Page 17 of Dane

“Oh?”

“Yep. My real name’s Mághnus. My mother was Irish by birth, but she grew up in Boston. Being a good Irish Catholic, she gave me a name she thought represented both aspects of her heritage.”

“Mághnus means ‘great.’ Right?”

The relief I felt when she actually engaged in the conversation disturbed me on more levels than I wanted to examine. “That’s right. Then I got to school and nobody could say it worth a damn. At least not to me. As stubborn as my mother was about me knowing about my historic culture, I turned out equally stubborn about people saying my name correctly. Which didn’t really work out so well for me, but my choices have been questionable my whole life. And I mean that with all sincerity.”

I smiled at her, trying to look as if I remembered the whole experience with fondness when it still irritated me when people mispronounced my name. Which was stupid because, in the grand scheme of things, what did it really fucking matter? And what would it sound like to have Brielle mispronounce my name? In a breathy sigh. As my weight settled on top of her. In my bed…

She frowned at me slightly. “Magnus.”

Fuck me.

I forced a grin. “Not quite.”

“What’s the alternative?” The way she tilted her head reminded me of a curious little kitten deciding whether or not to come closer to sniff my hand.

I shrugged. “I suppose it’s more the way I spell my name that throws off the pronunciation. There’s a diacritic above the ‘A’ as well as the letter ‘H’ stuck in the middle where you wouldn’t expect it in American English. I always felt like people mispronouncing my name tried to show how much they knew by faking a dialect they knew nothing about. Imposters are… kind of a sore spot with me.”

“No one likes getting played.”

I shook my head. “It’s more than that. I don’t like to look like a fool, and I take it personal when people try to play me. It started out because I was a poor kid growing up in a rough neighborhood, then later as I watched the rich kids in school get all the scholarships and opportunities when I’d been the one helping them with their homework.”

Understanding filled her expression. “Yeah. I could see that pissing me off too.”

I shook my head. “Anyway, a couple of my smart-ass friends collaborated and put it all together. The meaning of my name, plus the fact that I was already taller than most of the dads by eight grade, and they came up with Great Dane. Stuck for about a year. Then they dropped the ‘Great’ because it was too many syllables or something.”

She watched me intently, and I knew I’d coaxed her attention firmly to me now when she asked me a question. “Did your mother mind? The nickname.”

I smiled at the memory. “Hated it. To her I was Mághnus, and anyone who called me Dane was either misinformed or being deliberately disrespectful.” I didn’t mention the tattoo. Didn’t mention the period of incarceration when I’d had it done, or the fact that my mother’s regard was something I’d lost and hadn’t figured out how to earn back. That was heavier than either of us needed tonight.

“What’s she like?”

“Stubborn. Funny when she wanted to be. Had a temper that could strip paint.” I picked at a thread on my jeans. “She worked two jobs most of my childhood. She never complained. She said no job was too much if it meant she kept me fed and a roof over my head. Everything else could be worked out.”

We sat in silence for a while, and I thought maybe she’d wrapped herself in protection again. When she spoke, I realized she’d been thinking about what I’d told her. “I think,” Brielle said slowly, “that being named after greatness is a hell of a thing to live up to.”

I glanced over at her. The moonlight filtered down, framing her in a silvery halo. It struck me how hauntingly beautiful Brielle looked. There was a perpetual sadness wrapping around her like a cloak, but I thought her true nature would be more complicated. I found myself wanting very much to meet that woman.

“I don’t know,” I mused. “Rip’s name is short for Rest In Peace. Name speaks for itself. Tiny? Yeah. No one’s laughing at him for his name. Me? I’m named after a fuckin’ dog because of my bonehead buddies.”

She let out a startled laugh. It wasn’t loud, but it was genuine and unguarded, and it startled us both. Brielle’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide, like she’d surprised herself, her gaze finding mine even in the dim lighting. Suddenly, I felt ten feet tall.

“Sorry,” she said, but she was still smiling as she lowered her fingers. “It’s just -- the mental image. You. A room full of terrifying men. And you have to say, ‘Hi, I’m Great Dane.’”

“Fuck you very much,” I said, but there was no heat in it. “Try it sometime. See how it goes.”

She shook her head, laughter bubbling even more toward the surface. My story wasn’t that funny. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t even be lame. But with as much tension and pressure as she had to be shouldering… “I’m good, thanks.”

“Your loss. Besides, Great Dane’s a solid name. Imposing. Regal.”

“Also drools. A lot.”

I snorted. “You’ve put a disturbing amount of thought into this for an even more disturbingly short amount of time.”

“I had a neighbor with a Great Dane. Sweet dog. Very slobbery.”

We sat there as the laughter faded. The netting shifted overhead, sending new patterns of light across the grass. Somewhere beyond the compound, a truck rolled past on the service road, its headlights sweeping the fence line as it passed closer to the river.