’m so sorry… I broke it…”

Jannie moved quickly, slipping his feet into mis-matched loafers and grabbing two more pairs off the shoe rack. He handed Remus his and laid a gentle hand on Lo’s shoulder.

“Logan, my dear…” Voice low, he did a better job of not startling him but Remus still wasn’t sure how much was getting through. “I’m going to put these on you,” he murmured, hand sliding slowly from Lo’s shoulder to his hip and then to his thigh.

Lo’s rocking slowed but would not stop completely. “Here, Lo,” Jannie said, narrating as he grasped Lo’s ankle. “Here’s the first shoe, love. We don’t want you to step on glass.”

He blinked, tears streaming down his face and dotting his glasses. He stared at the broken dish then squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head.

Remus had never seen him like this. In all their years together, Lo had helped all of them through bad patches, Jannie, Pat, him—especially him… Holding them, tugging them back out of their spirals with whispered reassurances and gentle touches. Of course Lo had dark days, everyone did. But this…

This was something else. Lo looked back at them like he could see right through them, like they were mist or cloud, vaporware about to disappear if he got too close. He’d broken shit before—who didn’t? But he’d never freaked out over it. Just grabbed a dustpan and cleaned it up and—

“Muse, will you get us a cloth?” Janus said, ripping Remus from his helpless freeze of watching Lo’s tremors.

Nodding, Remus jumped up, watching his step as he made his way to the drawer by the sink. He grabbed a few clean towels. Some of the cuts on Logans hands and arms looked pretty bad.

Jannie managed to put Lo’s shoes on him and was working on getting him to loosen his grip on the broken pot. “Look what Re has brought us, Lo,” he purred, low and easy. Lo turned toward Remus, eyes still squeezed shut. “Let’s get these pieces into a cloth, shall we?”

Remus laid the largest dishtowel on the floor between them, the others he piled in his lap. “It’s okay, Lo Lo,” Remus said, touching Lo’s chest, then a piece not in direct contact with his body. “There we go,” he said when his grip loosened just a bit.

“Thank you, love,” Jannie murmured. He took the next piece as Remus wrapped one arm around Lo’s back. “That’s it,” he said, slowly taking the next shard.

~

Piece by piece, he and Jannie freed the rest of the broken pot from Lo’s death grip. It gave them their first good look, too, at the cuts on Lo’s hands. A few bits had sliced through his shirt, but the long sleeves had helped protect him from the worst of it as he’d squeezed the razor sharp ceramic shards like he could hug them back into one piece.

While Remus gathered the shards and wrapped them in the towel, Jannie drew Lo close, stroking his hair and talking him through a breathing exercise. Shaking in Jannie’s arms, he kept trying to cover his mouth with his hands, like he needed to hide the fact he was crying. Or like he could shove it all back inside if he just tried hard enough.

Working around them, Remus swept the floor, relieved when he didn’t find a single tiny shard. It was good clay, it broke cleanly. When he was done, he wet one of the towels and returned to their side. As soon as Lo would let them, they needed to clear away some of the blood on his hands and now his face and see what they were dealing with.

Tears still streamed from Lo’s eyes. “I’m so, so sorry, Remus,” he repeated in a broken whisper.

Remus glanced over at Jannie, but he looked just as confused. Of course they’d seen Lo sad before and scared, too, but this… This truly wasn’t like him. Remus carded his hand through Lo’s hair and nodded. “We’ll fix it together, Lo Lo,” he said. “In the meantime…” He touched a patch of unbroken skin surrounding one of Lo’s longer cuts. “Let’s fix you up, okay?”

Lo closed his hands into loose fists and looked back at the pieces Remus had set on the counter.

Cupping his cheek, Remus turned his face back toward him. “You matter more to me than a dish, Lo Lo. Let’s take care of you.”

“I’ll get the first aid kit,” Jannie murmured, leaning close to kiss first Lo’s forehead, then his.

“Thanks, Jannie,” Remus nodded and slid closer to Lo, sitting at his back. He cradled Lo’s hands and arms in his own, a comfort and a guard so he’d keep them still until they were treated.

Jannie rose to his feet. “I’ll be right back,” he promised with a tiny smile and hurried off to the hall closet.

Lo stiffened as he moved away, breathing still strained. He wouldn’t really look at Re, instead sending furtive, guilty glances at the covered pieces on the counter.

Rubbing his cheek against the back of Lo’s head, Remus hummed softly, an old song he used to sing to him during his worst episodes, when words just wouldn’t get through. Lo hardly seemed to recognize it.

It didn’t take Jannie long to gather the first aid kit and they got to work. First they wiped away the excess blood, evaluating whether this was something they could fix at home or if Lo might need stitches. Practiced hands pulled out the iodine and gauze and, as Jannie examined, Remus dabbed iodine over the cuts and bandaged each one.

All but one gash on his left palm had already stopped bleeding. Lo’s hand cradled in his own, Jannie held a wad of gauze against it. With any luck, the pressure—and Lo keeping his hand still—would work.

“Do you—Do we have surgical adhesive?” Lo asked in a small voice.

Jannie shook his head. “Not unless you stole some Dermabond from the hospital after The Beast.”

“Worth it!” Remus sang, pushing cheer in his voice he didn’t feel. “Sold that piece for fifteen thousand.” He chuckled and wiggled his fingers. The scar was almost invisible by now.

“We could… we could get… vetbond,” he said, even quieter.

Remus hissed. “That shit burns like a motherfucker. I wouldn’t use that on a dog, let alone you, Lo Lo.”

Fresh gauze pressed over the wound, Jannie frowned, watching Lo’s face. “If you truly wish to avoid the emergency room, we can try butterfly bandages,” he finally said. “But if the bleeding doesn’t stop after another ten minutes, we’ll want to bring you in, love.” Leaning close, he pressed a soft kiss against his forehead. “And we’ll be you with the whole time.”

“I…” Lo looked down, fingers flexing against Jannie’s hand. “You shouldn’t… I don’t want you to spend your Valentine’s Day in the emergency room,” he said at last.

“We don’t want you to hurt,” Jannie answered with a crooked smile. “So we win.”

Eyes welling with tears, Lo stared at the smiley face bandage Remus had applied to the tiny cut on the back of his right hand. He nodded. “Okay.”

In the end, the pressure worked. Still, he and Jannie worked together to apply three butterfly bandages to Lo’s palm before wrapping it in several layers of stretchy gauze.

“Thank you,” he whispered when they’d finished, another sob threatening at the edge of his voice. “I’ve ruined everything,” he added, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shh…” Jannie’s voice sounded like the ocean, soothing them both. “You’ve ruined nothing, love,” he whispered as he pulled him close. Together, they sandwiched Lo between them. “Your cuts aren’t nearly as deep as they looked. The dish can be repaired. We’re together and safe. When you’re ready, we’re going to get some food into you, but in the meantime we have all the time in the world together.”

Lo shivered in Remus’ arms. They were still huddled around each other on the kitchen floor. Remus met Jannie’s eyes and looked toward the stairs. He nodded. “Hey, Lo Lo,” Remus whispered. “How ‘bout we head upstairs?” Quiet tears still streaming from his eyes, Lo turned, listening. “We can make you more comfy.”

He looked around them then and slowly nodded.

~

Careful of the bandages, he and Re held Lo between them as he exhausted the last of his tears. After a long while, he eased into their shared embrace, head pillowed on Janus’ chest, Re’s arm clutched tight around his body.

Lo’s demeanor was perplexing. The word ‘uncharacteristic’ didn’t even begin to cover it. Jumpy and brittle, he held them gingerly as though he feared they, too, might shatter in his grip. At the same time he clung, tensing at each tiny movement as though they might disappear, smoke through his fingers.

Janus struggled to work out what the cause might be when Re’s stomach growled loudly. “Oh, Muse… we need to get some food into you.” Realization dawned and he gently lifted Lo’s chin. “And what about you, my dear? You were in court all day. When did you last eat?”

Eyes darting away, Lo shrugged. “I… I cannot clearly recall,” he mumbled, hiding his face against Janus’ chest.

“Oh, loves,” Janus shook his head. “Let’s take care of that.”

“I’ll bring up some food,” Re said, carefully extricating himself. He smiled down at Lo as he curled closer to his chest. “You’ll take care of him?” he said quietly, stroking Lo’s hair.

“I’ve got him,” Janus nodded.

Huffing—forcing—out a laugh, Re leaned in for a kiss. “That’s good, but I was talking to Lo Lo. Want to make sure you don’t sneak off for a run or something.”

“I shall be very careful with him,” Lo answered in a quiet voice. He didn’t look up.

Frowning at the back of his head, Re blinked a few time then leaned in and kissed his shoulder. “Jannie could be in no better hands,” he finally said, voice serious. When he straightened, he was grinning again. “Be back in 90 seconds!”

Janus made a show of tapping his watch as Re closed the door behind him.

Almost immediately, Lo looked up at him, eyes wet. “Are you quite certain he’s not angry?” he asked. A tremor shook him once, then twice before he stiffened, jaw clenched tightly. “That he’s not merely…Ah…” He shuddered again, eyes darting to the door.

“Re?” Janus asked as though there was anyone else Lo could be talking about. “Of—of course not, Lo,” Janus’ response was quick. His understanding was not. “Love?” he stroked Lo’s hair, waiting for the moment his jaw might relax, or his eyes might return to their more typical steadiness. They danced from spot to spot around the room, attention scattering at the tiny sounds of the HVAC, the icy rain against the window, the clatter of a dish from downstairs.

“Love, no,” Janus whispered, holding him close and stroking his jaw until he’d meet his eyes. “Re’s worried about you, love. He’s not angry.”

“It—“ Lo swallowed and licked his lips. Janus hoped Re remembered to bring some water for him. “It would not be unheard of to… to wait until we are alone to… to express his… to…”

“Lo, no…” Janus shook his head, pieces slowly clicking into place. Lo trembled again and the full weight of his words struck him. “Logan, are you afraid Re’s pretending not be angry because I’m here with you. That he’s…”

The thought was almost too terrible to put to words but Lo’s expression was unmistakable. Pinprick pupils, stuttered breaths, paled skin. He’d seen this look before.

In his clients’ eyes.

“Has Re ever harmed you?” he murmured, heart knowing the answer. “In anger?” Together the pair took more risks than always advisable and had occasionally nursed the consequences of their recklessness. But like Lo accidentally breaking the dish, they’d never hurt each other intentionally.

Eyes wet with fresh tears, Lo seemed to seek the answer in Janus’ eyes. Finally he shook his head. “No.”

“My dearest Lo,” he murmured, drawing him closer and pulling the blanket up over him when Lo relaxed in his arms. “Then he’s certainly not going to start now.”

~

When Re returned with three spoons and a single large bowl of rice and curry, they quietly fed each other. After making sure they each drank—especially Lo, Janus set the tray aside and drew them both into his arms again.

“Do you need anything?” Re asked both of them.

Lo shook his head, and Jannie smiled, kissing each of them. “I have everything I need right here.”

Tucked close to his chest, Lo shuddered, fresh tears leaking out from eyes screwed tightly shut. Watching his expression, Janus carefully brushed Lo’s hair away from his face. One stubborn lock kept falling forward into his eyes. He gently pushed it back each time.

Janus exchanged a quick glance with Re where he’d curled next to Lo, legs tucked up close and one long arm curled around his belly. Re pressed soft kisses against his back and his shoulder, humming quietly to comfort both of them.

He truly needed it because, frankly, Janus couldn't remember ever being so completely flummoxed.

Lo didn’t get panic attacks. Not like this. But after everything… It appeared he’d finally reached some sort of breaking point. And neither of them had even noticed.

Unless…

“Lo?” Janus began quietly. He smiled when Lo looked up at him, hugging Re’s arm close. “Are you having the nightmare again?” It had been over two months since the last, but not all fears released their iron grips on the subconscious with time alone. “About her?”

“Nightmare?” he asked, looking away and trembling in their arms.

Re held him a little tighter, cheek pressed to his shoulder as he met Janus’ eyes.

“Oh, my dear Lo,” Janus murmured, shaking his head as he lifted Lo’s chin. “You of all people know you needn’t—that you can’t—hide from your feelings like this.” He pressed a slow kiss against Lo’s lips and smiled, that ancient night fresh in his heart.

Both of them, actually.

Janus hummed softly at Lo’s silence. “Not talking about them will only make the feelings worse.” Clearly. He hadn’t been nearly this upset after the last nightmare he’d shared. But if they’d continued and Lo had only been bottling it all up… Janus shook his head. He knew that path. He’d lived that path.

“We’re here with you, love,” Janus murmured, smiling when Re nodded his agreement. “It’s only a nightmare.”

“Jannie’s right—“ Re traced the edges of Lo’s bandages. “These hurt, don’t they?”

Lo nodded, eyes growing wide.

Re curled over him, gently kissing next to the nearest bit of first aid tape. “Then you know this is real. Your nightmares are just dreams. They’re not real. We’re real,” he said, chin resting on Lo’s arm.

“You’re… real,” Lo whispered slowly, like he was trying out the shape of the words in his mouth.

“Mm-hm,” Janus nodded, lifting one of Lo’s hands to his lips. Careful not to touch the palm, he kissed the uninjured knuckles and smiled. “We’re real and we’re right here with you, love.”

Laying so close between them. Janus felt Lo’s heart pound in his chest, pulse thrumming through the veins in his wrist, his fingertips.

“You’re real,” Lo repeated, surer this time. Like he believed it. His hand flexed in Janus’ grip, fingers brushing against his skin.

“And we’re together. I’m so sorry these nightmares have such a hold on you, my dear.” Sighing, Janus pushed back his hair again, meeting bright blue eyes, once again glossy with tears. “I know I wouldn’t ever want to dream of what my life might be like without you in it, Lo.” He smiled up at Re. “Without either of you.”

Re reached for him. Together they made a messy triangle of hands and limbs and bodies. Janus hummed. From above they might look like a heart.

“Because I know where I’d be without you,” Janus whispered. “Drunk or dead in some ditch, never knowing what I missed.”

Lo’s hand tightened around his, pain shot through his expression.

“It doesn’t take imagination to know where I’d be without you two,” Re shrugged, rotating his hand like a too-tight hospital bracelet still cut into the skin. His dragon tattoo obscured the old marks beneath but, like of all their scars, you could still find them if you knew where to look.

After all these years, had they been blind to some of Lo’s?

Lo sniffled again and shook his head, his certainty thick and sour in the air. “You would still have each other,” he said. His voice was so small. “Without me, you two would still be happy and complete.”

Janus’ eyes burned. “Without you, Lo, none of our lives would be complete. Not mine, not Re’s, not Pat’s.”

“You don’t know that the way I do,” Lo whispered, face hidden against Janus’ chest. “I’ve seen it.”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Janus said, stroking Lo’s back as he met Re’s eyes. “Witness’ testimony is not supported by facts in evidence.”

Eyes still watery, Lo cracked a smile at that and Re lost a bit of the worried crimp between his brows.

“Overruled,” Lo murmured, emotions warring on his face.

“Nope, I’m the judge this time,” Re laughed weakly, even for him. He wormed his way between Lo and the bed and wrapped long, muscled legs and arms around him. “Objection sustained. Point goes to the nerd without the tie this time,” he said nuzzling against the back of Lo’s neck.

Eyes slipping shut, Lo melted against them.

“Your Honor?” Janus began and Lo’s eyes shot open, watchful. The tiniest of smiles tugged at his mouth. “What’s your verdict?” he asked, winking at Re.

“Hmm… This is a difficult case. I must deliberate.” Heaving a weighty sigh, he tickled Lo’s shoulder with his mustache, grinning at the soft chuckle he elicited. “The Judge—“

“The Court—“ Janus added, his own chest loosening with their game.

“The Court sentences the defendant”—he kissed Lo’s shoulder then—“to a night of cuddles and kisses and anything else he wants,” he said in a grave voice.

Lo huffed, another tiny laugh.

“Would it please the Court if opposing counsel assisted with carrying out your sentence?” Janus asked before kissing Lo’s nose.

Lo smiled back at him.

He took a deep breath and let the phone drop onto the empty passenger seat beside him instead.

Plans changed. Plans change.

He and the boys could still do all they’d planned. They could still have the Thanksgiving they’d originally planned for. He could turn the car around, get back on the highway and head north to get his boys and spend a quiet—if slightly shorter—holiday together. Setting the phone back into its dashboard mount, his finger hovered over the navigation app.

Another text message popped up. This one was from Virgil.

It was a somewhat blurry photo of all three of his sons—all four, actually. Four bright flour-dusted smiles turned to the camera as Patton appeared to be leading them through making something sticky and doughy and terrifically messy. They looked like they were having a blast.

“Pat’s in good hands Dad! Have a good weekend!!!!!!!!”

Yes, Logan could turn around and utterly disrupt their plans for a second time. He checked the route and traffic. If he was careful—and lucky—he’d get there just before midnight. Ring the bell and rouse them from their beds. More realistically, ring the bell at midnight and interrupt whatever movie marathon they’d begun.

Or…

Or he could grant them some peace and allow them to enjoy their weekend together uninterrupted.

In the end it wasn’t all that difficult a decision. Logan tapped the navigation back and shifted gears, following the route back home.

~

Thanks to a punctured tire just eight exits from home, Logan’s car crawled the final stretch at just 35 miles per hour on the spare. Finally home, he set down the keys just as the kitchen clock flashed over to 1:55. Physically exhausted, the drive and the day’s events had left his mind entirely too keyed up for sleep. He’d never been one to find driving relaxing and, heavy with fresh worry—it would be a trial to have a fresh tire installed over the holiday weekend in time to pick up Patton—he paced the hall, gnawing the edge of his nail until he tasted copper.

Shaking himself loose of his anxious stupor, Logan poked aimlessly in the refrigerator before finally having some juice—he promised himself he’d eat a proper meal in the morning—and headed upstairs for bed.

Moving more on autopilot than actual thought, Logan scrubbed his face then flossed and brushed his teeth. He stripped off his clothes, pulled on his pajama bottoms and reached for the top.

Before he fastened the first button, he paused and peeled the top back off. He stared down at it for a long moment before folding it back up and returning it to its spot in his drawer. He did the same with his pants. Feeling more than a little foolish but driven by an impulse he didn’t dare speak aloud, he slipped out to the hall closet in nothing but his boxers.

Working quickly, he rooted through the top shelf until he found what he was looking for: an old electric blanket. It was clean and smelled faintly of cedar moth repellant and dryer sheets. After returning to their bedroom, he plugged it in next to his nightstand.

The tiny orange light on the controls glowed.

He turned the dial to high and draped it over his side of the bed, pulling the blanket and his book close to his chest. As the blanket warmed against his mostly bare skin, he tucked it tightly around his body, the heat and the pressure nearly enough to trick himself into feeling like he had in his dreams; warm, strong arms wrapped around him, the comfort of holding and being held. The comfort of having someone close and caring and unselfish in their affection.

He felt safe and warm and… loved.

Happier than he’d been—in this bed, at least—in a long, long time, he smiled to himself and opened his book where he’d left off.

‘The two-body problem is easy. Newton solved it completely. Each body—the earth and the moon, for example—travels in a perfect ellipse…’

His eyes stuttered over the next passage, certain he’d read it before.

‘The three-body problem is hard, and worse than hard—‘

Remus’ laughter in his ears.

“’Worse than hard…’” he’d cackled, one hand sliding along Logan’s thigh as Janus chuckled beside him. He’d shivered, body reacting to the welcome touch even as he teasingly fought to maintain a stoic expression.

Remus continued. “I think the hard problem of three bodies is quite easy to solve…”

Logan gasped when Remus’ hand moved further up his thigh and at his nod, Janus plucked the book up and marked his page.

“It’s a fun problem to solve, too… “ Remus’ voice went low and he slid closer under the covers as Janus turned down the lights. “Here, lemme show you…”

But that dream had been weeks ago. Logan thumbed through the remaining pages of the book—most of them, in fact. He’d been slowly, very slowly working his way through this tome. His marginalia stopped on the current page. He had not somehow mixed up the pages or lost his place, restarting at an earlier chapter.

Alone in his room, in his and his wife’s bedroom, the phantom memories of partners he did not have fresh against his lips and his skin, fantasized whispered words of their love in his ears, Logan hugged the book to his chest. Tears pricked his eyes.

What the hell was he doing?

If he could so clearly imagine finding and maintaining such love, what was keeping him from that kind of happiness right now, in his real life? Was he simply getting in his own way? Was it all just him holding back, shutting down and grey rocking, blocking himself from rekindling genuine love and maybe even passion in his marriage? Not in some impossible fantasy he’d dreamt up, but his real, actual marriage?

The marriage he’d come closer to abandoning than he wanted to admit.

Surely, even if he could snap his fingers and trade his real life for some fantasy, those other relationships would have challenges of their own. Roadblocks and fights, miscommunication and hurt feelings. Was it only in his dreams he could attract—and keep—the affection of those gorgeous, kind, brilliant men?

For heaven’s sake, in some of his dreams, Logan was in a relationship with Janus, his boss who—at absolute best—reviled him, barely tolerating his presence in the office and that only because of his casework and brief writing. Back in law school, Janus had actively despised him.

Even in a dreamworld where those golden eyes looked at his with softness and caring, Logan must have worked to earnhis affection, to earn his respect.

It was past time Logan strove to earn that same affection from his wife. And with just as much fervor. She’d loved him once. He would find a way to be the man she needed him to be so she could love him again. She hadn’t always been like this, hot then cold, with the boys afraid to share the most basic parts of themself with her.

He could find a way to rekindle the kindness she’d once held in her heart.

Pen in hand, Logan flipped to the mostly blank title page of the previous chapter and began to write. Eddies in a stream, it was up to him to change the course of his life. Starting right the fuck now.

~

The winter months crawled by.

But Logan’s determination to make his marriage work, to make his life work only grew stronger.

When Kelly messaged three days into her Thanksgiving trip with her parents, explaining she needed to extend her time there by a week and a half, Logan called back, extinguishing the disappointment in his tone as he left a voicemail to assure her he would miss her but that he understood and had everything handled at home.

When Kelly announced at the start of February that she wanted to stay in for her birthday that year, that she was tired of the crowds and the overdone laced heart decorations at all her favorite restaurants, Logan canceled their reservation at Jazz Alley and planned a special evening at home. Her favorite meal, her favorite wine. The antique birthstone pendant from Isadora’s.

And when Kelly sent him a text fifteen minutes before she was due home for that birthday dinner, Logan was slow to open the message, a sinking in his heart warning him what it would say before he even had to read it.

“Plans changed. I’ll be home Sunday.”

Water running, vegetable scrubber still in one hand, Logan stood in the center of the kitchen for a long time, staring down at his phone.

Pat wasn’t home, joyously spending mid-winter break with his brothers, the trip itself a well-earned reward for pushing up his GPA. Eyes burning, Logan didn’t need to school his expression into one of patience and understanding and strength. Didn’t need to keep his smile. To keep the despair at bay. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he could if he’d tried and he felt lucky Patton wasn’t there in that moment.

Gratitude and guilt collided in his chest, horrified at his own thoughts.

Logan turned off the water then blew out the tapers in the centerpiece and sank down into the closest chair. Between a bout of interminable insomnia, several frantic of weeks doubling up his court calendar to arrange for the time away, then shuttling Patton up to Bellingham last night, he was… drained.

He’d he’d left the bourguignon to rest on the stove… Might as well let it finish before packing it away in the refrigerator. Assessing the half-made table, he sighed. He wrapped the still-warm bread in a towel and stretched plastic wrap over the partially-made salad before refrigerating it. With a little extra effort, he finally wedged the swollen cork back into the wine bottle. Doubtless, it would be drunk another night.

Finally, he pushed aside the place setting in front of him. Arms crossed atop the table, he laid down his head and wept.

~

“Lo?”

The hand resting on his arm was warm and… strong. A pan sizzled faintly, turmeric and ginger and cardamon wafting to where he lay. He blinked, fuzzy, soft light filtering down from the tops of the packed bookcases across from him.

Bookcases?

The hand moved up to his cheek. “I’m terribly sorry to wake you, my dear, but you’d never forgive us for letting you sleep through our dinner.”

“Or for trashing your circadian rhythm!” another voice laughed from a little further away. “Dinner is ready, by the way! Come and get it while it’s hot…”

Slowly, Logan recognized Janus and Remus’ voices and smiled.

“Only dinner is hot and ready for us?” he chuckled, squeezing Janus’ hand as he helped him sit up.

Remus laughed, music unhitching the tight knot behind Logan’s sternum. “Well if you wanted desert first, all you had to do was ask!”

“Don’t encourage him,” Janus scolded, flushed cheeks and crooked smile undoing his efforts to appear stern. Remus winked at him over Janus’ shoulder.

The welcome comfort of Janus’ arm circling his waist and Remus’ lascivious grin reminded him just how long it had been since he’d dreamt of them. The last had been… perhaps December? Perhaps even earlier than that.

Janus stroked his hip, leaning close as Remus draped himself over the counter, unabashedly watching them. Logan could swim forever in the love and want pouring from their gazes.

God, how he’d missed this. How he’d missed them.

“Why don’t one of you help me serve and we can get this show on the road?” On his feet, the warm glow of the lights, the scent of spice and books and clay and… them filling the air, a rush of energy danced under Logan’s skin.

“I’d be happy to,” he said, turning to Janus. “If that’s alright with you?”

Head cocked, Janus peered at him for a moment before nodding. “Of course, Lo,” he said before leaning in for a kiss. “I’ll handle the table,” he added with a little smile. “Neither of you heathens know how to lay the forks properly, anyway.”

“Ah!” Remus gasped from the kitchen, trying and failing not to laugh. “Are you implying I don’t know how to fork you properly, Jannie?”

Eyebrows dancing, Janus smirked. “I suppose we’ll need to find out later, won’t we?”

A pot holder went flying through the little window between the kitchen and the dining room. “Just for that, Lo Lo and I will make you watch while he gives me a good forking tonight.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Janus chuckled, smoothing out the tablecloth. “I get winner, by the way.”

Logan stood listening to their flirting, his earlier bravado weak before their easy back and forth. During a lull when Janus left to fetch more candles, Logan stepped closer to Remus. “You said you needed help?”

Turning so Logan could make out what was printed on his apron—The Chef Suggests You Try the Sausage, with a big arrow pointing down—Remus grinned at him. “Oh, yes,” he said, carefully scooping up a bit of curry from a bubbling pot. Full lips pursed, he blew at the steaming dab of of food before tapping it at Logan’s bottom lip. “Open up,” he sang.

The warmth flooding his cheeks had nothing to do with the chilis in the sauce.

“Delicious,” Logan murmured after he’d chewed, courage blooming under the heat of Remus’ answering smirk. “The curry tastes good, too.”

“Well, now I have to try it,” he laughed, turning toward the stove before feinting and spinning around. He pulled Logan close with one hand and captured his mouth in a slow kiss, humming when Logan belatedly kissed back.

“Oh, that is delicious,” he whispered against his lips when Logan broke away, breathless. Remus kissed down his jaw and his neck, mustache tickling the sensitive skin. “Sure you don’t want to just pack this all up and head upstairs first?”

“Tempting,” Janus’ voice was behind them. “The last time we tried that, Muse, we set off the smoke alarms when we forgot to turn off the back burner.”

Laughing, Remus pulled Logan closer with one arm and spun him. Tucked close with his back to Remus’ chest, he caught the flirty heat in Janus’ eyes and laughed at the way Remus brandished the spoon still clutched in his other hand. “Who forgot to turn off the back burner?”

Logan held his breath, watching as Janus smiled and plucked the spoon from his hand. Remus shimmied behind him, anticipation thick between the three of them. Slowly, Janus lowered his head and brought Remus’ fingers to his lips. He kissed each softly before nipping at his thumb.

With his other hand, Janus drew them both closer until Logan was pressed tight between them. He whispered near Logan’s ear, goosebumps sprouting where warm breath caressed his skin. “Can either of you blame me for being easily distracted when such glory is within my grasp?”

A shiver went down Logan’s spine and he shook his head. “I certainly cannot,” he whispered back.

Mouthing gently at Logan’s earlobe, Janus chuckled when Remus’ stomach growled loudly behind him. “I believe we have other bodily needs to attend to first. I know what kind of care you give yourself on big cooking days, Muse.”

“Booo,” Remus laughed, holding them both tighter.

Janus loosened his grip just enough to drag a hand through Remus’ hair. “Now, now… you’ll need your energy for what I have planned for us tonight.”

His low, barely voiced groan rumbled against Logan’s back and Remus nodded. “Fine,” he huffed., sounding put upon. But when Logan looked back, he was grinning, heat in his gaze. “I suppose you’ll all have to enjoy the wonderful meal I’ve prepared you first.”

“Excellent,” Janus murmured. He kissed Remus, then Logan and released them both. “I have something quick to attend to upstairs and I’ll be right down.”

Logan and Remus watched him float up the stairs. He turned just before he disappeared behind the banister and blew them one more kiss.

“Okay, time to show off,” Remus laughed, opening the cabinet over the refrigerator and pulling down a heavy ceramic dish.

Glazed in a full spectrum of painted hearts, the dish—a tureen, judging by the matching lid Remus pulled down next—was smooth and shaped like an open heart. The lid fit perfectly, gleaming gold and green and Logan’s favorite shade of blue. The green matched Remus’ hair. And the yellow… If Logan had to guess Janus’ favorite color, it would be that buttery, almost golden shade of yellow he wore nearly every day.

Remus held it proudly, fingers curled reverently around the handles. It was almost certainly his own creation.

“It’s beautiful,” Logan whispered.

“You always say that,” Remus blushed—flustered for the first time Logan had seen, well, dreamt by something less than salacious. “But thank you, Lo Lo,” he grinned, handing him the work of art.

Hands shaking, Logan clutched the heavy dish, feeling a bit like he had the first time he’d held Remy in the hospital.

“You can help me serve,” Remus said, already moving to the stove.

Cold doubt squeezed his chest as he looked down at the intricate work of art in his hands. “And you’re quite certain it’s… It’s acceptable to use your work to serve? I… I don’t know…” He gave it back, waiting until Remus’ long fingers wrapped around the handles before dropping his own hands.

Remus’ smile never faltered, but he tilted his head, eyes narrowed at him for a long, long moment before answering. “Of course it’s acceptable, Lo Lo,” he said, nodding. He pressed the heavy ceramic dish back into Logan’s hands. “It’s what I made it for.”

Accepting the tureen with both hands, he took a deep breath and fought to control the tremor running through him. “I shall be very careful with it,” he said, palms pressed tight against the smooth glazed surface to fight the sense of slipping. Turning, Logan set it down on the counter beside him before he lost his grip.

“You always are,” Remus grinned, turning off the stove. Spicy steam billowed when he lifted the lid on the cooking pot. “Here, if you can hold it for me, I’ll add the curry.”

Hands trembling, he lifted the tureen and cradled it in his arms as he slowly brought it closer to Remus.

Inches, inches from the stove, the tureen leapt from his hands, hitting the oven handle before bouncing and striking the floor.

Logan dove after it, fingers grazing the smooth handle. He failed to save it.

With a sickening crack, Remus’ dish hit the stone tile and broke into a dozen sharp chunks.

“Oh my god, no…” Logan whispered. He dropped to his knees, gathering the shards. Pricking his fingers, his palms, the edges grew red, matching the hearts Remus had so painstakingly glazed on the outside.

“Lo Lo?” Remus crouched near him, wiping his own hands on the apron. Logan found another piece by his knee.

Kelly Croft is Patton's mother in every universe.

Patton is Logan's son in every universe. In Happily Ever After 💙💚, Overruled💙💚💛, The Uses of Adversity💙❤️, and In Sickness and In—💔.