All the Promises We Made

"HEY, LIVVY, what're we eating tonight?" Aaron asked as he led Tad through the front room of the house. Dozer had already gotten his customary greeting of lots of body wiggles and happy woofings, and now it was time to let him out back to pee.

"Beef stroganoff," she said happily, her back toward them as she fussed with something on the stove. "I'm sautéing the beef now, in wine so cheap, it giggles when it breathes."

Tad laughed, and they both watched as she almost dropped the bottle of wine.

"Oops!" he said. "Didn't mean to startle you!"

"Oh!" She turned and gave him an odd smile. "You're eating here tonight? Aaron, watch out for the car carrier!"

"Not my first rodeo, Livvy," Aaron said, neatly sidestepping the carrier that sat back from the kitchen table. He checked inside on his way to the door and gave the sleeping baby's cheek a tap with a blunt finger.

"Of course not," she said. "Just, you know, startled to see Tad."

Her surprise was almost panicked, and Tad wasn't sure what to do with that. "If that's okay?" he asked, looking at Aaron, who had invited him since April was having some sort of crafting thing with Laura and Rosie Mills, Eamon's wife.

Aaron shrugged. "Larx said so. Livvy, didn't he tell you?" He let Dozer out, and the dog ran outside with a mission obviously in mind.

Olivia shook her head. "No worries." There was a new element to her expression—a deviousness almost that Tad couldn't decipher. "I'm making plenty, and the three teenagers are all out—" She made a fluttering motion with the hand not holding the wine bottle. "—working or going to a football game or, you know, raising hell and getting laid."

Aaron snorted. Tad had gotten to know the three "teenagers"—Aaron's son, Larx's youngest daughter, and Larx's foster son—in the past couple of weeks. The two boys were fresh out of high school and working while attending junior college classes in Truckee, and Christiana was involved in every club known to man or guidance counselor.

"What about Jaime and Berto?" Aaron asked.

"Berto's with April, Laura, and Rosie," she said, "and Jaime's with Christiana—something about physics club." She shrugged. "It's just us grown-ups. Tad's definitely welcome."

Reassured, Tad chuckled. "April didn't tell me Berto was going to be there. That's sweet. Maybe she'll teach him her yarn thing, and they can do that together." He sobered. "I understand handcrafts are good for trauma and PTSD too."

"He's looking forward to it," Olivia said earnestly.

"I'm gonna go shower and change," Aaron said, letting the dog back in and taking note of the knapsack in Tad's hand. "Feel free to use the guest bathroom to do the same."

"Thanks," Tad said with relief. He'd locked his weapon in the lockbox in the SUV, and he did feel like relaxing with friends for an evening. It was easier to do in jeans and a hoodie. The shadows were growing long, and the evening was cooling off in the mountains in late September, and Tad was looking forward to huddling in the soft fleece sweatshirt—new, in forest green, with Colton County emblazoned across the front in white and yellow.

He disappeared, familiar with the house now that he'd been in Colton for nearly a month. He emerged twenty minutes later feeling a lot less road-dusty, hearing Larx's and Elton's voices in the kitchen as they bantered with Olivia.

"And how was our princess today?" Larx cooed, and as Tad rounded the corner, he saw Grandpa Larx had taken the opportunity to pull the baby from the car carrier into his arms.

"I'm doing fine, thanks," Olivia chirped. "Saved the world a couple of times, did the bills, created food for a human being from my own body—all in a day's work."

"How's my princess today?" Elton asked, standing behind her and wrapping tender arms around her waist. Tad watched as she melted back against him.

"You know how I am," she murmured. "We had a whole long talk about it."

"That's my super-princess," Elton said back, and Larx glanced up from the yawning baby.

"Is there something here I should know about?"

Olivia glanced around the room, and seeing Tad coming from the hall said promptly, "Nope! How you doing, Tad?"

"Almost human," Tad said. "Thanks for the use of the shower."

"Aaron gets very particular about sweating in his khakis," Larx said, shaking his head. "I try to tell him it's no different than blue jeans and a button-down, but he begs to differ."

"Well, we're gonna make you work for it," Olivia told him tartly. "You know the drill. Set the table." Her eyes flickered to the clock. "Add a plate, okay?"

"For who?" Larx asked, and his eyes sharpened again, particularly at Olivia's insouciant shrug.

"Kirby," she said. "He might get off his shift early." She met her father's eyes then, and Tad recognized family eyeball semaphore when he saw it.

"All right," he said, reaching into the cabinet for plates. "What's going on? Nobody lets a rookie off an EMT shift early."

"Nothing," Olivia said, eyes wide-open and guileless.

Tad knew that expression. April used to wear it whenever she'd stolen his T-shirts from the laundry pile because she liked the way they fit better.

At that moment, Olivia cocked her head, and a coy smile played with her lips as the crunch of the gravel drive could be heard under large tires. "I think our guest is here now," she said, and then she gave a gentle nod of the head. "Tad, do you want to go let him in?"

Tad was turning as she spoke, and part of him was thinking, "But I'd know the sound of his truck," while the rest of him was hearing the strains of "Radar Love" pouring out of an open window.

The music shut off just as Tad flew out the door and into the yard.

He was climbing out of the door of a newish green Chevy, knapsack over his back. He paused for a moment to check his long hair in the side mirror, and Tad saw one shoulder dip a little in uncertainty, in nervousness. He was biting his lip as he turned toward the house, and in the fading twilight, Tad still saw the exact moment he caught sight of Tad, standing midway down the walk, staring at him in surprise and, Tad wasn't ashamed to admit it, raw hunger.

"Dozer!" Aaron called sharply from inside the house, and Tad heard the door close behind him. The sound urged him forward down the walk to where Guthrie, wearing the now much-worn plaid flannel hoodie and faded-but-clean jeans, was approaching much too slowly.

"You're here," Tad said, eyes raking over him, taking in the thinness, the exhaustion behind the eyes, and most importantly, the shining, brilliant smile.

"You noticed," Guthrie said, drawing nearer. "So're you."

"I was invited to dinner," Tad told him irrelevantly. Oh God. He looked so good. He took another tottering step, feeling his eyes burn. He'd put this moment off in his head, not dwelling on how close they were, so afraid of the pain of one more day he hadn't realized it was almost here.

"So was I," Guthrie said, drawing close enough for Tad to pull in his body heat, the sweat from the drive, coffee on his breath, tiredness, and… joy. "They were going to give me directions home after dinner."

"Don't need directions," Tad murmured, twining his arms around Guthrie's neck. "You're here. You're home."

"Only home I need," Guthrie whispered back. The knapsack dropped to the ground, and he stepped into Tad's body, rubbing his stubbled cheek against Tad's.

For a moment, that was it, that breathless moment of remembering, growing accustomed to each other's warm bodies, heartbeats, smells, and then Tad turned his head and took his mouth, warmed and found when he'd been lost, held and safe when he'd been alone under the pine trees, dreading the onset of night.

GUTHRIE WAS sure he somehow owed Olivia an apology; he wasn't sure how good his dinner conversation had been. He did recount the death of the old truck, and that had garnered some general laughter, and he'd thanked Olivia and Elton for the thousandth time.

Tad had chided her for keeping the secret of Guthrie's arrival, but she'd laughingly said the real surprise had been Tad's presence for dinner, so it wasn't her fault. Aaron and Tad had talked at length about Caprica, the brewery with the open slots for live music. Almost like his very own personal agent, Tad had negotiated a three night a week stint for him, solo.

"What am I supposed to do with the rest of my time?" Guthrie asked.

"You'll find something," Tad said with assurance. "There's businesses here or in Truckee. There's even gigs in Truckee. You might not have to work another day job if you don't want to."

"Since your boyfriend's health and dental program is as liberal as I could make it, probably not," Aaron said, and that had made everybody laugh too.

So dinner had been loud and excited—but small, Guthrie was made to understand. He'd lucked into a small dinner this night, which was the only reason the family excused him and Tad early.

But maybe the fact that they'd held hands at the table for the entire meal—and even a dessert of fresh peach cobbler—had given them a pass too.

Guthrie had followed Tad through the black night of the mountains with tingles rushing down his skin. Now that he'd touched Tad's hand, kissed him, held him so tight his breath had hitched, he had the patience for excitement, the emotional reserves to be thrilled.

He wasn't just following his lover through the night for a hookup or a moment.

He was following Tad home .

There'd been a bustle when he'd arrived, as Tad took him through the ranch-style home and showed him where everything went. Guthrie followed along while he took turns petting and releasing (and then petting and releasing and then petting and releasing) the now gigantic kittens, who seemed to remember him fine. There was a study where his instruments went, along with Tad's desk. There was the garage where the egg crate and the sleeping bags went. There was the hamper in the hallway bathroom where Tad dumped out his threadbare canvas knapsack, and the mudroom for laundry, which Tad vaguely gestured toward as he hustled Guthrie—holding April's much-loved blanket—down the hall.

Guthrie would see the bedrooms and the kitchen later. After… after….

He and Tad fell into each other's arms like tumbling into a canyon. Clothes melted, and breath mingled, every kiss more sacred than the last. It wasn't until Tad's hands, cupping Guthrie's cheeks as they sank onto the bed, wouldn't stop shaking, that Guthrie realized what this moment was for Tad, and how badly he'd been missed.

And what Guthrie needed to do for Tad that maybe he'd learned in the last four months.

"Here," he'd whispered, taking the lubricant from Tad's still shaking hands. "Here. Let me."

Tad—always so good at planning, at giving orders, at organizing the world, fell backward onto the mattress in the moonshine streaming through their peaked window and gazed up at Guthrie with such hunger—and such trust.

But Guthrie could be trusted. He wasn't at the mercy of the world anymore, tumbling like a shoe in a dryer. He'd wrestled with his past and come out the better man, and he'd made good on promises to the future. He'd learned to trust people in his life, and his reward?

He was trusted in return. He wouldn't hurt the people he loved—not for the world.

His mouth on Tad's length was urgent but not hard, and his fingers, slick and stretching at Tad's entrance, were gentle but insistent.

Tad let out a wordless cry when he was ready, and held out his arms, clearly having faith that Guthrie would fill them—and fill him.

Guthrie did, sliding into him gloriously, awed and humbled by the feeling of his lover's flesh embracing his own. The tears still came, but they were tears of joy, and he pumped his hips and let them fall, because a man should never hide his joy from his lover.

Tad's shuddering climax felt like a stream of stars, pulling Guthrie's own orgasm along in their wake. They cried out together, softly, their skin so sensitized it only took Tad's lips on his chest, his shoulder, to send him over again, and it only took his come, pumped into Tad's entrance, to send Tad into the same river.

When they finally washed ashore, Tad wouldn't let him go fetch a cloth, wouldn't let him leave the bed at all.

"Later," he murmured. "Later. Just… just stay and hold me now. God, I missed you."

"Me too," Guthrie said, his voice throaty and choked. "God, it's gonna take me a week to leave to so much as get milk, you know. I am so here to stay."

Tad chuckled a little and then buried his face into Guthrie's chest. "Good," he whispered. "'Cause I'm planning to marry you someday."

Guthrie smiled, thinking of the permanence of that. "Good," he said. "Looking forward to it."

"You topped," Tad said a minute later, putting the obvious up for discussion.

"I trust myself now," Guthrie told him, the words resonating in his chest.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You know that nine-hundred-pound gorilla I was so afraid of?"

"Yeah."

"I set him loose. You know what he did?"

"What?" Tad asked, but he didn't sound worried.

"He talked about all the beauty in my life, and how there were people who loved me. Mr. Hyde…." He swallowed. "My father—he died knowing I wouldn't sing at his funeral. And I had people in my life who would sing to me every day. That's… that's some damage there, not gonna lie. But it could have been worse, and… and worse didn't happen."

"So you trust yourself," Tad said in understanding.

"I trust myself to pay Livvy back, to be a part of her family, not to let your sister down." His voice dropped, because sex was still private. "Not to hurt you when we… uhm…."

"Yeah," Tad said, stroking the outside of his arm.

"That."

"That."

They were quiet then, and Guthrie's eyes started to close.

"We should get up," Tad said, surprising him into blinking.

"Why?" Oh God, what had he forgotten?

"April's going to be home any minute, and she's going to make sounds even the cats can't hear when she sees you back."

As though summoned by thoughts and prayers alone, they heard the rumble of Tad's SUV down the long driveway. Guthrie and Tad laughingly rolled out of bed and ran to the bathroom to wash up before Tad made Guthrie put on his pajama pants and a new fleece sweatshirt.

"The stuff in my knapsack was clean," Guthrie mumbled, noting that he had an entire underwear drawer to himself, and socks as well.

"The stuff in your knapsack needs to be buried in the backyard or set on fire," Tad laughed.

"Except for your hoodie," Guthrie said soberly, picking it up from where it had fallen to the floor.

"Yeah," Tad said fondly. "That we're keeping—"

And then the door opened, and April cried, "Oh my God is that new truck Guthrie's !" and the two of them tumbled out of the bedroom to greet her.

Their lives together would be busy and even a little crowded, but as Guthrie embraced a sniffling April, who wouldn't stop patting his shoulder and practically sat in his lap as he told her about his trip, he caught Tad's eye.

Tad smiled gently and said, "I'm making hot chocolate. We're gonna be up a while."

Busy was okay, Guthrie thought, watching him. They could do busy. Guthrie would do a lot to have the people he loved around him, and now he knew how much that could be.

And so did the man he'd marry someday, the man who trusted him to be that guy like Guthrie trusted Tad.

All the love songs in the world boiled down to this. To know your family would be there, a gathering of love and kindness in the dark, a light in the window, people to listen to you sing.

Guthrie wondered what sort of music he could make now that he knew this, and the world opened up in his heart.