Just a Bit Wrecked (Straight Guys #11) - Alessandra Hazard Page 0,4

shit kicked out of you?”

Lifting his eyes, Andrew focused his gaze on Logan’s pissed-off face and smiled. Maybe I do, he thought. Physical hurt to distract him from the pain in his chest sounded almost welcome. “Did I offend you? Aren’t you a homo? A cocksucker? A faggot?”

Logan’s lips pressed together, his brown eyes darkening. “I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish, but you won’t get a rise out of me with a few juvenile insults.”

Andrew stretched his mouth into a sneer. “I just can’t help but notice that you didn’t even shed a tear for your boyfriend—or whatever that guy who was all over you was. But then again, I’ve always known homos didn’t give a shit about anything but sticking their dicks into other homos. You wouldn’t understand things like love and grief—” He yelped as Logan hauled him to his feet roughly.

“One more word, and I’ll fucking punch you,” Logan said, his fingers digging painfully into Andrew’s shoulders. “I gave you a lot of slack, because you’re grieving and all, but I’m really getting fed up with your bigoted bullshit.” He shook him like a ragdoll. “This is your last warning.”

Andrew swallowed, his heart beating so fast it felt like it was trying to escape his chest.

Logan was big. It was a stupid thing to notice, but he’d never been this close to him before. Logan was big. The weird thing was, he didn’t look all that big from afar—maybe because he was tall and muscular without much fat—but this close, it was obvious that the guy was built like a tank. He towered over Andrew by more than half a head, and Andrew wasn’t exactly short, either—five foot eleven. It wasn’t just the height or the muscular build. The guy’s presence was oppressively strong, his dark gaze heavy and hostile. Coupled with his dark scruff and grumpy disposition, he looked uncannily like Wolverine, which was amusing, considering his name. Or would have been amusing if Andrew were capable of feeling amusement anymore.

Andrew heard himself say, “Get your disgusting hands off me.”

The punch to his gut wasn’t surprising, but the force of it sent him to his knees.

He laughed. “Am I supposed to be scared, you homo?”

Logan buried a hand in his hair and yanked his head up, forcing him to look at him. “You bigoted little dick—” He cut himself off, just looking at him intently. Studying him.

It made Andrew feel uncomfortable. Transparent. As if the other man could see right into his soul.

At last, Logan heaved a sigh, the anger and tension leaving his body. He ran a hand over his face and then looked Andrew in the eyes. “Look,” he said. “I’m really sorry for your loss. But get it together. This… self-destructive behavior is fucking unhealthy. Get a goddamn grip. I’m sure your wife wouldn’t have wanted you to get into fights you can’t win or drink yourself into an early grave. She seemed like a smart woman. Kind. But she’s gone. You’re not.”

Andrew’s vision was suddenly blurry.

She seemed like a smart woman. Kind. But she’s gone.

He didn’t know why those words hit him so hard. It wasn’t like he hadn’t known Vivian was dead—he’d buried her with his own hands—but somehow, those words, uttered by a near stranger, made it real. She was gone. She really was gone. Gone. Dead. He’d never see her again.

A lump formed in Andrew’s throat, his vision getting blurrier. He blinked rapidly, hating himself for showing weakness in front of this man, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t hold back the tears.

He turned his face away, trying to hide them, his breath coming out in ragged gasps.

Logan was mercifully quiet.

But he hadn’t left.

Andrew hoped the sound of the waves crashing against the shore masked his ragged breathing, but knowing his luck, it probably didn’t.

Logan remained silent for a while, allowing him to get a grip on his emotions while both of them pretended that he wasn’t crying. God, how fucking humiliating.

At long last, Logan cleared his throat. “Come on, get up,” he said, his voice gruff. “We need to hydrate you.”

Andrew looked at him, telling himself he wasn’t embarrassed by the tears in his eyes. His wife was dead. He had every right to grieve her, dammit.

“Why do you care?” he whispered.

Logan’s expression was somewhat pinched. “I don’t. But I’ll be damned if I have to dig another grave.”

Despite his harsh words, his dark eyes weren’t unkind as he offered his hand. “Get up, come on.”

Andrew