8. Colt

Colt

W hy the hell am I nervous?

I'm never nervous. I'm not sure why, I'm just not—normally. But tonight, I'm a bundle of damn nerves like none other. When I hear a knock on the door, I damn near drop the plate of meat I was taking to the backyard.

Jesus, Colt, get a damn grip.

I place the plate on the counter and make my way to the door, pulling it open and seeing an even more nervous-looking Dallas standing at my door. His hands are in his jeans pockets, and he shifts from foot to foot as he stands there awkwardly. He's wearing a navy ball cap, pulled down so I can barely see his eyes.

"You're early."

"I didn't think you'd appreciate me being late," he answers, and it surprises me for a moment when I think he's being a smartass, but then I realize he's totally serious.

"Come in," I say, choosing to ignore his statement. I would have been annoyed, and I know I got started on the wrong foot with him, but really, I just want to make sure my sister will be okay.

I can be there from a distance. I'll never stop helping Christian and her out, but I find myself wanting more for them. I want better than what we had. And something tells me, Dallas—I think he is better. Even though I don't know him at all. That changes tonight.

He walks inside the tiny two-bedroom house I'm renting and closes the door behind him, still looking skittish as hell. "Can I get you something to drink?"

He just gives a small shake of his head and stands by the door—looking like he might dart out at any second. "No. Thank you."

He looks like he might start climbing the walls at any moment. "I was heading out to put the steaks on the grill. Join me?" I try to not let it sound like an order. He has a choice to be here, even though I realize I kind of sort of blackmailed him to come here.

I know that, okay? I'm trying my best here, but I'm totally out of my element. My whole life has been about protecting Chloe, and now I'm totally lost about how to do that.

If someone would upset her when we were little—there was hell to pay. If her little friends pissed her off when we were teenagers, then they were on my list, and I'd give them the stink eye any time I saw them. But this? This—I have no idea how to keep her safe. How to make her hurt go away.

Dallas barely nods his head, but I catch the motion before he follows me through the kitchen where I grab the plate of beef, then we head outside to the back patio where I have the grill ready.

"What are you hoping to accomplish?" Dallas asks me, his voice low, and it's almost jarring for a moment because I didn't think he'd speak.

I start to put the meat on the grill as I think about my answer. "I just want to get to know you, Dallas. That's it."

I can see him shaking his head as he stands next to me, but I'm focused on getting the food ready. "I promise you, I won't be a good father. Sometimes, it's best not to know."

"And what exactly did you do that you think is so damn bad?" I ask, closing the grill lid and turning to look at him.

He's ghostly pale, and he clearly wasn't expecting me to get straight to the point, but I can't take it anymore. Yes, he apparently had a drunken night with my sister—lots of dumbass teenagers do that shit all the time. I don't blame him for that. And other than that, he seems like a normal guy. Quiet. But there's nothing evil or sinister about him, as far as I can tell, but the kid is haunted. That's for damn sure.

"Okay, maybe we'll start with something more simple," I say, noticing his skin is still pale, and he looks almost sick. "Football?" I phrase it as a question, and he cocks his head to the side, watching me.

"What about it?" He's relaxing a little more now, and I find myself feeling oddly pleased by that fact.

I shrug, grabbing the now-empty plate and heading into my kitchen to put it in the sink, happy when Dallas follows me. "You seem to love it."

He nods, looking completely uncomfortable. "I mean, it's something to do. Not a lot to do around here."

"You love it." I don't know why I push the issue, but I do. "I saw your face at that game last night. When you caught that pass and ran it in for a touchdown. You were smiling. Your eyes were lit up."

He's staring at me now, his mouth hanging open as he watches me. "You were at the game last night?"

I shrug, shrinking back a little and feeling a little sheepish. "No one noticed me or anything. No one knew I was there because of you."

I watch the shock on his face, but he doesn't look mad. Hell, he doesn't even look scared, even though he seems terrified of me showing up at the school or his house. "You didn't wear Kensley gear, did you?" He actually looks a little concerned for me, and goddammit—it's kind of cute.

That's really not where my mind should go, so I try to skip over that strange thought. "No. Don't worry, I left my Kensley Panthers foam finger at home."

Holy. Shit . He smiles, and I mean, like actually smiles, his big blue eyes glittering along with the grin, and my heart stutters a little in my chest. That cannot be good.

I have no idea what the hell is going on with me—well okay, I have some idea, but it absolutely cannot happen—so I need to cool it.

"Good," he says, the smile still playing on what I only now realize are very full, very red lips.

"So, are you going to admit you love football then?" I prod, and the smile fades a little bit. I'm mentally kicking myself for that, even though I need to get over this flirty crap and on to getting to know him better.

"I like playing the game," he says cryptically, and I want to ask him more, but he nods toward the patio door. "Shouldn't we check on the grill?"

He wants an out, and I'm pretty sure it has something to do with the way the coach and the other players treat him, so for whatever reason, I don't push him. We walk outside, and it's pretty much awkward silence until we sit down at the patio table I have set up with full plates in front of us.

"What about you and Benny?" I ask him, just as he slices into his steak.

He stops cutting and looks up at me. "What about Benny?"

I shrug, trying to act nonchalant about it, but I'm more than a little curious about their relationship. But I also don't want him to bolt on me. "He seems to really care about you."

"That's just Benny. He cares about everyone."

That, I'm not so sure about. "He really cares about you. Is there something going on with you two?" I try to play it off, like I don't care either way, but the truth is I think I do care. Not because it's two guys. Not because he's the father of my nephew, and I'm holding out hope that he and my sister might end up together. Nope. None of those excuses are why I find myself holding my breath while I wait for him to answer.

It's absolutely ridiculous, the jealousy I feel bubbling up, just thinking about how aggressively protective of Dallas Benny seems to be.

"W-what?" he asks, his hands shaking so bad, the knife and fork he was holding drops and clinks on the plate. "No. Of course not. He's not..." He shakes his head almost frantically. "I-I'm not..."

He's panicking. I can feel his nerves from across the table and stand up, walking over to him. I kneel next to his chair. "Dallas." His breathing is scared, stuttered, and frantic. "Dallas, look at me."

I knew the kid was going through some things from the moment we met, but this—this is something else. It runs deep. That much is clear. I notice his chin is trembling when he finally turns his head to look at me.

"Slow your breathing, if you can," I say, wanting to reach out and soothe him, but I'm not sure he wants to be touched, so I don't. "Breathe with me," I say as I pull a deep breath into my lungs and watch as he does the same. I feel the relief when I let the air out and he follows, doing the same. We repeat the action several times before he seems to visibly calm a little bit. "Are you okay?" I ask, noticing my voice is trembling.

He still looks pale, but he's starting to regain some of his coloring, and his breathing is much steadier. "Yeah. I, uh... I'm sorry about that."

"Don't be," I say as I stand up and go back to my own seat, watching him carefully. "Does it happen often?"

He shakes his head, and I watch as he brings his glass of water to his lips, taking a small sip, then placing the glass back on the table. "No. I'm fine. It's fine. I just..." He seems to visibly slow his breathing again. "I don't want anyone to think that about Benny."

"Think what?" I ask cautiously. "That he could be with a man? Or that he could be with you?"

He seems to think about that for a moment, his whole body seeming to shrink in on itself. "Benny isn't gay," he says, his eyes firmly on mine.

"I didn't say he was." I make sure to keep my eyes on his face, watching him as he seems to process our conversation.

"But you implied we could be together. Like more than friends. That would make him gay, and he's not." He sounds so damn sure, I don't really know what to think.

"I asked if you were together because he very clearly cares about you. And just because you're in a relationship with another guy doesn't make you gay."

His nose scrunches up in confusion, and I know it's not good old-fashion homophobia. He looks genuinely perplexed. "What do you mean? If he and I were..." I notice his breathing has increased a little, and I'm slightly worried he's going to have another panic attack, but he manages to get the rest of his question out. "If we were together, that would be gay. Two men together. Gay."

He's dead serious. I try to keep my voice gentle when I ask, "You know there are other sexualities right? Besides being gay, there's bisexual, demisexual, ace, pansexual..."

He looks surprised with each one. Like he's never heard the words before, which to me is absolutely insane. Even coming from such a small town like Kensley.

"You have the internet, right?"

He shrinks back even more before shaking his head, and I watch him in surprise. Who the hell doesn't have access to the internet these days? "My mom doesn't like it. Says it's evil."

"What about your phone?"

He shakes his head again. "My mom doesn't allow it on there either. I can text and call, but I'm lucky I even have that on my phone." His voice has gotten quiet, and I find myself yearning to see his smile again—just to make sure it was real.

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen," he says instantly, but then his chin tilts up high, and I can see a flash of defiance. "But I live under their roof, so I follow their rules."

Of course he does. Several pieces of the Dallas puzzle are falling into place, but I don't want him to think I'm judging him. "I get that. I just realized I didn't exactly know how old you are."

He seems to relax just a little bit. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-three," I answer quickly.

He nods at that, then starts to pick at his plate with his fork. I want to ask him so many more questions. There's so much more to Dallas than I realized when I first showed up at his house, but I don't want to push him back into panic mode.

My heart is still thundering at a crazy pace, just thinking about seeing him in such a fragile state.

"We should probably eat before this gets cold," I say lamely, but then I see that beautiful smile slide across his face again as he nods, looking relieved, and I realize it wasn't so lame after all.

We eat in silence for a while before he surprises me again and asks, "So if you're twenty-three, what do you do for a living?"

It takes me a moment to get over my surprise at him actually taking the initiative to ask me a question first before I answer, "I work in the oil field."

He offers a small smile at that, and I'm entranced by the motion. "Either that or farming around here, huh?"

I grin. "You know it. But I don't live here anymore. I moved away when I was eighteen."

He frowns at that for a second, and while I'm wondering what that was about, he asks, "Where do you live?"

"My address is in the city, but really, I travel a hell of a lot all over Kansas, Texas, and Oklahoma."

He nods, taking the information in. "That sounds nice." Most people say it sounds exhausting or ask me if I wouldn't rather stay put. But he seems to truly think it would be good, and I wonder how badly he wants to escape this place.

I could see it that first day. I thought he just wanted to get away from me and what I was telling him, but it's more than that, I realize now.

"It's not too bad," I say, even though a really strange wayward thought fills my mind about him coming along with me and showing him how nice it is. Thank fuck that did not come out of my mouth.

I don't know what the hell is wrong with me, but being this close to him and being alone... it seems to be a lot for my brain. After dinner, we clear the table, taking the dishes into the kitchen where I run the water in the sink and start to wash them.

Dallas instantly falls in, rinsing and drying them before putting them away. It feels a little domestic, but when we finish, that awkward silence is back. We stand there in the kitchen just watching each other for a moment before he grabs the back of his neck with his hand and kind of stutters through his words. "I-I should probably go. Church tomorrow morning."

Somehow, I don't think that's his choice and is instead more about being under his parents' roof, but I don't say anything. "Same time next week?"

He looks surprised by that, his head cocking to the side and his eyes narrowing like he's trying to figure me out. "There's really not much more to me."

I highly doubt that. "Same time, Dallas." It's more of a command this time, but he doesn't look frightened or even annoyed.

"Okay."

"Okay," I say before walking him to the door, but he seems reluctant to go, and God help me, I don't want him to.

I watch as his tongue darts out, swiping along his lower lip slowly and nervously before his big eyes meet mine. "Are there really that many... um..." It takes me a moment to realize what he's talking about because admittedly, my mind was on those goddamn lips. But then it clicks.

"Sexualities?"

He nods his head. "Uh, yeah. Those."

I know I need to tread lightly here. "Yes."

"Oh," he says, and it's really hard to believe there's anyone on earth who doesn't know this stuff. But in Big Bend, with parents who apparently want to keep him completely in the dark about the outside world, I guess it's not that unbelievable.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask boldly, hoping I don't push him into panic mode. He instantly shakes his head, and I have my answer about there being more to him. I should probably just let him go, but something inside me refuses. "Do you have anyone to talk about it with?"

Something tells me the answer is no. I saw the way the other guys on the team treated him. I saw the horror on his face when he begged me not to go to his home. With him not having any idea about any other sexualities, I wouldn't be surprised if all he has is Benny.

I try really hard not to let that jealous spark flare up when I think about how he can probably talk to Benny about this stuff if he wants to. But then again, if Benny really is straight and he's Dallas's only friend, maybe not. Maybe he's too damn scared to do that.

I don't want to assume anything, but the signs of him being deeply in the closet are for sure there. "Dallas," I breathe softly, only now realizing I've moved extremely close to him. So close, if I reached out, I could stroke his cheek the way I ache to, all of a sudden. "You can talk to me."

He starts to shake his head over and over. "I'm fine."

My chest actually hurts from my heart squeezing so damn tightly because I know, without a doubt, he's anything but fine. But I resist the urge to push him about it and offer him what I hope looks like a real smile. "Okay. See you next Saturday then."

"Okay," he says softly, and when he hesitates for the slightest second, I think maybe he's going to stay and talk to me for real.

But then he pulls open the door and walks out to his truck. I watch him go, but everything inside me is screaming to go after him and not wait an entire week to know more.

But I don't do that. I stay put.

It's really not my problem. I just need to learn enough about him to be able to tell my sister in good conscience that he's a good man.

I won't let myself obsess about this. I won't.

Liar.