20. Warren
Ilike to think I’ve come a long way since Hunter and Gabe, now Dad and Pops, found me and adopted me. Without them, I wouldn’t be where I am now, and I certainly wouldn’t be so attuned to Dane’s moods.
We had a patchy week home before leaving on our second trip.
He’s hiding something. That old saying, you can’t con a con man, keeps playing in my head. I was a master at it for years until I finally had a breakthrough. Doesn’t mean I still don’t know how to play the game, though.
Like now.
“Do you like lasagna? Pops always fills the fridge for me when I take the camper. He thinks I’m still fifteen and will live on burgers and fries. But look at this thing, it’s gotta weigh five pounds. Help me eat it?”
While it’s true Pops will cook for me, he doesn’t fill the fridge. It’s usually just one pre-made dinner. The rest of the food is stuff I know Dane likes.
“Yeah, that would be great.”
His smile is tight as I pop the lasagna into the camper’s oven.
We pulled in an hour ago. After taking care of the horses, we have the evening to relax until the rodeo starts tomorrow afternoon.
No travelling from hotel to rodeo grounds and horse boarding.
It’s all here with us now, and it’s my favourite way to rodeo.
“Awesome.”
Dane sits at the table, and I pull out a prepackaged bag of salad and dump it into a giant bowl, setting it in front of him with two forks. “Mix that for me, please?”
Silently, he does as I ask, and it’s not until I sit across from him and pass him a small bowl that I finally speak about what’s on my mind.
“Listen, I’m gonna be blunt, Dane. Is whatever’s going on with you going to interfere with our competing? Because we’re building something really great and I’d hate to have it fall apart so soon.”
I’m talking about rodeo, but the same applies to whatever is going on between us. I’ve passionately disliked him for years. Hate is such a gross word, but I’ve always been drawn to him in ways I wish I wasn’t.
It took me a while to accept that we worked well together in the ring. It’s not easy having a partner who’s more successful than you are solo. Until you realize you can feed off each other as a team, then it’s actually pretty cool.
“No,” he says as he adds salad to his bowl without me prompting him. He’s not living on peanut butter sandwiches as long as he’s with me. “I need the money, so my head is in the game, Warren. We’re gonna win.”
“Who was that guy at the school last week? You argued with him in the parking lot. I’ve seen him around a few times since then.”
His hands pause briefly as he stirs his salad.
“Don’t talk to him. He’s nobody.”
“He doesn’t seem like a nobody.”
He closes his eyes with a sigh. “Please, just don’t talk to him, okay?”
“Okay.”
It’s not, but I’ll drop it for now.
Stabbing at my salad, I shovel it into my mouth to stop myself from asking all the questions.
Maybe I just need to allow this thing between us to fizzle out.
He’s told me about his sister, and I know money is tight, but there’s something sad and wrong for Dane.
I’m not usually a fixer, but with Dane…fuck, I want to wrap him up and help more than anything.
Not just because life is hard and unfair, but because I see more than the asshole who used to taunt me after he won.
“I feel like you don’t trust me like I trust you.”
Oops. It kind of just came out, but that’s what’s bothering me, so now it’s out there.
He sighs again and hangs his head, pushing the lettuce around his bowl.
“I do, Warren. I trust you more than anyone in my life, okay? Believe that.”
“Then why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”
When he finally meets my gaze, I almost shoot across the table to apologize and kiss away that pained look on his face.
“I can’t right now. Can you just…” He swallows as he pushes up from the table. “I’m gonna take a walk.”
After grabbing his hat from the hook by the door, he exits the camper and clicks the door shut behind him without another word. The timer on the oven beeps, and I pull out the lasagna to cool before flopping back down at the table.
Why is it so hard to tell someone you care about how you really feel?
After slicing a piece of lasagna, I plate a second piece for Dane in case he comes back soon, and I eat alone.
It’s the only time Pops’ lasagna has ever been tasteless.
It’s close to midnight when Dane returns, and my first instinct is to yell at him and tell him I’ve been worried sick that he’s been gone so long without a word.
I almost do.
Until I see him at the doorway of the bedroom with puffy, red-rimmed eyes. Wordlessly, I stand and open my arms, and he collapses against me. His fingers claw into my back as he holds me so tight it hurts to breathe.
It feels like we stay that way for hours until Dane finally speaks.
“I’m sorry, Warren. I don’t know how to…to do any of this or what to say.”
“Say nothing then. I’m just glad you’re okay. I was worried when it got dark, and you didn’t come back.”
He finally lets go and steps back. “I shouldn’t have made you worry. I just needed some space.”
“It’s okay.”
“Um…do you think I could still have lasagna? I know it’s cold, but—”
“I’ll heat it on the stove for you. You can get ready for bed while I do that. I don’t mind.”
Dane nods and, after grabbing his shave kit, heads to the bathroom.
Warming a pan on the stovetop, I drop the slice I cut for him earlier in the pan and cover it with a lid.
The running water sounds from the bathroom, and I return the dining table to its position, along with the cushions that collapse to make it a second bed.
If he’s staying here with me, he’s sharing my bed.
I don’t know where my sudden stubbornness over what Dane does or doesn’t do comes from, but I don’t care.
When he exits from the bathroom, the exhaustion on his face nearly breaks me.
“Sit. Careful, it might be hot.” He sits at the table and cuts into the lasagna while I pour him a glass of water from the jug in the fridge. After setting it in front of his plate, I take the seat across from him because I don’t just want to go back to bed. I want him to be okay.
I want us to be okay.
That feeling has been getting harder to ignore since I saw him arguing with that man. I could say it’s because I have a vested interest in his well-being for our team roping, but that’s a lie. It’s way more than that.
“Gabe makes a great lasagna,” Dane says after inhaling half of it. “Thank you for this.” He drinks down half the water glass before returning to his plate.
“I’ll tell him.”
I’ve not had many relationships, and the few that I’ve had, they always went like this.
Me taking care of someone and trusting them, giving them everything when I got nothing in return.
‘But daddy, I love him!’ vibes, and while this thing with Dane feels similar, it also feels drastically different.
To start, Dane refuses my help most of the time.
He’s not using me. He wants to give, but he’s hesitant and I will wait the whole goddamn rest of my life if I have to.
When Dane finishes, his small smile of gratitude has my heart flip.
“Thank you, Warren. It feels like I don’t tell you that enough, but also that I’ve said it a thousand times tonight.”
“You’re welcome, and you don’t need to keep thanking me.”
“Maybe not, but I need to apologize. I did a lot of thinking while I was gone. About what I could share with you and what I couldn’t, because you have to believe me when I say there are some things you shouldn’t know. Maybe in the future you can, but not now.”
“Dane, I don’t want you to feel obligated. I just want to understand and erase this distance that’s surfaced. I felt so close to you after the last road trip, but since returning home last week, you avoided me. You’ve been extra quiet.”
His blue eyes, normally so vibrant and full of that cocky self-assured vibe, brim with a pain I want to heal.
“I don’t feel obligated. I realized you’re right—”
“Told ya.”
He huffs a tired laugh. “You were right that we have a great partnership building. I want us to be the best there ever was. We can do that. But we can’t if we have tension.
So I want to tell you a bit about me and the stuff you don’t know.
” He swallows hard and looks to the ceiling.
“I chose big money rodeos because it’s mostly easy money and goes towards the cost of my sister’s care.
It’s super fucking expensive to have someone in those kinds of places, but I can’t take care of her.
If I had my own place, she could live there, but I’d not be able to work.
Her mental capacity is close to that of a ten-year-old, but she regresses sometimes.
Like it’s possible some days she could wet herself or put a metal bowl in the microwave, just the stuff you don’t think is hard until it is.
She needs someone with her all the time. ”
Reaching across the table, I squeeze his hand. He squeezes back.
“She likes where she is because she has friends and feels like she belongs there. She gets a lot at the care home I could never provide, no matter how much I love her.” His gaze meets mine. “She is why I need to tell you these things. Maybe you’ll understand me better and why I do what I do.”
Dane’s thumb smooths over the back of my hand.
“You don’t have to tell me all this tonight. It can wait, Dane. Really. Sometimes I ask shit when I shouldn’t, and I’m sorry for that.”
“Just one more thing, and I’d really like to get some sleep.”
“Okay.”
Dane swallows and clears his throat, but never lets go of my hand.
“My mom quit her job after Darla’s accident. She cared for her, and it was good for Darla. She got to stay in her old bedroom, and my mom…she was great. She’d do anything for us. But she forgot to take care of herself. When I disappeared from the circuit…she died suddenly at home. A heart attack.”
“Oh, Dane…”
“I tried to keep things normal after that, but…it was a lot. I won’t lie, but now you know most of why I disappeared. I needed to help my family.”