Page 38 of Bound in Blood (Vampires of Boston #1)

Chapter

Twenty-Five

LOGAN

L ogan was still mad. He could admit that much. Mostly, though, Logan felt stupid. Stupid for caring so much, stupid for knowing how this would end and letting himself get hurt anyway. Stupid for wanting Mateo to come back and apologize so everything could go back to normal.

This was always how it was, though, wasn’t it? Why would ‘fate’ stop someone from getting sick of Logan? His compassion was cute and nice until it wasn’t convenient. Logan was a novelty. Adorable for a short amount of time, but annoying in the long run. Tale as old as time.

Why did he ever believe that this would be any different?

God, he hated himself for even hoping. For thinking that because of some concoction of divine intervention and immortality, this time it wasn’t temporary. That the loving ache in his chest would precede something other than abandonment. Just this once.

Mate doesn’t mean exception, he reminded himself bitterly.

Logan sniffled and dragged a hand down his face as he pretended to watch whatever Vik was doing with Alexei’s drink. He wasn’t stupid, he knew a distraction when he saw one. His eyes burned, but no more tears would fall. Maybe that was for the best. He was so fucking tired of crying.

He could feel Marco and Alexei looking up at him every few seconds, but neither man spoke to him. They were wrapped in their own conversation. One Logan didn’t want or care to eavesdrop on. If Mateo left, Marco would follow. Logan was the outsider here, not them.

Vik handed Logan the drink he’d just finished, prompting for him to taste it.

Logan wasn’t a drinker. It’s why he’d accepted Vik’s offer of the bartender job, so he wouldn’t spend money at work.

But he took a drink anyway, pretending to taste it, before shaking his head.

“I think you’re better off just giving him straight liquor. Alexei isn’t a fan of the sweet stuff.”

His voice came out steadier than he’d expected it to, which was good, he supposed.

It would make the inevitable easier. When Marco told him it’s not Logan, it’s them.

How they could stay friends, or whatever.

He wondered how that would work with the mate-bond.

If it would allow them to just be friends. He didn’t feel up to asking anyone.

Vik hummed and slid the drink away, but didn’t press. Just gave Logan a quiet pat on the shoulder, steady and warm, and turned back to restock the bar.

The sound of the rain had faded to little more than a whisper, a mist tapping faintly against the windows. It was late. Logan wasn’t sure how much time had passed since Mateo had left. An hour? More?

He turned slightly toward the sound of Marco’s voice, but it was just low murmuring. Whatever they were saying, they didn’t want Logan to hear it.

Fine. He didn’t need to.

He was used to being the outsider. To being the one who cared too much, wanted too much, said too much. He could handle it. He always had.

He just had hoped he wouldn’t have to anymore.

The back door creaked open.

Logan’s body reacted before his mind could catch up, because of course it did. His spine went rigid, his heart tripping up under his chest. Logan’s body had never been hurt by Mateo. Just his heart. He wondered when the two would fall back into sync.

Behind him, he heard the slow footsteps. Water dripping onto the floor. Wet shoes squeaking to a stop at the threshold that separated the bar from the back room.

Then: “Logan?”

His name, soft and unsteady. Logan didn’t have to look to know who it was.

But he looked anyway.

Mateo stood in the doorway, soaked to the bone, hair plastered to his forehead, his expression unreadable. He looked like shit. He also looked like he didn’t know whether to step closer or bolt.

Logan blinked at him, feeling a little bit confused. Mateo’s emotions were apologetic, but not in an I-never-want-to-see-you-again way. More like an I-was-wrong kind of way. Logan wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“I was an idiot,” Mateo said, like there was no room for argument. “Because I was so hung up on my personal shit that I forgot I had the ability to hurt you.”

Logan blinked again, not trusting what he’d heard. His fingers curled around the counter in front of him, just to ground himself.

He didn’t say anything. Not yet. He needed to know where Mateo was going with all of this first.

Mateo took one tentative step closer. His soaked clothes squelched faintly with the motion.

“I shouldn’t have said any of that,” he added.

“Not to anyone, but especially not to you. I was angry, and I took it out on you, and it’s not your job to carry my grief just because you’re—” he faltered. “Because you’re kind.”

Logan looked up at him, willing himself not to cry again. Hoping that when he spoke, it would be as steady as when he had talked to Vik a moment ago. “I can’t be your verbal punching bag just because we disagree. That’s not fair.”

Mateo flinched, but didn’t argue. “I spent a lot of time angry before we first met. And then we did meet. And you turned, and suddenly this beautiful, kind, caring person that I thought I’d maybe get for one night was mine.

” Mateo shook his head. “I thought I had been given some sort of reward for working through my shit. But then, the shit comes back. And the first thing I do is lash out on the two people I care about the most.”

Logan swallowed hard. He could feel Marco’s eyes on them now, but he didn’t look. Couldn’t. This wasn’t about Marco. This was about him.

“I’m not your reward,” Logan said softly. “I’m not a trophy for getting better. I’m a person. I have limits. You don’t get to love me only when you’re healed.”

Mateo’s breath caught. He didn’t argue. Didn’t flinch. He just stood there, rain-slick and silent, like he knew that was the truest thing Logan could’ve said.

“You’re right,” Mateo murmured. “You’re not a reward. Or some divine exactly-what-I-needed twist of fate. You’re… my soulmate. Mine and Marco’s equal. And I dismissed and diminished your feelings like your opinion meant less than mine.”

Logan’s hands tightened around the edge of the bar. He felt like he was balancing on a knife’s edge—torn between reaching for Mateo and pushing him further away.

“I’m not asking you to never mess up,” Logan said. “But I am asking you to try. To think. To remember I’m standing right here. That I’m not invincible.”

“I know,” Mateo said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Sometimes I feel like I know you so intimately that I forget we’ve barely met.

I can feel every one of your emotions, but I don’t know the name of the town where you grew up.

I know you like to sleep on your left side, and that you mumble in your sleep, but I don’t know your favorite color. ”

Logan huffed. It wasn’t a laugh, but it wasn’t a sob either. It was somewhere in between. “Gold,” he said, looking up at Mateo.

Mateo blinked a few times, stunned. “What?”

“My favorite color is gold. And it doesn’t matter where I grew up, because we will never, ever be going back there.”

Mateo’s mouth parted, like he wanted to say more. Instead, though, he stepped around to the other side of the bar, sitting in the same stool he’d sat in the day Logan had met Mateo and Marco.

“Mine’s red,” he said softly, “Because it was my older cousin’s favorite, and by the time I realized I didn’t have to be just like him, I didn’t feel like picking a new one.”

Logan blinked, trying to think of something to say, but no words coming to mind.

“Marco’s is green,” Mateo added, like it was incredibly important for Logan to know. “He never has said why, but I think it reminds him of the necklace our mother used to wear to Mass.”

A quiet breath hitched at the end of the bar.

Marco stood slowly, the legs of his chair scraping gently across the wood floor. He didn’t speak right away, just crossed the room, unrushed, until he stood beside them. His gaze swept from Mateo to Logan, then down to the wet floor around Mateo’s stool.

“You’re wrong,” Marco said mildly. “I picked green because I liked the frogs in Nonna’s garden.”

Mateo blinked up at him, mouth quirking up around the corners. “I forgot. You and cugina ? * Rosita and the frogs.”

Marco rolled his eyes but didn’t push. Instead, he reached behind the bar and grabbed a towel, tossing it to his brother without ceremony. “You’re dripping all over the place.”

Logan looked between them, unable to stop his own smile forming, “Is there a story behind this? Can I hear it?”

Marco made a soft noise as he leaned one elbow on the bar, like he was pretending to be annoyed but secretly pleased at the question. “One of our younger cousins wanted to study amphibians, but it wasn’t a ‘ girl’s place’ according to her parents. So… I would do it for her, and report back.”

Mateo rolled his eyes. “You mean you’d make me catch them because you didn’t like the mud. Then you’d go find a picture of it in one of your stupid books.”

“Those stupid books saved your ass when one bit you,” Marco pointed out.

Mateo scoffed, the sound barely covering the way his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “It didn’t bite me.”

“You screamed louder than Rosita. And she was four, ” Marco shot back.

Logan’s grin widened. The edges of his heart, still tender and bruised, began to feel a little less fragile. “I’ve never heard you two argue so much before.”

“We’re not arguing! ” They both exclaimed at the same time, like this was something they’d explained a thousand times before. Logan bit back a laugh.

“This is just how we talk,” Mateo scoffed, “Now who’s the one sounding like a mother, hm?”

Logan chuckled, softer now, the kind of laugh that didn’t hurt. He looked between the two of them—Marco with his dry wit and patient gaze, Mateo still dripping onto the bar, looking wrecked and repentant and just a little bit more like himself again—and felt something settle inside him.

It wasn’t fixed. Not entirely. But maybe, just maybe , it was healing.

“Tell me more about the frogs,” he said, resting his chin in his hand.

Mateo sighed dramatically. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope.”

Marco smirked. “The frogs have nothing on the time I almost convinced him to eat a slug.”

Mateo groaned. “I hate both of you.”

But his voice was lighter than before. And when Logan smiled at him, tentative but real, Mateo smiled back. Just barely. But it was enough.

* ? Cousin