Chapter Three #2
Dennis saw him too. The truck’s headlights flicked on, twin searchlights. Danny paused at the edge of the lot, just outside the cone of light. He scanned the parking lot, shoulders hunched as if bracing for a hit.
I made my move.
Engine on, headlights low, I rolled up slow—enough to be seen, not enough to scare. Danny’s head jerked up, eyes wide, and for a split second I saw panic before recognition hit. He didn’t smile, but his body loosened a fraction.
I dropped the window, leaned out. “Need a ride?” I asked, as casual as I could manage, even though my pulse was drumming.
He hesitated, and in that gap, Dennis’s engine revved—a deliberate, mean noise that carried clear across the lot. I saw the way Danny flinched, saw the choice in his eyes. Run to Dennis or risk the strange alpha with the bad jokes and unfinished wiring jobs.
He chose me. Thank fuck.
He slid into the cab, careful not to slam the door. His scent filled the space instantly, washing over the last traces of sweat and old coffee. I wanted to drown in it. Instead, I stared straight ahead, trying to look like this was nothing.
I thought maybe the cab of my truck would be safer, but the second Danny got in, it was like lighting a match in a dynamite shed.
Every molecule of air was heavy with him—sweet, herbal, that green basil thing, but also a rawer scent underneath that made it hard to think in straight lines.
My eyes wanted to linger on his wrists, the pale flash of his throat.
I kept them glued to the road instead.
“Hey,” he said, soft but steady. The lights caught the shadow under his eye, the echo of the bruise I’d spotted days ago.
“Hey, yourself. You always walk home this late?”
He shook his head. “Dennis usually picks me up. But sometimes he’s…”
I let the sentence die, didn’t make him say it.
“Yeah. I get it.” I put the truck in gear, crept out of the lot like we had all the time in the world. In the rearview, I saw Dennis’s truck peel out, tires squealing like a wounded thing.
We drove in silence at first, headlights carving a tunnel through the night. If I strained, I could hear the soft whir of his breath, barely louder than the engine. His hands never left his backpack, fingers white-knuckled around the straps.
I wanted to say something, anything, but the words I had were all wrong.
I ran a quick diagnostic: Could I make a joke about night classes?
Would he think I was stalking him? Which, in all fairness, I was.
Should I comment on the weird cloud of smoke that hung over the gas station, or ask if his brother always acted like a rabid wolverine?
Before I could decide, Danny spoke, voice softer than the hum of the tires. “You ever get bored out there?” He nodded vaguely toward the darkness, meaning the ranch, or maybe the whole of Montana.
I laughed, a short bark. “You ever get bored in here?” I gestured at the town, at the nothingness we were driving through.
He grinned, small and quick. “Point.”
I relaxed a fraction. “Honestly, the boredom is what I like. Nobody expects you to be interesting. All you have to do is show up, do your job, and not set fire to anything important.” I shot him a look. “You?”
He looked away, tracking something in the darkness. “I used to think I’d die if I didn’t get out of Black Butte. Now I’m just trying to survive long enough to leave with a degree.” His laugh was brittle. “Kind of pathetic, huh?”
“Not even close,” I said, more sharply than I meant. “You got a plan and you’re sticking to it. Most people wouldn’t even try.”
He seemed startled by that, like nobody had ever told him sticking it out was an achievement. “What about you? Didn’t you ever want to leave?”
I considered. “I did. I left for ten years. And you know what I found out? Turns out, the only thing worse than Montana is everywhere else.”
He smiled again, wider this time. The tension in his body melted, just a little. “What made you come back?”
“Family.” I paused, then added, “And the promise of never having to eat city tomatoes again.”
That got a real laugh, bright and open. The sound did things to my chest that I did not approve of.
The road blurred by. I watched his reflection in the window, how he’d started picking at the seam of his backpack instead of strangling it. I wanted to ask about the bruise, about Dennis, but I knew better than to push.
Instead, I said, “What’s your degree in?”
He hesitated, like he thought I was setting him up for a joke. “Computer programming. But mostly, I just work here to pay the bills.”
I whistled. “You any good?”
He shrugged. “I’m okay. Sometimes the code makes more sense than people.”
“I’d hire you at the ranch in a heartbeat,” I said, only half-kidding. “My security system’s held together with chewing gum and dumb luck.”
He looked at me, then looked away, but I caught the hint of a blush. “If you ever need help with it, I could take a look. After hours.”
“Are you offering to break into my network?” I grinned. “Because that’s the best offer I’ve had in weeks.”
He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling now, and the cab of the truck felt less like a bomb and more like a safe room.
We drove a few more blocks like that, trading dumb stories and little facts.
He told me about the time he got locked in the hardware store overnight, how he’d built a pillow fort behind the paint aisle and eaten candy bars until sunrise.
I told him about the prank war Rawley and I once started, how it ended with a goat loose in the main office at headquarters and a disciplinary hearing that neither of us attended sober.
Somewhere in there, our hands brushed on the center console. Just a graze—my pinky against the back of his hand—but it felt like getting hit by a live wire. We both froze. He pulled away first, cheeks red even in the dashlight.
I tried to play it cool, but my heart was going like a jackrabbit. “Sorry,” I said, because it seemed expected.
He shook his head, hair falling over his eyes. “It’s fine.”
We didn’t touch again, but the charge between us kept building, like a thunderhead ready to crack open.
We rode in silence for a full block. The only sound was the heater blasting and the faint jangle of my lucky keychain. I wanted to say something, anything, but the right words wouldn’t come.
Danny spoke first. “You didn’t have to do this.”
I shrugged. “Was in the neighborhood. Plus, I owed you for the fertilizer advice.”
He looked at me sidelong, a little wary, but not afraid. “You really drove all the way into town just for that?”
“Guilty,” I said. “I get restless out at the ranch. Not enough stimulation.”
He smiled, a quick flicker, then lapsed back to quiet. We passed the darkened window of the bakery, the rows of shuttered houses, and finally the gas station with the flickering sign.
Danny’s hands never left his backpack. I could see the tendons flexing, like he was working through math problems in his head.
I said, “You want to get coffee or just head home?”
He blinked, surprised by the choice. “Uh… home, please. If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” I took the turn toward the east side, letting the engine hum fill the silence.
When we hit the edge of his neighborhood, he shifted in the seat. “Could you drop me at the next intersection? The same one you dropped me at last time?” He looked embarrassed, but also a little proud of the boundary he’d just set.
I nodded, not questioning it. “No problem.”
He pointed out the corner, and I eased the truck to a stop.
He didn’t move to open the door, not right away. Instead, he turned to me, eyes bright and wild. “You’re not like the other alphas,” he said, voice barely audible. “Most of them would’ve… I don’t know. Tried something. Or told me what I should do.”
I shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m not great at following scripts.”
He smiled, then reached for the handle. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Anytime,” I said, and this time I meant it in a way that went deeper than bone.
He got out, the door clicking shut with a soft finality. As he disappeared into the dark, I watched for a long moment, making sure he didn’t look back.
I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want the scent to fade. I wanted to chase after Danny, grab his hand, and tell him that he deserved better than this town, better than his brother, better than anything he’d ever been taught to expect, but I didn’t.
For the first time in years, I wanted something I couldn’t control, couldn’t hack, couldn’t patch with a joke or a fistful of wires.
Instead, I let my fingers rest on the spot where his hand had been, feeling the ghost of his touch.
My pulse was a mess.
My head was a mess.
Then I saw Dennis’s truck, crawling the cross street with lights off, following slow. It took every ounce of self-control not to floor it and block him in. But I knew how these things worked—Danny wouldn’t thank me for making a scene.
So I let it go, for now.
I drove back to the ranch with the windows down, letting the cold night burn through me. But even with the wind in my face, the scent of Danny lingered, sweet and sharp, alive. It was the only thing I wanted, and the one thing I knew how to protect.
One I got home, I sat there in the driveway until the dashboard lights went dim, trying to work out if this was what hope felt like. And if it was, I’d take it, every damn time.
Tomorrow, I’d find a better excuse to see him again.
I’d already started planning it before I even hit the town limits.