Just a Bit Wrecked (Straight Guys #11) - Alessandra Hazard Page 0,3

the clothes he’d found in Vivian’s carry-on bag. He felt a little bad for destroying a dead woman’s belongings, but he figured she wouldn’t mind her clothes being used to feed her widower. It was only practical: out of all the clothes, hers weren’t something they could wear—unless they got really desperate, but Logan tried not to think about that option. If they got desperate enough to need to wear Vivian’s clothes, that would mean they would have been stranded on this island for a very, very long time.

He actually sort of wanted Andrew to get angry over his wife’s clothes. The silence was starting to get on Logan’s nerves. The guy walked around the island like some kind of ghost, his gaze listless and lost. He barely touched the water and food Logan left for him several times a day. He didn’t speak at all. It was a stark contrast to the confrontational guy who had been glaring at him and Tom with disgust only a few days ago.

Something had to give; it couldn’t go on like this.

Chapter 3

Andrew wanted to get drunk.

There was a bottle of vodka among the things Logan had salvaged from the plane. Andrew grabbed it when the other man wasn’t looking, went to his wife’s grave, and got smashingly drunk. It was a good feeling.

Logan found him a few hours later and was, quite predictably, furious. But then again, he seemed to have only two moods, as far as Andrew was concerned: disgusted and furious.

“Go away,” Andrew slurred, looking up at him from the ground. “You’re killing the mood here.”

His voice sounded strange even to his own ears. Hoarse and croaky. How long had he not used it? Since…

Andrew took another swig from the bottle, relishing the burn.

He was pretty sure Logan’s face would have turned red with rage had it not been already so sun-bronzed.

“I told you: you aren’t allowed to take anything without my approval first,” Logan gritted out, a muscle ticking at his temple.

Andrew snorted, kicking Logan’s shin. It was a pity he was barefoot. It probably didn’t even hurt that asshole. “You’re the biggest control freak I’ve ever met.” His lips twisted into a smile. “And I’ve known quite a few control freaks, so that actually says a lot. Are you sure you didn’t attend Joseph Rutledge’s school for the most controlling dicks on the planet?”

Logan shot him a disgusted look. “Get up. Drink some water and go sleep it off.”

Andrew kicked him on the shin again. The asshole didn’t even budge. “You aren’t the boss of me.”

“No,” Logan said. “But I’m the guy in charge of the stash, not you. You don’t get to take anything you like. Our supplies are limited—”

“It’s just vodka. What use—”

“It was the only thing here that could be used as an antiseptic,” Logan ground out. “And now we have nothing, thanks to you.”

Oh.

Andrew looked back at the bottle.

There was a long, tense silence.

Andrew stared at the bottle’s label. “It’s her birthday today,” he whispered, and then he laughed, the sound harsh and jarring even to his own ears. “I think. How fucked up is it that I don’t even know for sure what day it is?”

A sigh. “That’s hardly a good reason to get wasted—”

“She thought she might be pregnant.”

Silence.

Logan didn’t say anything.

Andrew gulped down what was left in the bottle and looked at the sky as he fought the tightness in his throat. Fuck, he didn’t know why he felt like this. It wasn’t like he had wanted kids all that much: Vivian had been the one who wanted them so badly. Andrew could still remember her wide smile and the tears in her eyes when she had realized that her period was late. She had decided to do a pregnancy test when they got back to the US, afraid of yet another disappointment. They had been trying for over six years, with Vivian getting more and more desperate as she approached forty. Was it ironic that she had died just as her dream was possibly about to come true? Ironic was the wrong word. Fucked up. Cruel. Fucking unfair and stupid.

And now he’d never even know if she really had been pregnant. He would always wonder.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Logan said, his voice gruff.

Andrew snorted. “Right. It’s not like people like you would ever understand what it’s like to lose a wife.”

“People like me,” Logan said flatly.

Andrew kicked the bottle toward the ocean. “Homos.”

“Do you actually want to get the