"Danny, I chose you. I chose you to work with, when Lone Star gave me a
choice, and then I picked you over Late Night."
"Yeah, I know. You chose me. You saved me. I'd be nothing without you." Dan's voice was flat.
"That's not what I meant," said Casey.
"Oh?"
"I just meant." He stopped. "I love you, you know that."
"Like you love your dog."
"I.... Uuh. Danny, I don't have a dog." Casey knew he was flailing, but he didn't understand. He didn't know where this conversation had come from, where it was going, or why it had become an argument.
"Maybe that's the problem, then."
"Danny, what are you talking about?"
"It's nothing."
"Danny, talk to me."
"Has it ever occurred to you that I am thirty years old and maybe, just maybe, I am old enough to be called Dan?"
"Dan?" Casey felt like a parrot.
"Just forget it." Dan stood up and grabbed his backpack. "I'll see you Tuesday."
"Yeah, I know. You chose me. You saved me. I'd be nothing without you." Dan's voice was flat.
"That's not what I meant," said Casey.
"Oh?"
"I just meant." He stopped. "I love you, you know that."
"Like you love your dog."
"I.... Uuh. Danny, I don't have a dog." Casey knew he was flailing, but he didn't understand. He didn't know where this conversation had come from, where it was going, or why it had become an argument.
"Maybe that's the problem, then."
"Danny, what are you talking about?"
"It's nothing."
"Danny, talk to me."
"Has it ever occurred to you that I am thirty years old and maybe, just maybe, I am old enough to be called Dan?"
"Dan?" Casey felt like a parrot.
"Just forget it." Dan stood up and grabbed his backpack. "I'll see you Tuesday."