Eleven
Christmas Eve, Sunday, December 24th
Tate woke up the next morning early.
Far too early for anyone to be awake. Evidently, that included Donovan, who was sleeping soundly beside him.
He was tempted to pinch himself to see if he was still asleep because this … it was some sort of Christmas miracle because the absolute last thing he expected was to find Donovan still there the morning after. Hell, it had been a leap to think the man would even sleep with him at all.
Tate slipped out of bed as quietly as possible, careful not to disturb Donovan. He tiptoed across the room, stopping twice to ensure he didn’t so much as breathe loud enough to wake the man. When he reached the bedroom door, he opened it just enough to slip out of the room.
From there, he was a Formula 1 driver speeding around every corner of the house as he used the bathroom, found clothes, dressed, and slipped out of the house in record time.
He had to do some creative maneuvering to get his car out because Donovan had blocked him in. Thankfully, they had plenty of land, so he simply did a U-turn around the barn and came out the other side. If Reilly’s parents happened to be watching out their back window, they were likely wondering what the hell was wrong with him.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing was wrong.
Last night had been the most incredible night of his life. He doubted there was a man alive who could possibly top that, and Tate wondered if he would even bother trying in the future. There was a good chance he could remain celibate for the rest of his life and live off the memories alone.
So why was he leaving? Simple. He didn’t want to be left.
Yeah, it was probably a dick move to leave Donovan in his bed, sound asleep. There was a chance—remote though it was—that he could’ve woken Donovan up, enjoy some more of that exquisite fucking he’d received last night before the day got started. But where would that leave him? Tate did not want to be the one left behind the morning after. He wasn’t sure he would survive it.
He’d told Donovan last night that he didn’t want any promises, and the man hadn’t made him any. Not verbally, anyway. Tate had done his best not to look for the non-verbal cues, but he’d failed. He’d never had a lover who was as attentive as Donovan. It was too easy to mistake last night for something more than it was, and since he was already ruined, Tate figured fleeing was his only option.
What made it worse was that after the incredible encounter, Donovan hadn’t so much as moved. Tate had been the one to remove the condom and toss it into the trash. Tate had been the one to clean them both up, to strip the comforter off the bed and replace it with one of the enormous blankets Reilly kept by the couch. And Tate had been the one to crawl back in bed with Donovan only to find himself wrapped in the man’s arms as soon as he was horizontal.
To say it had been the perfect night was a complete understatement.
But there was a drastic difference between night and the morning after. With the light of day came regret, and Tate wasn’t sticking around for Donovan to sprinkle a few on his perfect-night sundae. He told Donovan that he didn’t need promises and he hadn’t been lying.
Of course, that was before Donovan gave him the most incredible night of his life. Before Tate had realized just how in love with Donovan he was. For years, he’d been lusting after the man, but his feelings for Donovan had started about the same time as his physical attraction. More specifically, back when Tate was seventeen and his mother kicked him out of her house because she couldn’t condone Tate’s “lifestyle”.
As though being gay was a fucking lifestyle.
Reilly and her family had taken him in, brought him into their home, and insisted he stay there for as long as he needed to. At the time, Reilly was the only one of Owen and Deborah’s kids who still lived at home, so it hadn’t been too much of an inconvenience. Because they were seniors in high school, Tate hadn’t put up a fight, figuring he could easily ride it out until he graduated.
For the first week, Tate had been in denial. He’d been hurt but also angry at his mother, so he rode out the pain in a haze of fury. By the second week, he felt abandoned and unwanted.
That was when Donovan came to his rescue.
Tate knew Reilly was the one who called him because Donovan was gay, and she knew if anyone could help him find his footing in the world, it was him. And it worked. Donovan had told him that it wasn’t Tate’s job to make people see clearly, that he couldn’t take responsibility for anyone else’s shame. Yeah, Tate had looked up to the guy, and he’d respected him, but he’d also been a little in love with him, too. That had sealed it for him, though.
Tate had appreciated that Donovan would take the time to help him through the rough patch. After that, Donovan never harped on it, never acted as though he’d done anything at all, in fact. The man was simply there for the people he cared about, and Tate knew he always would be.
So, yeah, Tate had hoped that one day Donovan might look at him as something other than his little sister’s best friend. Last night he had. And last night was perfect. Tate didn’t want to do anything that would tarnish his memories of it, so here he was, in his car, driving around Coyote Ridge so he didn’t have to be the one who was left this morning.
Donovan would get over it. Of that, Tate was certain.
As for his own heart … only time would tell.
***
Donovan woke up and instantly reached forTate, only to find an empty place and a cold pillow.
He opened his eyes and looked around, listening for sounds coming from another part of the house. He didn’t hear anything, but he smiled anyway. He found it amusing that he was usually the one to slip out of bed in the middle of the night, and Tate Riggs was the one who had turned the tables on him.
