Page 45 of Never Stay Gone
Dakota left space between them, though. And he held his hands in his lap, staring down at his calloused fingertips. He didn’t reach for Shane.
Shane felt the absence of his touch like he’d been cast adrift at sea.
“So you, uh…” Dakota started, his voice wavering. “You didn’t know you was gay? You thought what we had was just… bein’ kids? Foolin’ around, like you said that day?”
“I convinced myself that’s what it was. I lied to myself. I forced myself to believe it was just a phase.”
Dakota flinched. “Why?”
“I couldn’t be gay,” Shane breathed. “Back then, I couldn’t be gay. My dad would have killed me.”
Dakota looked at him sharply, frowning.
“What do you remember about my dad?”
“He was strict. You had a lotta rules.”
“That’s one way to put it.” Shane smiled sadly, bitterly. “Growing up in that house, there was his way, nothing else. Noor. Nohighway. He planned my life and told me how it was going to go when I was a kid. And I had to say, ‘Yes, sir.’ I had to…” Shane sighed. “Rebuild the Carson name. That meant fame, and fortune, and family. I was supposed to have two Super Bowl rings by now. A wife. Kids.” He stared at the wall, at the faded paint and the cobwebs in the corner.
“Why?” Dakota shook his head. “Why did he say you had to do all that? Why did he care?”
“You didn’t grow up here. You didn’t get the local legends beaten into your brain in elementary school. You didn’t learn about the great Carson family, or how the Carsons helped build Rustler. How the Carson ranch was once the lifeblood of the town. My family’s legacy was this town, but now, my family’s legacy is losing everything. Carving up the ranch and losing land. Losing influence. My great-grandfather told my grandfather to get it all back, but then he had to sell more land off. My grandfather told my father that he needed to return the Carson family name to glory. My dad was a banker, and he did okay for himself, but he couldn’t bring the ranch back. So then it became my job. But I…” He swallowed. “I’m a failure. I failed every damn way a man can fail.”
“You’re not a failure—”
“Dakota, I’ve failed at everything I’ve ever done. My fiancée just walked out on me. I flunked out of college. I was cut from my football team—”
“You got injured.”
“It was my fault I got injured.”
“Shane—”
“No, it was. I wasn’t paying attention in that game. I wasn’t focused like I needed to be. I didn’t see that sack coming.”
Dakota gnawed on his lower lip. “You were wild focused in school. Always up in your head and figurin’ everythin’ out durin’ plays.”
Shane nodded. “That was before.”
Silence.
“I’m not a very good deputy either. I can’t handle autopsies, and our chief suspect in this case is a guy I didn’t put in jail years ago,” Shane said. “Dad got me this job after I came back. I didn’t pick it.”
“Bein’ a lawman is more than autopsies. And there’s a lotta people on the street that should be locked up, and a lotta people locked up who should be on the street. That’s not on you.” Dakota picked at a loose thread on the motel’s comforter. “You don’t like it? Bein’ a deputy?”
“I like helping people the most. But it’s also what kills me, because sometimes I can’t. Like with Libby and Jackson. I couldn’t save them from Frank. Now maybe Frank has hurt a lot more people, and—”
“That’s not your fault. You did everything you could—”
“But I didn’t succeed.” Shane hitched his leg, bent his bad knee. “That’s the story of my life.”
“I think you’re a good deputy. You’re a damn good touch. We wouldn’t know what we know now if it wasn’t for you bein’ able to talk to people like you did.”
“I just know what it’s like to lose everything. I know how empty and terrifying the world feels after that. I sympathize, that’s all.”
Dakota went quiet.
“But the worst thing I ever did,” Shane said softly, “was break your heart. I failed you. More than anything, more than everything else, that’s what I hate the most.”
