Written in Scars(7)

Logan spooned beef and jelly into the bowl, setting it down on the floor. Finally satisfied, Hunter stuck his face into the overdue dinner and snaffled it without a pause.

Logan laughed. “I don’t know where you put it all big boy.”

He went around the ground floor, switching on lamps in the hall and living room. The benefit of living alone was the chance to decorate the cottage to his own taste, and indulge his passion for Tiffany lamps and lighting, picking them up in antique stores and auctions. The beautiful coloured glass brought a sensual warmth to the rooms.

He went upstairs to hang his jacket and take off his shoes.

The interview had been a success. The final stop on a triumphant book tour. Now he could relax, his promotional obligations fulfilled, spend time at home and start work on his next novel. He already had a folder full of notes and character sketches, he knew where the book was heading; now he needed to sit down and write it. But not tonight.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Sam.

He’d thought about him all the way here, driving on auto-pilot while he remembered their brief encounter in the green room. The connection between them seemed instant and strong, crazily so. No one had affected him as powerfully before. Not that quickly. Logan was set to ask him out until he saw the ring. Thank God. How embarrassing it would have been if he’d bulldozed ahead.

Of course Sam was taken. Why wouldn’t he be? It would be mad if he wasn’t. Handsome, intelligent, soulful; a man like that would never be alone for long.

His husband was the luckiest bastard in the world.

Logan had no luck. Not with men. He didn’t accept his sexuality until his mid-twenties. Until then he’d convinced himself he was bisexual, that he was really into women with just a passing interest in men. A complete delusion. He was never into women, despite tying the knot and starting a family. It wasn’t enough because all he ever wanted was to be with another man.

If he’d been honest and true to himself, maybe he would be married a man like Sam instead of living here alone.

“Shoudla, woulda, coulda,” he sighed and headed back downstairs.

Hunter had finished his dinner and sat in the kitchen cleaning his whiskers. Logan searched the fridge, wondering what he would eat. There was an uncooked chicken breast and some peppers. Maybe he should griddle them for a sandwich. Not a bad idea. Easy too. He took the griddle pan from the cupboard and set it to heat while he chopped the peppers.

His mobile phone rang. Logan glanced at the screen and didn’t recognize the caller. He thought of ignoring it, but a sixth sense told him to answer. As a journalist and writer, he’d learned not to ignore those instincts. The best opportunities usually came when he least expected them.

“Hello, Logan Crawford speaking.”

A moment’s pause before an uncertain voice spoke. “Logan, hi. It’s, er, Sam. From the TV studio.”

Logan’s heart jumped, and a smile spread instantly across his face. “Sam. Hello. How are you doing? Did you forget something?”

“No, I didn’t forget anything. I was just, er, thinking … wondering …”

Logan caught a shaky, nervous quality in his voice. This was not the same young man who spoke so confidently about knife crime. “Is everything all right?”

A sigh. “Not really. Are you free? Now, I mean. Would you like to get a drink? Are you still in the city? I can meet you.”

“I just got home.”

“Oh.” So much disappointment in a single word.

“It’s not a big deal. I can be there in twenty minutes. Half an hour tops.”

“No, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have called.”

“Sam,” he said firmly. “I’m glad you did. There’s something’s wrong. I can hear it in your voice. I just need to put my shoes on and grab a jacket then I’m back on the road. Where are you? I’ll pick you up.”

“I’m at the Metro station, heading back into town. There’s a bar near Central Station. Called The Alchemist.”

“I know it. I’ll be there by nine. Okay?”

“Great,” Sam’s voice, though still tense, sounded brighter. “See you there.”

Logan hung up. What was this? There was definitely something wrong with the boy. He heard it in his voice. What could it be? Personal problems? Emotional complications? Don’t forget the wedding ring.

Why call me when we’ve only just met?

Was this really something he should get involved with?

Did he even want to?

There was only one way to find out.

****

Logan had passed The Alchemist numerous times without going inside. A trendy city centre bar aimed at hipsters and the weekend crowds who drank cocktails by the jug, it didn’t look like his kind of place. Stepping through the door, he realised that assessment was correct. It was soulless, all chrome and glass surfaces with framed black and white images of 1960s gangsters on the walls. He might have enjoyed The Alchemist in his twenties, but for a man pushing forty, it looked like hell.

Thankfully mid-week it was relatively quiet.

“Hey,” Sam called from a booth on the far side of the bar, waving Logan over.

He wore the same clothes he’d had on for TV; a brown leather jacket, grey T-shirt, and jeans. There was a near empty bottle of beer on the table in front of him. As Logan approached, he saw Sam’s eyes were red-rimmed and raw. The boy forced a smile.