“Tomorrow,” I say. “When she’s sober and can actually process the information. But tonight, I think we should celebrate. Tate just committed to this insanity with us, and that deserves a drink.”
Levi jumps up immediately, heading toward the kitchen. “I’ll grab the whiskey. We can toast to our terrible decision-making.”
Tate laughs. “Is it always this chaotic with you two?”
“Pretty much,” I confirm, and moments later Levi returns with a bottle and three glasses. “But you already knew that about us.”
Levi hands out the glasses and pours the amber liquid, filling each one halfway. He then raises his glass. “To Tate,” he says, “for being brave enough to take the plunge. And to all of us for being crazy enough to think this can work.”
“To us,” I echo, raising my glass.
Tate hesitates for just a moment, then raises his glass as well. “To us,” he repeats.
After the drinks are finished, Tate sets his glass down and looks between Levi and me. “There’s something I need to say,” he starts, and I can see him gathering his courage. “When I was with you”—he looks at me—“that night in the truck, I realized something. I’ve been running from myself for a long time. From what I actually want and what I actually am. Being with you made me stop running.”
His eyes stay glued to mine, and I listen as he talks. I love the sound of his voice.
“Being with you and Abby,” he continues, “makes me feel like maybe I don’t have to be what my family expects me to be, or what society expects me to be. I can just be... me.”
“You can,” I say, and I mean it.
I move from the couch and wrap an arm around Tate’s shoulders.
“Welcome to the chaos, Coach. It’s going to be one hell of a ride,” Levi says, throwing back another drink.
Tate leans into me, and I enjoy the feel of his body against mine. We might only be able to have this behind closed doors, but that is good enough for now.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Abby
My head feels like someone is using my skull as a drum kit. Every beat sends pain radiating from my temples down the back of my neck. My mouth tastes like something died in it, but first that something was marinated in wine. As I try to swallow, it feels like glass shards stab at my esophagus.
I’m afraid to move.
My skin is clammy under the blanket, and I don’t want to open my eyes. I have a sneaking suspicion the sunlight is going to stab directly into my retinas, and honestly, I think death would be preferable right now.
An arm curls around me, and I wonder who I ended up in bed with last night. My memories are fuzzy. I remember drinking and even singing, but somewhere there everything went black. Jesus, I’m a lightweight.
I pry one eye open and thankfully someone had the foresight to close the curtains, but when I peer over my shoulder, I find Tate lying behind me.
“Morning,” he says.
I try to remember when he got here, groaning as I come up empty. “What did I do?”
He chuckles and presses a kiss on my shoulder. “Got extremely drunk, spoke about yourself in the third person, and when you started vomiting, I volunteered to help. The Kanes apparently don’t do puke—their solution was to take you outside and hose you down.”
I snort. “I would have frozen to death.”
“That was the only reason they didn’t, and I was here anyway.”
“I’m so sorry. This is why I don’t drink often—especially wine—but Leila has such a wonderful collection in the cellar,” I say, shifting so I face him. “Remind me again why you’re here. Did I drunk-dial you?”
“Text actually, but it was not readable. I was already considering coming over,” he replies, tucking some of the mussed strands of my bed-head hair behind my ear. “To recap, though, Abby wasreallyhappy I decided to give this a shot.”
My eyes widen. “You want to do this with us?”
Tate nods. “As long as to the public you’re happy to be only dating an ex-pro athlete turned assistant coach.”
