Page 66 of Spilled Coffee

“He’s not afraid to take what he wants either.” Logan stepped closer, close enough that Ethan caught the faint scent of whiskey on his breath, felt the heat radiating from his body. “Whether it’s offered or not. Please, don’t go with him.”

Ethan narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. “Listen to yourself. Who the hell are you to lecture me about anything? I can handle myself. I’m not as naive as you think.” His words came faster, sharper. “For Christ’s sake, I’ve been through BUD/S. If I can survive hell week, I can handle Devon in a nightclub.”

He leaned in, close enough that Logan could feel his breath. “I know what I’m doing and no one’s leading me astray. Just because you can’t handle how you feel about what we did, doesn’t mean I can’t.” He straightened and shoved past Logan, shoulder connecting hard enough to hurt. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere to be. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow—if I feel like it.”

Lines etched Logan’s face, his expression one of frustration laced with something darker as Ethan strode out—Brick and Devon flanking him like shadows. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he muttered, half to himself. “Yeah, just do what you want—as usual.”

He turned back to the bar and shoved his empty glass at the tender—a grizzled guy with a stained apron and a permanent scowl. “Sling another JD in there?”

The bartender nodded and poured the amber liquid into the glass. Logan sank onto a stool and stared into the drink, watching the light fracture through the whiskey.

The noise in the bar faded into the background: pool balls clacking, a drunk couple arguing by the jukebox, someone cranking up the volume on a country song that grated against his already raw nerves.

Ethan was gone, and Logan’s gut churned with a mix of regret and dread. He swirled the JD in his glass, then tipped it back. The burn down his throat didn’t dull the ache in his chest or wash away the image of Ethan walking out, Devon’s arm slung around him like a leash. He’d tried to warn him, tried to stop him, but Ethan was so damn stubborn, so determined to prove something.

His defiance cut deeper than Logan expected.

Fuck, maybe the kid was right. Maybe he couldn’t handle his feelings—the memory of Ethan’s skin under his hands tangled up in the mess of what he’d done with Devon years ago in that dusty barracks room outside Kabul.

He drained the glass, the ice clinking as he set it down, and signaled for another, which the bartender slid over without a word or judgment—the best kind of bartender.

Devon wasn’t just some flirt; he was a predator, and Logan knew that better than anyone. The night after they returned from that mission had been a blur of too much whiskey, too many blurred lines, and it ended with fists and blood and promises of retribution.

That was when Devon’s obsession really turned ugly.

Logan had buried the past, told himself Devon had moved on, but seeing him with Ethan, that warning klaxon blared in his skull like an incoming mortar.

“Shit,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. He should’ve dragged Ethan back, consequences be damned.

He tossed a twenty on the bar, nodded to the bartender, and pushed through the Friday night crowd toward the exit. The cool night air hit him like a splash of clarity after the stifling heat of the bar.

Logan stood outside, keys digging crescents into his palm as he stared at his Jeep, its black paint catching faint glints of neon from the bar sign overhead. Ethan wasn’t his to claim, not anymore—hell, maybe not ever. And wasn’t that the whole damn problem? He’d shoved Ethan away with both hands but couldn’t stand seeing someone else’s hands on him.

The hypocrisy wasn’t lost on him. But the thought of Devon pushing Ethan into things he didn’t want, using the same playbook he’d tried years ago in Kabul—it lit a fire in Logan’s chest that whiskey couldn’t douse.

He needed to let it go. Ethan wasn’t some helpless kid who needed rescuing—he was a Navy fucking SEAL and a damn good one. But nothing could erase that flicker of uncertainty he’d seen in Ethan’s eyes, that split-second hesitation before Devon steered him away.

“I won’t be too rough with him.” Devon’s whispered promise echoed in Logan’s mind, carrying the same predatory edge it had years ago. The same words, different target.

Fuck.

The Jeep’s engine growled to life beneath him, restless and ready as his own pulse. No plan, just purpose. Whether he ended up dragging Ethan out by force or simply watching from the shadows like some fool guardian, he wasn’t letting Devon’s game play out.

Not tonight. Not with Ethan.

CHAPTER 34

A sliverof moon hung in the sky, its feeble light barely cut through the haze and as the Uber idled in the parking lot, Devon climbed out of the backseat.

“Let’s roll, boys, this party’s about to get started,” he declared with an easy confidence that radiated from within him like heat off asphalt. He slammed the door with a grin, and his eyes flicked to Ethan. There was a glint of something more beneath his playful exterior. “You good?” he asked, his tone almost intimate.

“Yeah, ready to blow off some steam for sure,” Ethan muttered, forcing a nod.

Brick exploded from the front passenger seat like a cannonball, his laughter booming as he stretched his arms wide. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about! Those girls better be here tonight,” he announced, adjusting his cap with a cocky tilt. “I’m in the mood to dance, drink, and get fuckin’ lucky.” He shot them a pointed look, eyebrow raised. “You in?”

Ethan smiled but couldn’t quite muster Brick’s enthusiasm. “Sure, count me in,” he replied with a casual shrug, but even as the words left his mouth, his mind betrayed him by flickering back to Logan.

He’ll take it whether you’re ready or not.Logan’s words echoed in his head, and he clenched his fists, shaking it off with a quick crack of his knuckles.

---