Page 50 of Hard Check
Yeah, that wouldn’t look weird at all.
I know. I’m just saying it’d be nice.
Yeah. It would. It sucks being all the way over here when you’re way over there.
Leo looked across the bar at Dawson, who was looking back at him. Not shut down. Not making excuses. Just honest, and thehonesty was almost worse because it meant Dawson wanted the same thing and was choosing not to have it.
He could have pushed. Could have typedthen come over, who cares, let them see.But that was Leo’s desire, not Dawson’s timeline, and he’d learned enough by now to know the difference.
Dawson held his gaze for one more second. Then he looked down at his book and didn’t look up again.
Leo said goodnight to the guys and walked into the cold. The lake was a dark mass beyond the streetlights, and the October wind cut through his jacket on the way to the car. He stood there for a second with his keys in his hand.
His phone buzzed.
Drive safe.
Two words. It wasn’t enough, but it was more than Leo had been getting from him in public, and Leo wasn’t about to push his luck.
But it was also Dawson thinking about him after he’d left the room.
He got in the car and sat there for a minute with the engine running, Dawson’s earlier text still on the screen.
Yeah. It would.
Leo could be patient. He’d proven that. But patience wasn’t the same as pretending the distance didn’t suck, and he was starting to feel it in his chest every time he had to play it cool in a room with Dawson, and one of these nights, “Yeah. It would” wasn’t going to be enough.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Dawson had the fuel injector apart on the workbench when Justin kicked the barn door open with his boot and came in carrying two coffees from the gas station on County Road K.
“That the Deere again?” Justin set one of the coffees next to Dawson’s elbow and pulled up his usual bucket.
“Cracked tip. Seals fine cold, starts dumping once it heats up.” Dawson took the coffee. It was bad. Justin’s gas station coffee was always bad. He drank it anyway.
The barn was cold and drafty. Dawson had his Carhartt on, but his fingers were stiff and the parts on the bench had a bite to them when he picked them up bare-handed. The overhead heater Justin’s dad had installed ten years ago rattled in the corner, putting out just enough warmth to remind them of what they were missing.
Justin watched him work for a while, the radio on low, classic rock, same as always. “You seem less like shit lately,” he said.
Dawson’s hands didn’t stop. “Thanks.”
“I’m serious. You’ve been in here twice this month, and you haven’t broken anything.”
“I don’t break things.”
“You cracked a torque wrench in August.”
“That wrench was already cracked.”
Justin drank his coffee and let the quiet sit. “Florida still around?”
Dawson’s jaw tightened. He kept his eyes on the injector. “He’s got a name.”
“Didn’t answer the question.”
“Yeah. He’s still around.” He could feel himself grinning and couldn’t stop it.
Justin pointed at Dawson’s face with his coffee cup. “There it is. You’re grinning like an idiot.”
