Page 20 of Nicks and Cuts

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

Dante had booked a room in the motel, the same as usual. He’d even checked in and showered after picking up everything he needed. Yet as he started dressing and scrolling through the app, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do less than swipe on a profile and say he could host.

He’d rather crawl on his belly through mud in the middle of winter.

Lie face down in the sand for hours, waiting for the danger to pass.

Only this time the danger was waiting for him at home, which did not explain why he had checked out and gotten back in his truck for the drive home. What the fuck had gotten into him?

He hadn’t been so hung up on a guy in a very long time.

The situation was different now. No one was going to rat him out to the people in charge. The other guy wasn’t married and pretending that what happened in another country didn’t count.

Maybe Shannon was right, that what happened under his roof stayed under his roof, and they could both have some fun. But he didn’t know how to do that because he’d never done that.

It had always been stolen moments, or hook-ups. He never actually lived with someone or truly gotten to know them—he’d ever only known the side they wanted him to see, and he’d only ever shown them what he wanted them to know.

Shannon would move out and move on; Dante had no doubts in his mind about that. He was too scarred and too fucked up, and while Shannon hadn’t lived a blessed life, he at least had the balls to admit his mistakes and be aware of what needed to change.

He’d spent most of his life with his head in the sand, telling himself that change was dangerous. That had been one point in his life where he would’ve rather run into the middle of a firefight than tell anyone he was gay. Was that still true?

He chewed over that question for far too long as the miles slipped by before deciding it wasn’t.

And maybe part of that was because he had gone to Pride and had seen the way everyone else had enjoyed it. There hadn’t been any fear. Shannon certainly hadn’t worried about coming up to him and making his intentions known.

There were gay couples in town. It wasn’t like he was breaking new ground even though it was new for him, and he didn’t like being so exposed. It felt like he was ripping off bandages so everyone could inspect the wounds all over again, and nothing good ever came from that.

But he didn’t turn around and head back to his motel, and before he knew it, he was halfway home, so it made more sense to continue.

He had no idea what he was going to say when he got there.

Did he apologize for being a coward and running away from what he really wanted?

Did he say nothing and just kiss him until they were both breathless and desperate?

Or did he say nothing and hope that Shannon never mentioned that he was supposed to return tomorrow?

But if he did nothing, what was the point of going home, aside from the fact that he wanted to be there? He needed to be near him. Which was tragic and setting himself up for more hurt. He did not need any more scars or pain, and that was why he didn’t get attached to anyone.

Or anything.

The closer he got, the more his gut twisted with anxiety that he was doing the wrong thing. The wrong thing by what measure? Because his heart and dick and brain were not in agreement.

If he just let himself enjoy, knowing that it was going to end, surely it wouldn’t hurt as much. He turned onto his road and slowed, his heartbeat heavy. When he pulled into the driveway, he stopped.

It wasn’t the first time he’d sat in his truck at the bottom of the driveway. The last time had been after the funeral for his parents and sister. He’d barely been able to walk, and the thought of going to the empty house, knowing they were truly gone, was too much.

This time the house wasn’t empty, and it was just as terrifying.

Instead of breaking down and spending an hour in the car wondering why he was alive, he drew in several breaths, determined not to waste the life he had. He drove up to the house and parked.

The kitchen light was on, as were lights in Shannon’s rooms.

Dante wiped his palms on his jeans and got out, leaving his supplies in the car. He made his way to the mudroom door, unlocked it, and went in. He shut it quietly behind him and paused to listen. He heard voices and music and made his way to the kitchen, expecting Shannon to be in the living room, but it was empty.

It was then he realized the sound was coming from Shannon’s room. He turned as Shannon stepped into the kitchen, dripping wet and wearing a pair of track pants that looked like they were trying to make an escape from his hips. In his hand was a baseball bat Dante had never seen before.