Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
December, New York
Tate stood in the window of his hotel watching the snow fall.
Christmas was coming up fast and he'd have another lonely ass time by himself in his hotel.
Joey had invited him over, but he felt it was imposing.
Christmas didn't mean anything to Tate, but it meant something to Joey's family.
His trainer had been great to him and they'd gotten to know each other a bit more.
He spent two weeks with him at The Ranch and then at the training in Jacksonville.
That only gave Tate more reason not to take him up on the offer.
Tate had nothing to do until the week between New Year's and Anaheim.
That week, he'd be at another camp with Joey.
This one was more serious and private and in Florida.
Tate kicked the toe of his sneakers against the baseboard.
He didn't want to go to Florida, to some hick town that he'd never heard of.
He wanted to go to Colorado. He wanted to find Pilot and climb back into his arms, because that was the one place where all the pain stopped.
The one place where he could relax and not think about Donny, Bryce or Warren or anyone else.
He pushed those unproductive thoughts away and contemplated going out to find a hookup. He was in New York. Jesus Christ—Easter Bunny! He laughed, remembering how he'd teased Pilot.
Sean Mahan.
That was Pilot's real name. He'd told Tate while they were fucking. Tate had hoped it meant something. He'd hoped Pilot—Sean—wanted more. Maybe he’d been way off on that assumption.
His cell phone rang, interrupting his thoughts and pissing him off, especially since the generic ring tone was the one that meant he didn't know who was calling. He ignored it.
A few minutes later and the message notification beeped. He didn't care.
It started ringing again. Whoever it was must be determined. Probably a reporter. They tended to be tenacious. When it stopped ringing, he tapped on his voice mail notification and entered his password as prompted.
The voice on the message was low and gravelly. “I hoped you'd answer when I called.” Silence. “I miss you.” Beep.
Pilot.
Tate gasped as psycho butterflies started churning up his stomach. His bird-heart beat its wings, desperately trying to break out of the cage.
It rang again. Same number.
Tate gulped and answered it. “Pilot?”
“Yeah. It's me.” He sounded nervous.
“Hi.” Was that breathy sound Tate's own voice? “Uh, did you say you missed me?”
“Yes. I miss you.”
Silence.
Pilot laughed softly. “Are you smiling?”
“Yes.” That was the truth.
“Good. I love your smile. I want to see it again. Do you have plans for Christmas?”
Christmas? “Uh, no. Not really. I don't normally do Christmas.”
“What's that mean?”
Tate let out a loud exhale. Had he been holding his breath? “I don't like, uh, have family. So, that whole Christmas thing, just doesn't mean anything to me. I'm not religious and all that, either.”
“Doesn't matter. No one should spend Christmas alone, especially you.”
What? More silence.
Pilot cleared his throat. “Come spend it with me.”
“Seriously?” Tate couldn't imagine anything better or anything worse. He had already become too obsessed with Pilot and his sexy brooding eyes, and his soft cinnamon colored hair. “Pilot. That's family time. I'm not—”
“Stop. I wouldn't be able to enjoy any of it, knowing you were alone.”
“Don't even feel sorry for me. I'm not feeling sorry for myself. Seriously. It's a fact of life. That's all.”
Pilot didn’t seem to want to give up so easily, though. “I need you here for my peace of mind. Has nothing to do with you or feeling sorry for you or whatever. Cause I don't. I just, uh...need. You. Here.”
Tate couldn't answer for a minute. He took a deep breath, just adjusting to what the man was saying. “Look, Sean. This isn't smart. I mean...”
Pilot made a noise that sounded suspiciously like growling. “I'll buy your plane tickets—”
“No,” he barked out. It sounded way too harsh. “I'll buy my own damned tickets. Just pick me up at the airport.”
“Great. Text me your flight info.”
“Fine. When do you want me to come?” Tonight. Tomorrow. Forever?
“Well, I have work and stuff, uh, until the twentieth. Can you come then? Stay through New Year's?”
“Okay. What airport?”
“Denver International.”
“Okay. And, uh, Sean...if you're not there, so help me, there will be hell to pay.”
“Tate, I am serious. I'll be there.”
“Okay, then.”
“Okay. Bye.”
Tate didn't even say goodbye, just hung up. Wow. He stared out at the snow, reflecting in the light. It would be snowing in Colorado too. He wasn't a huge fan of snow, but if it meant spending a few days cuddled up to Pilot, he was all in.
Wait—how did the man even get his number?
Tate flipped through the contacts on his phone and tapped on Tyler's number. His cute face popped up on the phone screen before he answered. “’Lo?”
“Tyler,” he grumbled, “did you give him my number?”
“What? Who?”
“You know who.” Tate scowled at his friend, even though he couldn’t see Tate over the phone. “Pilot—that’s who. Did you?”
“No.” Did he sound so innocent on purpose?
“How'd he get it then?” Tate asked.
“Shit! Did he call? That's great.”
“How?” Tate wasn't letting him off the hook.
“I swear, Tate, I haven't talked to Pilot since we left X-TS.”
“Text?”
“No.”
“Ty! Come on!”
He heard a guilty little chuckle. “Well, I did give your number to Angel.”
“Angel?”
“Yeah, you remember Angel? Our photographer-slash-manager extraordinaire. She's that little chick with dark hair—”
“I know who she is.” Damn, that sneaky man, going through Angel. Tate guessed it made sense though.
“Hey, Tate. Man, does it matter? He asked for it. He called you. That means something right?”
“Something. Yeah.” What that something was, Tate didn't know, but he wanted to find out, even if it cost him a broken heart. Not like he hadn't had one of those before. Not like he hadn't been living with one for several years now, ever since his parents disowned him.
“I didn't mean to upset you. I really thought it was a good thing.”
“It is. Really. I'm not mad. I'm just, uh...you know? I guess I'm anxious about it.”
“About what?” Tyler chuckled. “You already had sex, right?”
“It's not the sex. It's the other...stuff.”
Silence.
“What other stuff?” Tyler asked.
Tate wasn't sure how to say what he needed to say. He hoped Tyler would give him some advice or something, as his closest friend. Maybe friends didn’t do shit like that. How would Tate know when he’d had so few of them? “He invited me to his house for Christmas. That's family stuff. And I—”
“Oh! My gawd! I thought you meant like whips and chains and kinky shit. Damn, Tate, why didn't you just say that?”
Tate giggled. “You're stupid, Ty.” Whips and chains he could probably handle. The emotional stuff, nope, not capable of handling.
“Seriously, though, Tate. Just go for it. See if it works or not. You don't know if you don't try and it sure as hell beats flirting with guys who are either physically or emotionally unavailable.”
Tate had told Tyler about Bryce and that other asshole, Donny, and why they'd broken up, though he never mentioned what happened with Warren at camp. That one was totally on Tate, anyway. He didn’t want to think about it, let alone bring it up.
Tyler had been pissed enough that Tate hadn't called him when he’d left Donny’s, even though he'd been on his honeymoon.
He swore he would have dropped everything to help.
That's what Tyler thought friends were for.
Tate had never had friends like that before.
He wasn't sure he understood any of it. “Yeah,” he finally answered, unsure of what else to say.
Tyler breathed deep on the phone. “I'm worried about you. Pilot is a good guy. So, don't over think it. He hasn't asked you to move in or marry him. Right?”
“Right.”
“So just enjoy, man.”
Christmas would be interesting this year.