Page 52 of Never Stay Gone
Dakota was restless,jittery like he’d taken a hit of caffeine straight to the heart. He wanted to run his hands all over Shane, memorize his body so he could trace him in the darkness and with his eyes closed. He wanted to count the freckles on Shane’s cheeks and shoulders with his lips, run his fingers up the rise of his spine and into the dip of his lower back as he lay on his belly on Dakota’s motel bed, face buried in Dakota’s pillow, the sheet tangled around his knees.
And he wanted to run. Get the fuck out of that motel room, get the fuck out of town. Get away, as fast as he could, before Shane broke his heart again.
Dakota slithered from the edge of the bed and backed naked into the corner of the room. He scrubbed his hands over his face, peering over his fingertips at Shane’s still, sleeping form. He was so fucking beautiful. The agony of having Shane back in his arms, in his bed, saying things Dakota had only ever heard in his dreams—it was like burning alive, the slow death of the desert broiling Dakota’s heart and soul from his oh-so-weary bones.
Was any of what they’d done wise? Shane had just been dumped. When Dakota had left him at the truck stop two hours before Shane showed up at his motel door, he was still engaged. Still a spoken-for man, with a woman he’d been with for five years.
Fiveyears.So much longer than him and me.
Had Shane been desperate and aching for something after that? Shane’s life was parched of love, it sounded like. After Shelly ended things, had Shane come running to the one place he knew he would get care and affection again?
What would happen when Shane woke up? When he realized they’d made love, and that he’d said all those things to Dakota? Admitted all those things about himself?
Maybe Dakota should sayFuck itto the case and to the world. Load Shane into his truck right now. Mexico was an hour away. How far could they get with the fifty bucks in Dakota’s wallet?
What did the rest of the world matter, if he lost Shane again? He could almost hear Shane’s hesitant voice, see his eyes slide away from Dakota as he said,I think we made a mistake. I can’t—
Dakota grabbed his jeans from where Shane had left them crumpled on the carpet. His hands were shaking as he grabbed his cigarettes and the lighter. He undid the flimsy chain on the motel door and slipped outside, barefoot, as quiet as he could.
He leaned against his tailgate and lit a cigarette. Took a long, deep drag. The parking lot smelled like hot asphalt and dust, along with the sweet smell of sage drifting on the breeze. Emptiness surrounded the motel. The darkness was so absolute, it swallowed up the scattered lights of the far-flung ranches and the outskirts of Rustler. Velvet black yawned in front of Dakota.
He stared into the center of it and felt a cold hand snake around his trembling heart.
The motel room door squeaked, and a crack of yellow light spilled across the walkway. “Hey.” Shane, in unbuttoned jeans and no shirt, his hair sex-mussed and standing up in a half dozen directions, leaned against the jamb.
Dakota sucked down another drag. He held the smoke in his lungs as he walked his gaze from the kiss bruise he’d left on Shane’s chest to the finger marks on his left hip, then up to Dakota’s ring, still nestled in the scattering of chest hair between Shane’s pecs.I’ll never take it off again. I promise.
“I didn’t know you smoked.” Shane’s forehead furrowed.
“Bad habit.” He dropped the cigarette and stubbed it out, then picked up the butt and tossed it into the bed of his truck. “I needed…” He shook his head. “Needed to come down a bit.” He dug his still-shaking hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“You okay?” Shane crossed his arms over his chest.
“Mmm.” His throat clenched. He watched the darkness, waiting for Shane to drop the bomb on him.Just get it over with.
Last time, Dakota had spoken first, had talked about his dreams for the two of them and handed over the last bit of his heart on that piece of paper with the final draft of his meager, handwritten budget. He couldn’t do it again. Couldn’t bare his heart to Shane and say how fucking much he wanted this, whatever the fuck it was, to keep going.
Was it just one night, sweeping the past clean, bombing out the pain of all that layered heartbreak? Could it possibly, maybe, be something they could hold on to?
He wasn’t going to ask. He wasn’t going to go first. Not this time.
Shane’s heat enveloped him. Dakota jerked, but Shane was there, wrapping his arms around Dakota’s waist and pressing their hips, their chests together. He stared into Dakota’s eyes, nose almost to nose, lips so close they were practically brushing. Shane’s fingers played in the dip of his back, strummed his waistband and his skin like he was playing slow guitar. “Talk to me,” Shane whispered.
“I love you.” Dakota hadn’t meant to blurt it out, but the words were bouncing around in him like a pinball machine going out of control.I love you.He wanted to breathe it into Shane’s hair, kiss the words over his skin. Make love to him a dozen more times and leave himself all over Shane, inside Shane, so Shane could feel him and know he was loved. And so he could never, ever leave Dakota again.
Shane smiled. He kissed Dakota, sweetly. “I love you.” Then he frowned. “I don’t love cigarettes, though.” Dakota cleared his throat and turned his head as Shane stepped back. “Do you think maybe you could try to quit?”
“For you? Yeah.” Dakota pulled his cigarettes from his back pocket and crumpled them in his fist. He pushed open the motel room’s door and tossed the mangled box into the little wastebasket.
Surprise flitted across Shane’s face.
Didn’t Shane know Dakota would do anything he asked? If Shane wanted him to quit smoking, he’d quit. If he wanted Dakota to stay, he’d stay. If he wanted Dakota to go, he’d go as far as he could get, drive until the tires came off his truck, then walk until his boots fell apart and his feet bled, and keep going until his heart finally gave out.
Dakota held out his hand. He guided Shane back into the room, shut the door, locked it. He detoured to the bathroom, washing his hands and then brushing his teeth and his tongue and scraping the nicotine odor away before he gargled with mouthwash. Shane watched him from the bathroom door, his eyes unreadable.
Dakota held out his toothbrush to Shane. “You wanna?”
“Thanks.” Shane brushed with Dakota’s toothbrush and toothpaste. Dakota stood behind him, watching in the mirror as Shane brushed, spat, rinsed, then set the toothbrush down on the sink edge.
