3. Dallas

Dallas

N ot a good idea. Not at all. Holy shit, what was I thinking? Coach is running my ass ragged. Of course he is. He hates me. Just like the rest of the town. He wasn't coaching here when Coach Leighton was fired, but he's heard the gossip, and he's been trying to get me to quit since he started here.

By the end of practice, I'm hating life and barely manage to drag my helmet off before retching onto the side of the field. I didn't eat much for lunch today, so it's mostly just liquid, but it hurts like hell, my already exhausted muscles pulling tight as I expel all the water I had before practice.

It's almost a hundred degrees out, and I'm a sweating mess as I wipe my mouth and smile when I feel what I know is Benny's hand on my shoulder pad. "I'm fine," I say, hoping I sound even remotely convincing.

"Here." He hands me a water bottle, and I take a quick swig, swishing it around in my mouth and spitting.

"Goddammit, Boone. I said get to the showers," Coach barks at me. I see Benny shooting a glare in his direction, but I nudge his shoulder, hoping like hell he won't say anything.

"I'm going," I say, making Coach grumble something under his breath, but he leaves me alone, heading toward the locker room. I wipe at my sweaty brow, but just as I'm about to head to the showers, I stop short and nearly throw up again. I think I would if I had anything left.

No. No. No.

He can't be here.

But he is. Standing by his big shiny truck from this morning is someone I've desperately tried to forget all damn day. I don't even know his name. Hell, I never even got Chloe's last name. So I'm going on nothing here. But of course, Benny is on it immediately. His eyes zone in on the stranger parked near the practice field. "Who is that?"

The man is staring daggers at me, unmoving, but his eyes say every damn thing. I don't think I can pass him off as no one. Not to Benny, who's staring dramatically between both of us.

"Dallas, who is that?"

I stand there dumbly, unable to move or speak. I don't want to deal with this. I don't want it to be real, but as the handsome, scary man heads in our direction, I know my time of hiding is over.

He stops a foot away from us both, taking us in, his eyes steely and full of the same anger he had this morning. "Dallas."

I feel Benny's eyes on me, but I don't look his way. I'm trapped in the gaze of this man. This man whose hatred I can feel permeating my soul just from his look. "Why are you here?"

"Who the hell are you?" I hear Benny ask right after my question, gaining the man's attention. He's quite a bit taller than Benny and has to tip his chin down a little to look at him.

"My name is Colt Howe, and I'm here to talk to your friend." Colt. I have a name for my nightmare/fantasy. I watch as Benny tries to process that, and I'm silently begging him not to. Benny's eyes are on me now, his question clear.

He's my best friend in the world, but I don't want to tell him about any of this. It makes it way too real. Unfortunately, it seems Colt isn't going anywhere. "I told you, I don't want to talk to you."

"And I thought I made it clear, you aren't running from this."

"Hold up." Benny steps between us, putting himself closer to Colt as he stares up at him. "Who the hell are you? Not your name, but what do you want with Dallas? And if he said he doesn't want to talk to you, why the hell are you showing up at practice? Stalking is a crime, asshole."

I stare in awe at my best friend—who's totally unafraid. To my amazement, Colt seems just as surprised as I am, momentarily taken aback, but not for as long. He shakes it off, then his eyes narrow in my direction. "You want to tell him why I'm here, or should I?"

My heart might leave me at this point. It's a thundering, sputtering mess inside my chest. My palms are sweating, and I still somehow have goosebumps all up and down my arms, despite the insane heat. "Don't do this," I plead because Benny is my last friend on the planet, and if he finds out about this, there's no doubt he'll see me differently.

Benny turns to me, his eyes full of questions. "What the hell is he talking about?" I can sense his worry, his protectiveness.

I don't want to lie to him, but I can't seem to answer him either. I can't force myself to say the actual words. It makes it too real. My gut heaves, thinking about the reason Colt is here. "I can't," I say—whether it's to Benny or to Colt, I'm not sure, but I see the tick in Colt's jaw.

All I see on his face is pure anger and annoyance as he addresses Benny, "Your friend here knocked up my little sister and doesn't want to deal with the consequences of his actions. I'm here to make sure he does."

I flinch at his words, afraid to look at Benny. He's going to be angry, no doubt. He'll think I'm the worst person in the world now, for sure. How could he not? I used her like she was no one. I left her there without a word and tried to forget all about her.

But he's not yelling at me. He's not making me tell him what I did. No. He's... holy shit. He's laughing. I look at him, slightly worried for my friend who shakes his head and laughs loudly in Colt's direction. "Look, I don't know why the hell you think that, but you have the wrong guy." Benny looks at me, and he actually looks almost relieved. "Tell him he has the wrong guy so he can go on about his day."

Colt's eyes lock on mine. "Yeah, Dallas from Big Bend . Tell me how wrong I am." He emphasizes my name and the town I live in, I imagine because that's how he found me. That's the only information Chloe had about the mystery guy who showed up in Kensley and then fucked her up against a tree in the late hours of that warm night.

I swallow hard, bile rising up. My past hanging over me like a dark cloud. Like it has for so many damn years. I can't escape it. I'm the perpetual fucking Eeyore of Big Bend. God, I hated Winnie The Pooh when my grandma used to turn it on for me when she watched me, and I hate it even more now. Creepy fucking show.

"Dallas." I snap out of my thoughts and look over at Benny, who's imploring me with his eyes to make it make sense, but I can't do it.

"Benny. Can you just please give us a moment?" I plead with him, broken and humiliated. How many times has he seen me this way? Jesus, I really am a damn mess.

He cocks his head to the side, his eyes searching my own for an answer. "Dallas, just tell him he has the wrong guy. That you didn't have sex with his sister."

"I did." Benny's eyes widen at me in shock, absolute and total shock. We don't talk about what happened with Coach Leighton. We don't talk about how I don't talk about hot girls twenty-four seven. About how I don't date. We just don't talk about those things.

"You..." He stops himself but looks so damn lost, it makes me feel even more sick. I feel like the worst kind of liar, and it makes no sense because I've never told him... I've never said the words out loud. But he knows.

"Please, Benny," I try again, not caring that Colt's eyes are on me. That I can feel his gaze on the side of my face, but right now, I don't care. I just need Benny to grant me this time—just a little bit longer before I have to face any sort of truth.

He looks totally shaken, but he manages to nod his head slowly, then his eyes meet Colt's, holding them with unwavering seriousness. "I'll be right over there." He motions toward the doors to the gym, but I know without a doubt he won't be opening them to go inside, and I think Colt knows that too.

With his muscled arms crossed, he gives Benny a clipped nod before Benny seems to silently check with me again that I'm okay. When I nod, he finally goes toward the gym, but he stops at the doors and faces us with a hard glare on Colt.

I try to ignore Benny and look directly at Colt. "Why are you here?"

"You know why I'm here. You're going to get a DNA test, and then when you have the proof Christian is your son, you're going to step up and be a goddamn father. Stop running away like a little coward."

That stings, but how can I really argue? Still, even though I'm a shaking, nervous, near-puking again mess, I force myself to stand tall, looking him directly in his eyes because unlike Benny and him, we're nearly matched in height. "Is that what Chloe wants?"

It feels strange saying her name out loud when I only learned it just today. God, I'm such a prick. But I know I have him when he drops his folded arms to his sides and momentarily lowers his eyes from mine before meeting them again. "She doesn't know what she wants. She's a scared, nineteen-year-old single mother."

I stand stoicly, even though it feels like my knees may buckle. "If she doesn't want to know, then why do you care so damn much?"

Maybe I'm not the father. Maybe Chloe knows that, and she doesn't want her meddling brother involved either. For all I know, there could be several candidates or could be a guy she knows is the father but doesn't want Colt to know. Hell, he could be lying about the whole damn thing.

How did he know about the hookup, though, unless she told him? I haven't told a damn soul, that's for sure.

"Because she's my little sister, and no matter how many mistakes she makes—no matter how many stupid fucking idiotic mistakes she makes—I love her with everything I am." His eyes bore into mine as he steps closer. I can feel his protectiveness of her. His rage. And in that moment, I know without a doubt he isn't lying. He is most definitely her big brother.

What's it like to be loved like that?

I wouldn't know. But there's no question he loves her. And I hurt her. Whether I meant to or not—I did.

"Trust me on this," I say quietly. "You're all better off not knowing if I'm the father. I can tell you love your sister and your nephew, and that's why you should go."

"You're not getting off that easy. You are just as responsible for Christian as she is, damn it." His tone is sharp and demanding, sending a strange thrill-like shiver down my spine, which is so damn inappropriate, I have to force myself to look away from his beautiful, terrifying face.

"She didn't send you though. She doesn't want me," I say, and of course, I'm pretty much guessing at this point. But it doesn't matter because I know I'm right based on the expression on his face.

"It doesn't matter."

"It does," I say, finding my voice and making sure it's loud enough for him to hear me. I'm not shrinking back like I want to.

"Listen, you little shit—" He leans into me, but I take a step back and stand firmly with my shoulders squared.

"No. You listen..." I cut in, the anger that's been building for so damn long running rampant through me, and my fists squeezing tight at my sides. "She's the mother, right? It's her kid. So if she wants this to happen, you know where to find me, but until then,"—I look him dead in the eyes, my head held high, even though I'm two seconds from spewing what's left in my stomach everywhere—"leave me the hell alone."

His mouth is in a firm, angry line, his jaw ticking with fury, but he doesn't say another word, and I don't wait for him to do that as I turn my back on him and walk toward Benny.

Benny. My best friend, who's still watching me like a hawk but is also looking past me to where I'm certain Colt is still standing. I can't look back, so I just pull open the gym doors and walk inside the gym with Benny on my heels.

"What the hell was that about? You slept with his sister? How? When?" I feel his hand on my arm as he pulls me to a stop and forces me to look at him. "Talk to me."

I want to. God, do I want to. I want to just blurt out every single truth. Get it all out there, but there's this block. I can't seem to do it, and I can see the moment Benny realizes I'm not going to.

I see the hurt on his face as he drops his hand from my arm and his shoulders slump. "When the hell are you going to learn you can trust me?"

"It's not that, Benny." I do trust him. I just hate me .

He scrubs a hand over his face and into his hair before dropping it down to his side in frustration. "So this is just another thing we don't talk about?"

I'm such a god-awful friend. Why does he put up with me? Why does he care? I don't know. I really don't. Benny—he's golden. Absolutely perfect. He doesn't need to be my friend, but he is.

"I can't yet. I will... I just..." My voice cracks, and damn him—damn him so damn hard—he just pulls me into a tight hug and pats the back of my hair affectionately. He doesn't yell at me or tell me to grow up. Or to be anyone different.

He just accepts me. "It's going to be okay."

I want to laugh as he tells me that, but I don't. I don't cry either, which I also feel like I could do.

He's wrong. I know he is.

But I also want to hold onto that small, mediocre, little bit of hope for just a little bit.