Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Dawson had the fuel injector apart on the workbench when Justin kicked the barn door open with his boot and came in carrying two coffees from the gas station on County Road K.
“That the Deere again?” Justin set one of the coffees next to Dawson’s elbow and pulled up his usual bucket.
“Cracked tip. Seals fine cold, starts dumping once it heats up.” Dawson took the coffee. It was bad. Justin’s gas station coffee was always bad. He drank it anyway.
The barn was cold and drafty. Dawson had his Carhartt on, but his fingers were stiff and the parts on the bench had a bite to them when he picked them up bare-handed.
The overhead heater Justin’s dad had installed ten years ago rattled in the corner, putting out just enough warmth to remind them of what they were missing.
Justin watched him work for a while, the radio on low, classic rock, same as always. “You seem less like shit lately,” he said.
Dawson’s hands didn’t stop. “Thanks.”
“I’m serious. You’ve been in here twice this month, and you haven’t broken anything.”
“I don’t break things.”
“You cracked a torque wrench in August.”
“That wrench was already cracked.”
Justin drank his coffee and let the quiet sit. “Florida still around?”
Dawson’s jaw tightened. He kept his eyes on the injector. “He’s got a name.”
“Didn’t answer the question.”
“Yeah. He’s still around.” He could feel himself grinning and couldn’t stop it.
Justin pointed at Dawson’s face with his coffee cup. “There it is. You’re grinning like an idiot.”
Dawson pressed his lips together. It didn’t help. Justin cracked up, and Dawson shook his head and went back to the injector, still grinning.
They worked until the light outside went gray-blue. Dawson fitted the new tip, reassembled the injector, and set it on the bench for Justin to drop off at the Andersons’ in the morning.
“I’m heading out,” Dawson said.
“See you next week?”
“Yeah.”
Justin raised his coffee cup in a salute. Dawson grabbed his keys off the hook by the door and walked into the cold.
He picked Leo up at the apartment at four-thirty. The sun was already low, turning the trees orange along the county road. They had an hour of light, maybe less.
Leo climbed into the truck in a jacket that wasn’t warm enough and boots that weren’t broken in. He looked good. He always looked good, even when he was dressed incorrectly for the weather, which was most of the time.
“Where are we going?” Leo pulled the door shut and rubbed his hands together.
“The lake.”
“I can see the lake from my apartment.”
“Not that lake.”
Dawson drove north on County Road K and turned onto a gravel track that wasn’t on any map.
Leo had one boot on the dashboard and was scrolling his phone, and every few seconds, he’d glance over at Dawson with the corner of his mouth up.
The truck bounced through ruts and Leo grabbed the door handle and laughed, and the sound filled the cab.
The track ended at a clearing. A small lake sat in a bowl of pines and bare hardwoods, the far shore visible through the trees. The water was flat and still and copper in the low light. No houses. No docks.
Leo got out and stood there, hands in his jacket pockets, looking at the water. The wind off the lake hit him, and he zipped the jacket higher but didn’t complain. Dawson watched him take it in and felt something kick in his chest that he didn’t have a name for. He’d never brought anyone here.
He grabbed the wool blanket from behind the toolbox in the truck bed and spread it on the flat rock where he always sat.
Leo dropped next to him, close enough that their shoulders touched, and Dawson’s hand went to Leo’s thigh without thinking about it.
Just rested there. Leo covered it with his own and laced their fingers together, and neither of them said anything for a while.
“How’d you find this place?”
“Justin’s property runs up to the ridge.” Dawson nodded toward the tree line behind them. “We used to ride dirt bikes out here in high school. I kept coming back.”
“Does anyone else come out here?”
“Not really. Just me and Justin, but he doesn’t get out this way much anymore.”
Leo looked at him. Dawson kept his eyes on the water.
He’d wanted Leo to see the sunset from this spot, that was all.
But sitting here with Leo’s hand in his, he knew that wasn’t the only thing he wanted.
The garage was Wyatt’s. The house was Ethan’s.
This was the one place that had only ever felt like his, and he’d brought Leo to it without thinking twice.
He wanted to share this piece of himself with the man he couldn’t help but admit to himself he was falling for.
“It’s beautiful,” Leo said. He wasn’t looking at the water. He was looking at Dawson. The fading sun caught his face and lit up his eyes, and Dawson forgot what he’d been about to say.
They were quiet for a while as the water went still in front of them, the cold settling in around the edges.
Leo was looking at the far shore. "The guys are good.
The team's good." He picked at a thread on the blanket.
"Better than I expected, honestly. Jonesy's decided I'm his project. Ford had me over for dinner one night last week.” He stopped.
Kept picking at the thread. "It's just—I don't quite belong yet.
They've all got history together. Routines I'm still learning the rhythm of.
Jokes I'm half a beat behind on. I'm in the room.
I'm just not in it the way they are. Not yet. "
He didn't look over. Dawson watched him stare at the water and thought about what it cost Leo to say that, a man who filled every room he entered admitting the rooms didn't feel like his yet.
"You're getting there," Dawson said. He squeezed Leo's hand.
"Port Haven doesn't move fast on anything.
People here take a while to decide on you.
But they already have. You're not the new guy anymore.
You're just not one of the old guys yet." A beat. “I know you weren’t happy about being traded here originally, but I’m glad you were.”
Dawson felt vulnerable. He’d never been this open about his feelings, and doing so now scared the crap out of him.
Leo turned to look at him, and whatever he saw on Dawson’s face made his expression soften into something unguarded.
Dawson’s hand went to the back of Leo’s neck.
His breath hitched, and Dawson pulled him in and kissed him.
Here it was just them and the water, and Dawson kissed him the way he’d wanted to every time he’d held back. Leo made a low sound against his mouth, gripped Dawson’s knee hard enough to bruise, and kissed him back like he’d been waiting for exactly this.
Leo shifted closer. His hand slid from Dawson’s knee up his thigh, and Dawson’s breath caught. Leo drew back just enough to look at him, checking, and Dawson answered by dragging him back in.
The kiss went deeper. Leo’s fingers slipped under the hem of Dawson’s flannel, working beneath it until they hit skin.
Dawson flinched at the cold of Leo’s hand on his stomach, and Leo started to draw back.
Dawson grabbed his wrist and held it there.
Leo’s palm flattened against his ribs. Cold fingers.
Warm palm. The contrast made Dawson’s whole body tighten.
Dawson slid his hand under Leo’s jacket, under the thin shirt, and spread his fingers against the bare skin of Leo’s back. Leo arched into him.
Leo’s hand moved lower. Landed on Dawson’s belt. His fingers hooked the leather and Dawson’s hips jerked forward without his permission. Leo made a sound against his mouth that Dawson felt in his spine.
“We should stop,” Dawson said. His voice didn’t sound like his voice.
“Yeah,” Leo said. He didn’t move. His fingers were still on Dawson’s belt.
“Leo.”
“I heard you.” Leo’s forehead dropped against his. His hand was shaking, and Dawson could feel every point where their bodies were pressed together, knee to knee, chest to chest, Leo’s hand still between them. “Give me a second.”
They sat like that, foreheads together. The wind hit them, and Leo shivered. Dawson tugged the edge of the blanket up around Leo’s back without thinking about it, which meant his arm was around him and Leo was pressed against his side, and stopping got harder by the second.
Leo eased back. His face was flushed and his hair was wrecked from Dawson’s hands. Dawson had to look away because if he didn’t, he wasn’t going to stop.
“You car’s almost done,” Dawson said. He didn’t know why he said it except that if he didn’t say something, he wouldn’t stop. Leo was shaking from the cold, and Dawson wanted their first time to be somewhere warmer than a rock in October.
Leo blinked. “Yeah?”
“Couple more days. Waiting on one more part.”
“Good.” Leo’s face opened up. “I miss that car.”
“It’s a nice car.”
“It’s a great car. The rental smells like cleaning chemicals and has zero pickup.”
The sun was gone now. The sky over the far shore was fading from orange to a deep bruised blue, and the temperature was dropping fast. Leo was pressed against Dawson’s side and trying not to shiver, which wasn’t working.
“Come on.” Dawson stood and pulled Leo to his feet. “You’re done.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re on the ice six days a week and a fall evening is taking you out.”
“How many times do I have to tell you it’s not the same? The rink is indoors.” Leo’s teeth chattered on the last word, and he clenched his jaw to stop it. “Not to mention we manage to work up a sweat when we’re playing. As long as we’re in our gear, it’s actually warm.”
Dawson shook his head, folded the blanket, and stuffed it behind the front seat.
He started the truck and the vents blew cold air.
Leo held his hands in front of them anyway, waiting, and didn’t say anything sarcastic about it, which told Dawson more about how cold he actually was than any complaint would have.