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Coming home for Christmas always felt like stepping into a time capsule. Same two-story colonial, same slightly uneven driveway that Dad never got around to fixing, same sagging wooden fence marking the boundary between our yard and the neighbor’s. Except now, I could never look at the neighbor’s house the same way after the scene Matt and I walked in on this summer—namely, Danny getting railed by our dad.

Growing up, Danny had practically been a third brother, always over for backyard barbecues or Saturday morning cartoons. A year older than Matt, and two years older than me, the three of us used to be tight. We had kind of drifted apart during high school and had finally lost touch when he went to Princeton. Matt had enrolled at Williams the next year, and I had joined him the following one. We had only ever seen Danny in passing, when we would happen to come home for holidays at the same time. I wondered if he was here now, a familiar ghost haunting the house next door.

Inside, our home smelled like pine needles and cinnamon. Matt and Dad had already put up the Christmas tree by the time I got back from my run, but they’d saved the decorations for me. It was a tradition, after all.

We unwrapped the same glass ornaments we’d been using for as long as I could remember—each one with its own story. Matt’s favorite, a gaudy gold star from his childhood; the snowman I made in kindergarten, still missing its left arm; and Dad’s contribution, a blue-and-silver wrestling ornament he’d gotten in college, a wink to his brief stint as a heavyweight champion.

“Careful with that one,” Dad said as I hung it on a sturdy branch. “It’s older than you are.”

“Barely,” I teased, grinning at the familiar banter.

There was also a fairy princess, Mom’s favorite, but no one said anything when I pinned it high up on the tree. She called earlier to wish us a merry Christmas, so I felt like she was still with us in spirit, even though she was away, enjoying her honeymoon in the Bahamas.

We spent the rest of the day decorating, stringing lights along the porch railing, and garland across the fireplace mantle. All the other homes in the neighborhood had been adorned a while ago, so we had to make up for being this late by going overboard, putting ornaments on every available surface. By the time the house glowed with festive warmth, the gray daylight had faded, and Dad declared it was time for our other tradition—Christmas Eve junk food and Die Hard .

The coffee table groaned under the weight of greasy takeout containers and a bowl of popcorn the size of my head. Matt had the remote, as usual, and he queued up the movie with the precision of someone who’d done this a dozen times before. Some families had Santa; we had John McClane. And I wouldn’t change it for the world.

But as hard as I tried to focus on Bruce Willis dodging bullets, walking barefoot on broken glass, and spitting witty one-liners, my mind kept drifting elsewhere. I hadn’t heard from Blake since this morning, and I missed him like crazy. It had only been a few days since we last saw each other, and we spoke all the time. Mostly texting, but sometimes he would call, and I would sneak out to the bathroom so Dad and Matt wouldn’t hear. I suspect Blake was sneaking out too, so I decided not to bother him, letting him call me when he had the chance. After I sent him an ass pic the other day, he went absolutely feral. He called me later that night, when everyone was asleep, and we had our first phone sex. It was hot hearing him moan and tell me all the things he would do to me if he was there, and I came fast. Since that night, it had become a regular thing—sending nudes and having phone sex—to help us bide our time until we met again. Still, I couldn’t help but take my phone out of my pocket every few minutes and glance at the screen, hoping I’d see a notification.

“You checking stock market shares, or what?” Matt asked, leaning over to grab a slice of pizza.

“Shut up,” I said, too quickly.

His smirk was as annoying as ever. “Must be something serious. You’ve been glued to that thing for days.”

“It’s nothing,” I muttered, stuffing the phone back in my pocket.

Matt shrugged, letting it drop, but my phone suddenly buzzed a minute later, a siren call I couldn’t ignore. Finally ! Yet when I turned the screen on, I saw it wasn’t Blake. It was Chris.

Merry Christmas, T-bag. Hope Santa brings you everything you want.

The text was accompanied by a winking emoji, and I felt my face heat up. Chris was a good guy—sweet, funny, and unabashedly flirty. We texted back and forth on the regular since that match in Gettysburg and we became really close. I could tell him some things I couldn’t tell even Finn. But he wasn’t the one who made my heart flutter.

I typed out a quick reply: Merry Christmas to you too, C-man. How’s Maine?

Snowed in , he responded almost immediately. But still, a nice change of scenery from Pennsylvania. How’s your evening going ?

Watching a sweaty guy in a wifebeater take out an entire building of terrorists , I shot back, and for the next fifteen minutes, we traded light banter while Die Hard played in the background. Matt noticed, of course. He always noticed.

“Coach?” he mouthed, waggling his eyebrows.

“Just a friend,” I said, though my voice wavered.

“Uh-huh. Friends don’t send you winky faces on Christmas Eve, Ty.”

I rolled my eyes and tossed a throw pillow at him, which he caught with a laugh. I shot a glance at Dad to see if he overheard us, but he seemed completely engrossed in the movie, like he hadn’t already seen it a thousand times before. Or maybe he had something on his mind too.

By the time the movie ended and we all went to our beds, my stomach was full, but my heart felt empty. Blake still hadn’t called.

* * *

Christmas morning came too early, a distant thud rousing me from dreams I couldn’t quite remember. I heard Dad yelling at Matt, Matt slamming the door, and then bursting into my room like a kid half his age, his grin a mixture of mischief and amusement .

“Ty, they’re at it again!” he bawled. “Don’t even try going in there!”

I groaned, shielding my eyes from the light streaming through the window. “Why the hell are you shouting?”

“Wake up,” he said, yanking the blankets off my body. Like usual, I slept in my T-shirt, naked below the waist. Matt ignored it, unfazed, and I made no attempt to cover up. At this point, we’ve seen each other in the buff so many times that it made no difference. At least I didn’t sport a morning wood—although, he has already seen that, too. “They’re screwing again.”

That got my attention. I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Wait. What?”

“You heard me,” he said, dropping down at the foot of my bed. He was only in his boxers, sitting cross-legged. We were wearing just enough clothes for one person between the two of us. “Apparently, it’s not over between Dad and Danny. They’re banging in his room as we speak. Merry Christmas to us.”

I blinked at him, my brain struggling to process the words. “So…”

“Yeah.”

“And you—?”

“Yeah.” Matt’s smirk deepened. “ Again .”

“But you’re not freaking out.”

He simply shrugged and said, “Eh. If they’re so desperate to fuck, then let them. It’s Christmas, after all. ”

I hit him with pillow. “Wow. You’re going soft.”

“Look who’s talking,” he said, grabbing the pillow and throwing it back at me, aiming at my crotch. We chuckled, but our mirth was interrupted by a knock on the door, and then Dad entered my room. He was tying his bathrobe belt, his eyes darting from Matt to me.

“Morning, boys,” Dad said, his voice steady despite the slight flush in his cheeks. “We, uh… we need to talk. Please come down to the kitchen when you get dressed.”

Matt and I exchanged a glance, but having said what he came here to say, Dad was already heading out.

“This should be fun,” Matt muttered as he jumped off my bed and rushed to his room.

I went to our shared bathroom to pee and wash my face, then brushed my teeth and trotted back to my room in search of a pair of pants. My eyes went to Blake’s silkies, laid out on the nightstand beside my bed, and I decided to wear them. They were a size too big for me, but even so, they were the shortest, most revealing shorts I’ve ever worn, my upper thighs exposed in a way that required unwavering confidence. I checked myself in the mirror—I looked good in them. My quads weren’t as thick as Blake’s, but years of wrestling had made them strong and muscular. And he was right—the shorts were comfy as fuck.

When I grabbed my phone from the desk and turned it on, there was a message from him waiting for me. Merry Christmas bb. Hope you had a nice evening. Sorry for not calling, crazy night with family. Talk later. And a kissing emoji.

My morning instantly got better. Jesus, what a complete sap I’ve turned into! I used to make fun of Finn for letting girls dictate his moods, but here I was, making googly eyes at my phone and smiling like a love-struck fool over a simple message. But I couldn’t help it; my feelings for Blake, which had been building up steadily for months, seemed to only grow stronger in his absence.

I took a pic of myself in his shorts, clutching my junk and winking at the camera. Wearing your gift right now , I typed under the photo, adding an eggplant and sweat droplets. And a few hearts for good measure.

Matt came back just as I sent my message. He’d thrown a T-shirt on, but was still in his boxers. “Ready?”

“Let’s go.” Leaving the phone on my bed, we came downstairs together.

Dad was still in his bathrobe, pacing up and down the kitchen, looking more nervous than I’d ever seen him before. Danny was sitting at the table staring at his hands, his expression equally tense. Pulling on the sleeves of his hoodie, he was the most dressed one of the four of us. They both lifted their heads when they heard us coming in, but quickly looked away again. Dad plonked in the seat beside Danny, his chair scraping the floor as he fidgeted. Matt and I exchanged a glance before sitting across from them. I’ve never seen Dad fidget before .

He cleared his throat. “Right. Well, as you know, Danny and I had a little… thing … this summer.”

“You mean when we busted on you screwing like wild rabbits in the middle of the living room?” Matt added, and I had to kick him under the table. Sometimes he just couldn’t help himself. And people say gay guys are the snarky ones.

“Yes, Matthew,” Dad replied. “Thank you for that vivid reminder. We’ve been over this already last time you were home.”

“And you said it was over,” I chimed in.

“Yes, and I thought it was. Danny and I haven’t seen each other since. Until today.”

“Well, you didn’t waste any time, that’s for sure,” Matt mumbled, and I kicked him again.

“The point is,” Dad began, his hand closing around Danny’s, their fingers interlacing. “Danny and I… we’re in love. And we want to be together.”

The words hung in the air like an ornament balanced precariously on a branch.

“For real?” Matt asked, his tone more curious than accusatory.

“Yeah,” Danny said, kind of shy, his voice soft. “It was never just a fling to me. I was in love with Jeff from the start. I just didn’t believe he would ever love me back.”

“But I do,” Dad said, looking at Danny with such open admiration I felt a pang of irrational jealousy. I’d been a kid the last time he looked at Mom like that. “I know that now. It took me a few months to realize it, but now I’m certain. I love him.”

Danny brought their joined hands to his lips and pressed a soft kiss on top of Dad’s.

“Wow,” I muttered, my gaze flicking between them.

Dad tore away his gaze from Danny and smiled and Matt and me. “Look, this is new to me too, boys. We still have to talk to Danny’s parents and explain the situation. But I want you two to give us a chance.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. The idea of Dad and Danny together felt surreal, like finding out Santa Claus was real after all. The silence was heavy. But then Matt broke the tension with a grin.

“I just have one question—are you guys going to be the kind of couple who does matching Christmas sweaters? Because I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

Danny laughed, the sound breaking through the awkwardness like sunlight through clouds. Even Dad managed a chuckle, though his cheeks turned a shade redder.

“Does this mean we’re calling him ‘Uncle Danny’ now?” I asked, unable to resist the joke.

Danny groaned, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “Please don’t.”

The conversation shifted after that, the initial shock giving way to acceptance. With the weight lifted off his shoulders, Danny left for his house, while Matt and I kept teasing our dad with every sugar-daddy joke we could think of. By the time breakfast was over, it felt almost normal—like Danny had always been part of the family, just in a slightly different role.

Later, as I sat by the tree and watched the lights twinkle against the ornaments, I thought about the mysterious ways love works. The fifteen-year age gap between me and Blake didn’t seem so huge anymore. When I thought about the way he looked at me, the way he held me, I was sure what I felt was real. Blake was the one for me. I’d spent so long pushing down my feelings, telling myself that it was just a crush, something that would pass. It may have started like that, me lusting over him, but it had become so much more. It was something deeper, something that had been blooming, quietly, in the spaces between us. Something I couldn’t deny even if I wanted to. And now, at last, the distance had given me the courage to admit it: I loved him. I was madly, stupidly in love with him.

I had to tell him. But I didn’t want to do it over the phone. I wanted to look him in the eye the first time I said those words. And I couldn’t wait to see him again and do it.

If Dad could take a chance on love, then so could I .