Page 29 of Breakfast Included

“Reno,” Tate said softly, and the adoration he felt for Reno warmed his voice.

Roger nodded, but his eyes took on a faraway stare for a few seconds. Was he plotting right now? Tate wondered.

“Okay,” Roger said with one clap of his hands and a bright note in his voice. “These all have wheels, so it shouldn’t be too much work.”

Tate helped him gather his bags and hauled them down to the parking lot—by way of the non-haunted elevator—while Roger chattered the whole time about some of the more entertaining couples and happenings he’d seen over the years and asked question after question about Tate and Reno. He was intrigued that they’d known each other as kids and had only reconnected this past week at the speed-dating event.

Once all Roger’s belongings were securely loaded into his car—a stylish midnight-blue Mercedes-Benz GLC SUV that suited Roger to a T—he turned to Tate and placed a hand on his arm.

“You’re a good man, Tate. I can see that, and I’m sure your Reno does too.”

“Thank you, Rog,” Tate said, meaning it. “I hope you’re right.”

“I’ve seen a lot of romance in my lifetime. Trust me,” Roger said. “He loves you, and you love him. It’ll all work out.”

The breath caught in Tate’s throat. He opened his mouth and snapped it shut. Was that what he was feeling? It had barely been a week. But then, this wasn’t the first time he’d met Reno either. Warmth spread in his chest, and the light around him seemed brighter.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Tate,” Roger said as he lowered himself into his car.

“You too, Rog.”

Tate couldn’t stop grinning as he watched Roger pull out of the parking spot and drive off. Roger was right. He loved Reno and couldn’t wait to tell him.

He glanced at his watch. He’d spent more than a half hour helping Roger.

“Shit.”

Reno was going to kill him for taking so long.

He turned and ran back to the hotel as urgency set in. The wheels of his travel bag bounced and rocked over uneven pavement and compact piles of snow. His case pinged off short yellow poles that marked a barrier between vehicles and people like the ball in a pinball machine. When he reached the lobby, only a handful of people were still milling about, but none of them were Reno.

Panic rose in his chest, and a chill snaked down his spine. This was bad. Reno probably thought Tate had ditched him again, that his fears had come true, but nothing could be further from the truth.

He ran outside to the patio, where he’d last seen Reno, but it was empty. No Reno in the gazebo. No Reno on the bridge.

Reno was gone, and Tate was an idiot.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

He ran a hand through his hair, and his breath escaped his mouth in quick bursts that obscured his vision. He had to get home. He had to find Reno—had to do something big and fast to let him know he hadn’t ghosted Reno again. To let him know that . . . he loved him.

ChapterEight

Sunday, January 31

Reno madeair circles with the drink in his hand and watched the ice cubes shift and clink against the glass as they slowly melted into the clear alcohol. It was early afternoon, New Year’s Eve, but he was in no mood to celebrate. He hadn’t even wanted to come over to his dad’s place, but he’d missed Christmas, thanks to an avalanche and . . . other things. His brother was also in town for a few days. His team had a New Year’s Eve game against Colorado, and then he was off to Boston.

He’d been miserable ever since he returned home from The Retreat. He’d tried to bury himself in his music, but even that had lost its color. The song he’d started writing for he-who-shan’t-be-named still played in his mind like an earworm, but he couldn’t bring himself to work on it. He’d yet to put the notes down on paper and knew he probably never would.

He slammed back the last of his drink in one large gulp. His throat burned, and his eyes watered, but that was nothing compared to the anger and shame that still roiled in his stomach. The one man he’d loved his whole life had betrayed him. Lied to him and hurt him. Again. And this time, that man took Reno’s ability to create music with him. Since coming back home he couldn’t seem to find the right notes. Everything was slightly out of tune, off-key, and discordant. What little he did try to write sounded so melancholy it left him feeling wrung out and depressed and unable to finish.

How could he let himself be played again? By the same man. He didn’t even have teenage angst to blame it on anymore either. He should have said no when Tate offered to share his cabin. He should have stayed away from him and left things as they had been—as a fantasy.

“Hey.” Ricky sat down on the couch beside him. He was too embarrassed by the whole thing to even tell his brother what was going on. Or his dad.

Ugh, his dad. He’d been sure Reno would have met someone special at the speed-dating event. Reno didn’t have the heart to tell him he’d seen Tate, fallen for him again, and surprise, surprise, got his heart broken for a second time. He’d told his dad he was just tired, but his dad could read him too well. He knew when his sons were hurting or carrying too much on their shoulders. He also knew when to let them come to him. Just as Reno and Ricky both knew their dad would be there for them, no matter what.

“Ready for the game?” Reno asked. If he could keep the topic to his brother’s favorite subject, he wouldn’t have to lie and be evasive about what was happening—or rather, what wasn’t—with Tate.

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