Page 91 of Never Stay Gone
They listened to a handful of karaoke singers power through renditions of Culture Club, Toby Keith, Brooks & Dunn, Willie Nelson. Little Texas’s hit came up, and the whole bar sang along to “God Blessed Texas.”
Want, so strong it clawed at Dakota’s chest, built inside him. He pushed his knee harder into Shane’s thigh. Slung his arm on the bar top behind Shane and let his fingers play in the folds of Shane’s shirt, hidden from view. God, he wanted to go up there. But if he did, that was it. They’d be out, and he wasn’t sure if Shane wanted that. Granted, Shane’s hand was on his thigh and Dakota’s arm was around his shoulders, but a little cuddling behind the crowd, while everyone was looking another direction, was different than singing his heart out to Shane.
Alejandro brought them another round of shots, sent over with a smile and a tip of his hat from Old Wally.
Dakota stared at the shot. Debated. Damn it, this wasn’t going to end well. He downed it and felt the burn. Not going to end well at all.
“Shane…” The current singer was winding down their rendition of “Cotton Eye Joe.” He pushed his forehead against Shane’s temple and spoke into his ear. “You need to tell me if you don’t want this. Cause I wanna. I do.”
Shane turned to him. Dakota didn’t move.
They were so close he could see Shane’s five-o’clock shadow coming in. See the dryness of his lips, a slight chap from the desert wind. So close it would be nothing at all to lean in and kiss him, barely a movement of his head.
Damn it. He was doing this.
Dakota pushed back from the bar, gave one last questioning look to Shane—who smiled at him—and then strode over to the karaoke machine. He saw Heath drinking alone at a table in the back, saw Brian and his girlfriend sharing dinner. Saw Betty Monroe flirting with a new young man at the other end of the bar. She winked and waved. He tipped his hat to her.
He didn’t have a clue what song to sing, but as soon as he looked at the catalog, he knew. He almost giggled at how perfect it was. “Damn you, Shane,” he said into the mic with a grin. The bar laughed, well used to the shenanigans that happened to send someone up to the karaoke mic. A bet or a dare, a joke between best friends, everyone must think.
And then the opening notes to Garth Brooks’s “Shameless”rolled over the bar.
Dakota’s voice was strong, full of that good country twang, and he was a decent singer—better when he’d had a few shots and he lost his self-consciousness. His emotions were pretty close to the quick most times, but here, now, he was vibrating with everything he’d ever felt for Shane. All the heartache, the joy, the desperation, the desire, the heart-splitting love he had for the man, that he’d carried with him his entire life. The lyrics poured out of him, his voice rising and falling and growling over the declarations, the promises, the swear-to-my-soul forever, the raw words that came from a man giving everything of himself to the one he loved.
Dakota sang to Shane alone, walking toward him and dragging the mic cord across the floor. The bar faded away, the crowd, the town, the people he and Shane had grown up with who used to watch the two of them play football and drink root beer floats at Jo’s Diner. Best friends, the people of Rustler said. The best of friends.
As the power ballad crescendoed, he arched back, knees bending, mic high in the air as he belted out the words, baring his heart to the world and to Shane.He took Shane’s hand, squeezing. Shane clung to him, even as he walked backward to the karaoke corner, the song coming to an end. Their arms stretched out, fingers clinging to each other, until they couldn’t hold on anymore.
Dakota didn’t know what he expected when the song was over, but a standing ovation, clapping that shook the floor, that nearly brought down the roof, was not it. He stood there, mortification mixing with anOh shitheaviness, his face as maroon as it had ever been in English class readingRomeo and Juliet, and stared at his boots. He passed the microphone off, ducked his head, and then slid back to the bar as everyone kept clapping and whistling like he was damn Garth Brooks himself who had just sung to them. He hunched his shoulders as he called for a beer.
No more shots, goddamn it. There was singing, and then there was that. Jesus.
Shane wrapped an arm around his waist. “Dakota…”
Dakota shrugged. A girl was singing a Faith Hill song now, and the bar had moved on. A beer appeared in front of him. Dakota grabbed it and drank half the bottle in one drag. “I, uh. I guess we’re out now.” He chanced a look sideways, half-afraid of what he’d see on Shane’s face. A song in the moment was nice. Reality was harder.
Shane beamed. He leaned in and kissed Dakota on the lips, soft and sweet, right there in front of all of Rustler. “I guess we are.”
* * *
Dakota wokenaked in bed with Shane, in their home. The smell of sex hung in the air, and Shane’s Stetson hung off the back of a chair. Clothes were scattered everywhere. The sheets were a mess around them, pulled free from the mattress.
The edge of a headache curled through Dakota. Shane was still snoring hard, a tiny puddle of drool on his pillow. Dakota grinned and kissed his cheek. Shane groaned. He didn’t wake.
Dakota never slept in after having too much to drink, and he bounced out of bed, found his jeans, pulled them on. Grabbed a shirt and found his keys, then trotted down the steps whistling the chorus to “Shameless.”
He drove back into town, stopping at the hardware store for weather stripping, foam spray, and PVC glue before he swung down Main and parked outside Betty Monroe’s antique shop. There was a morning crowd at Jo’s Diner, and they waved to him as he climbed out of his truck. He waved back, tipped his hat. Nothing but smiles from everyone.
Betty was drinking coffee behind her shop counter, as bright-eyed as she’d been the night before at the bar, when Dakota walked in.
“Dakota!” She came around the glass case full of antique jewelry and coins and wrapped him in a hug. “Quite a performance you gave everyone last night.”
“Yeah.” He rubbed at his hairline, heat crawling up the back of his neck. “How come I never knew Manuel’s did karaoke?”
She laughed and squeezed his forearm. “You were wonderful. Don’t worry about a thing.”
“I don’t worry for me. I been gone for a long while. I worry for Shane. It’s been hard for him here.”
She waved her hand. “Everyone loves Shane.”
