Chapter Nine #2
Dan took my hand, our fingers intertwining like they had in the alley behind Rosie's, and led me to the fallen log nearby. We sat down together, our shoulders touching, hands still joined between us. The wood was smooth beneath us, worn by years of weather and visitors.
"We should talk about what happens next," Dan said, his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand. "Because this—us—it's not going to be easy, Harlow. You know that, right?"
I nodded, my throat tightening. "Because of Ma."
"Not just your mother," he said gently. "This town has a way of talking. People will have opinions about us being together. Some of them won't be kind."
"Because you're a man. And I'm a man," I stated, though we both knew there was more to it than that.
Dan's grip on my hand tightened slightly. "Partly that, but also because of who we are. Me being a deputy. You being a McKenzie. And..." He hesitated.
"And because I'm different," I finished for him, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "Because people think I don't understand things."
Dan turned toward me, his free hand coming up to touch my cheek, guiding my face until I was looking at him.
"I don't want to hide what we are to each other," he said firmly.
"I want to be able to walk down Main Street holding your hand if that's what we want to do.
I want to take you to dinner at The Edge and not care who sees us together.
But I need you to be prepared for what that might mean. "
The thought of walking through town with Dan's hand in mine made my heart race with equal parts terror and longing.
I tried to imagine the looks we'd get, the whispers that would follow us.
Then I tried to imagine hiding whatever this was between us, sneaking around like we were doing something shameful.
"Ma says these feelings are wrong for someone like me," I admitted, the words falling heavy between us. "She says I'm confused. That I don't understand what I'm feeling."
A muscle twitched in Dan's jaw, his eyes hardening for just a moment before softening again as they met mine.
"Your mother loves you," he said carefully.
"She wants to protect you. I understand that.
But she's wrong about this, Harlow. Being different—processing information differently, seeing the world in your own unique way—that doesn't mean you don't know your own heart. "
"How can you be sure?" I asked, the question coming from that deep place of doubt Ma's words had planted in me years ago. "How do you know I understand what... what love is supposed to be?"
Dan's expression turned thoughtful as he considered my question. "Do you remember telling me about tracking? How you notice signs others miss—broken twigs, bent grass, disturbed earth?"
I nodded, not sure where he was going with this.
"That's how you see the world. Different from me, different from most people.
But that doesn't make what you see less real or less valid.
In fact, sometimes I think you see more clearly than the rest of us.
" His fingers squeezed mine. "It's the same with your heart, Harlow.
You might feel things differently, but that doesn't make those feelings any less real. Any less yours."
I let his words sink in, turning them over in my mind like river stones in my palm.
The evening light filtered through the oak leaves above us, casting dappled patterns of golden-orange across our joined hands.
I watched the play of light and shadow, thinking about how both were real, both necessary.
"I want this," I said finally, my voice steadier than I expected. "I want to try. Even if it's hard."
Dan's smile bloomed slow and beautiful, like those wildflowers that opened at dusk rather than dawn. "That's all I needed to hear," he said, lifting our joined hands to press a kiss against my knuckles.
The simple gesture made my chest ache with a feeling so big I wasn't sure how my body contained it. Maybe this was what love felt like—this mixture of terror and joy, this sense that something precious and fragile had been placed in my hands.
"I've never had this before," I admitted. "Never even thought I could."
"Neither have I," Dan said, surprising me. "Not like this. Not something that feels this real."
The sun had nearly set now, the sky deepening from orange to purple at the edges.
Soon it would be dark, and I'd need to head back to the farm before Ma started to worry.
But for now, in this moment, I let myself believe that maybe—just maybe—I could have something I'd always been told wasn't meant for someone like me.
The words tumbled out of me before I could stop them, spilling my deepest fear into the space between us.
"What if I love you more than you love me?
" I asked, my voice catching. "What if you realize I'm too much work?
That I don't understand things fast enough or say the right things when I should?
" Ma always said patience wore thin eventually, even with people who thought they had plenty of it.
Dan's expression changed, softening around the edges like butter left in the sun. He reached for both my hands, taking them in his. My hands were so much bigger than his, could do so much damage if I wasn't careful, but he held them like they were something precious.
"I can't promise we won't hurt each other sometimes," he said, his eyes steady on mine.
"Anyone who tells you different is lying.
People who care about each other still make mistakes, still say the wrong thing, still have bad days.
" His thumbs moved over my knuckles in small circles.
"What I can promise is that I'll always be honest with you.
I'll never make you feel like you're a burden or too much work.
And I will never, ever make you feel like you're anything less than extraordinary. "
Extraordinary. The word settled in my chest like a warm stone. Not special in the way Ma meant it—like I needed to be handled with extra care. But special in a way that made me feel strong instead of broken.
"I've spent my whole life being treated like a child," I said, the admission painful but necessary. "Like I couldn't be trusted to know what I want or what's good for me."
Dan nodded, his expression serious. "I know. And I won't do that to you, Harlow. There might be things you need help understanding sometimes, just like there are things I need your help with. But I will never treat you like you don't know your own mind or heart."
Something unlocked in my chest at his words—a door I hadn't known was closed until it suddenly wasn't anymore.
For the first time, I let myself imagine a future where I wasn't just the "slow" McKenzie brother who needed looking after.
A future where I could be simply a man in love with another man, building something that belonged to us and no one else.
The sun was barely visible now, just a sliver of fire on the horizon. Its dying light painted the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks that reflected off the river's surface. A pair of ducks flew overhead, silhouetted against the colorful backdrop, heading home for the night.
Soon, the stars would come out, and I'd have to go back to the farm, back to Ma's watchful eyes and careful questions, but not yet.
Dan moved closer, reaching up to touch my face with a gentleness that made my heart ache. "I'd like to kiss you again," he said softly. "If that's okay."
I nodded, not trusting my voice. His hand slid to the back of my neck, guiding me down to meet him.
This time, when our lips met, it wasn't the explosive rush of the first kiss.
This was slower, deeper, more deliberate—like he was learning the shape of my mouth, the taste of me.
His other arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me close until we were pressed together, his body warm and solid against mine.
I let my hands rest tentatively on his hips, still afraid of holding too tight, of hurting him without meaning to. Dan made a small sound of encouragement against my lips, and I grew bolder, sliding my arms fully around him, feeling the surprising strength in his compact frame.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, the sky had darkened further. The first stars were appearing, tiny pinpricks of light in the deepening blue above us. Dan stayed close, his forehead resting against my chest, his breath warm through my shirt.
"I'm coming to talk to your mother tomorrow," he murmured against me.
My body tensed instinctively. "You don't have to do that."
Dan leaned back to look up at me, his expression set with that stubborn determination I was coming to recognize. "Yes, I do. This isn't something I want to hide, Harlow. And I won't have you lying to your family or feeling like you're doing something wrong by being with me."
"She won't like it," I warned, imagining Ma's tight-lipped disapproval, the disappointment in her eyes.
"Probably not," Dan agreed with a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "But I'm not asking for her permission, Harlow. I'm telling her my intentions. The only permission I need is yours."
The way he said it made something warm settle in my stomach, a feeling of rightness I couldn't explain. No one had ever put what I wanted first like that before. No one had ever stood up to Ma for me, either.
"What will you tell her?" I asked, already picturing the storm that would follow.
"The truth," he said simply. "That I care about you. That I believe you care about me. That we're both adults who get to decide what that means for ourselves."
He made it sound so straightforward, though we both knew it wouldn't be. But I found myself believing that maybe, just maybe, we could weather whatever came next—together.
The night air had cooled considerably, a gentle reminder that I needed to start heading back before too long.
Dan seemed to read my thoughts, taking my hand once more as we began walking toward the main road where we would part ways—him to his truck parked down the lane, me back through the woods to the farm.
"I'll come by around lunchtime," he said as we walked. "Figure that gives us both the morning to prepare."
I was about to answer when movement caught my eye.
A figure stepped out from behind a stand of trees ahead of us, blocking our path.
My heart lurched into my throat before I recognized the familiar silhouette—tall and broad-shouldered like all us McKenzie men, but with that distinctive saunter that belonged to only one of my brothers.
Ransom.
He stood with his arms crossed, the fading light catching on the tattoos that covered his forearms. His eyes moved from my face down to where my hand was still joined with Dan's, then back up again, his expression unreadable in the growing darkness.
My body went rigid, grip tightening instinctively on Dan's hand. Beside me, I felt Dan straighten, squaring his shoulders, but he didn't let go of my hand. If anything, his hold became more secure, an anchor in the sudden storm of my panic.
"Well," Ransom drawled, his voice carrying easily in the quiet evening air, "isn't this interesting."
I couldn't tell from his tone if he was angry or amused or something else entirely. Ransom had always been the hardest of my brothers to read, keeping his true thoughts hidden behind layers of sarcasm and that deliberate don't-give-a-damn attitude he wore like armor.
But as he stood there, blocking our path home, all I could think was that my carefully constructed lie about checking fence lines had just crumbled into dust.
And tomorrow suddenly seemed very far away.