Shane's life had been a broken record for years. It played a bleak song that popped and crackled, the melody distorted, the needle sticking. It grated on the nerves of anyone unfortunate enough to listen. Yet it was familiar; he could stumble through its exhausting and repetitive dance blindfolded.
William had changed the tune, and Shane had lost the beat. His legs were twisting. Every other step had him on the ground.
For so long, his heart had belonged solely to a dead man. It'd been locked safe inside a vault, unchanged, stuck in time. The pain? The pain he understood. The pain made fucking sense, unlike whatever the hell this was with William.
In over a month of working for him, Shane had never left the farm sober. Whether one beer or half a dozen shots of whiskey, they drank at quitting time. Sometimes in peace. Sometimes hovering on the edge of a blow-up. Occasionally like old friends, but more and more often like new lovers. Today, for the first time, they hadn't: William had carried his pregnant cat inside, and then Shane had walked home, thoughts tangled with a bitter new refrain.
Tomorrow and Friday you'll be working half days. Won't even have to look at my face. Should suit you fine.
He couldn't wait to go to his room, sit back with his whiskey, and drink until he had blessed silence. Because boozing on his own—that was something else that made fucking sense.
Except instead of blessed silence, he was ambushed when he entered the ranch.
"Mr. Daniels!" Jas cried, springing out from behind a tall potted plant. "Mr. Daniels, tell us about your new movie!"
She held a chunky, lime-green camera to her eye and began to spam the shutter, one tiny finger clicking rapid-fire while hunkering down in front of him to get better angles.
Shane froze as if she'd shot bullets.
"Jas," Marnie chided, "let him through the door."
She took a few steps back, still snapping away like a pint-size paparazzi.
Shane managed to unfreeze enough to pull off his shoes. In a soft voice, he asked, "Where'd you get that, kid?"
"It's Vincent's! It takes real pictures." She stopped shooting long enough to show him the digital display on the back. "See?"
Shane stared down at the blurry man in the most recent photo, swallowing a lump of déjà vu. "Nice."
With a smirk she pulled the camera away, blinding him once more with the flash before darting into the living room. He closed his eyes, spots like glowing saucers stuck behind his lids.
Garrett used to torture him like this, too.
Shane had told Jas lots of things about her dad. His obsession with music, and the collection that once filled his bedroom floor to ceiling. That he'd loved to play team sports, especially gridball and hockey. How, just like Jas, his curiosity had him flitting from interest to interest, dabbling in everything from rock climbing to metal detecting. Yet the hobby Garrett gave a real damn about, the only one to stick beyond the moment of 'shiny and new,' Shane had never mentioned.
For years, Garrett played it off as a joke. One his short-attention-spanned ass had kept for an uncharacteristically long time, but a joke nonetheless. Day after day, he'd pop out from behind furniture and doors to take horrible candid photos: Shane glaring, Shane blinking, Shane shoving food into his mouth.
Then one day, he'd stumbled upon a hidden folder in Garrett's computer, simply labeled, "Shane."
Hundreds of beautifully composed shots. Not grabbed while goofing off, or trying to get a rise out of how much Shane hated having his picture taken. Just pure fucking artwork, images so lovely that even with his face in the frame, Shane couldn't hate them. It was like the obnoxious behavior had been a decoy; like he knew Shane would never let him appreciate a serious photo if he was the subject, and so had to steal them.
Then Garrett's dad—the man who'd introduced him to his DSLR—had died.
Then the photography died.
Then Garrett.
Like always when Shane finally put him out of his head, Jas had resurrected his ghost.
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzz!
Shane blinked.
He was still on the welcome mat. Marnie had been staring at him like she wanted to speak, but at the buzzing swiveled her head toward the laundry room.
"My dryer," she said, and bustled out.
It was like a record scratch from Garrett's song to William's: back to present madness. Everything returned. The kitchen and its walls. The tension of his and Marnie's fight the night before. The click of the camera as Jas shot porcelain horses on the living room shelf. Strongest of all, the ball of regret and confusion in his stomach.
Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Shane went to his bedroom. When he caught sight of his clear reflection in the mirror—rather than the fuzzy silhouette of a poorly-timed photograph—he realized why Marnie had stared. Covered in grease, sweat, dirt, and stains, he looked liked he'd worked for days without a proper shower. His eyes were so worn and red they were practically begging for a drink.
Which wasn't a bad idea.
He grabbed pajama pants and fresh boxers, then slid over a cluster of socks to reveal the collection at the bottom of his drawer. The pint bottle was full so he tucked it atop his stack of clothes before heading to the bathroom. Whiskey shot warmth down his throat as he ran hot water; steam filled the room as he undressed.
He stared at his naked body in the mirror.
I see you.
Turning from the loathed image, Shane stepped into the shower. Heat rose in clouds around him and he closed his eyes, rinsing the layer of dried sweat.
Did things always begin with steamy water?
He remembered it like it was last week. A brand new hot tub, installed when Claudia Prevost had been about to embark on a month-long business trip and wanted to assuage the guilt of leaving her son—as if remaining home implied she was somehow more present. It was bullshit. Shane's parents might've been garbage, but Garrett's had been ghosts. The only difference between an "at home" workaholic parent and "on location" one was the elaborate gifts that sprang up. If Shane recalled correctly, the several thousand dollar camera had been one of those gifts, too.
It'd been just before Spirit's Eve, the air cold enough for snow.
"We're trying out the hot tub tonight," Garrett had said.
When Shane resisted, saying he didn't do hot tubs, Garrett had hit him back with, "EVERYBODY DOES HOT TUBS, SHANE!" as he darted from the room to fill it up.
And that had been that. Shane found himself in that rolling, bubbling water in only his swim trunks on a freezing autumn night. It was pitch dark, just the whirlpool lights glowing on the balcony. Except for Garrett's music drifting from inside, it was silent: an empty house, the yard so big even the neighbors felt distant. Garrett's tight, athletic body sat next to Shane's softness as they passed a joint back and forth.
At sixteen, it was Shane's first experience with pot. Years down the road, smoking would give him some of the most intense anxiety of his life, but that first time had been magic. The gradual, giddy come-up. The body waves in time with the music, and the way it made talking so fucking easy. He'd been nervous climbing into that water, but after twenty minutes, deep in the haze of the high, it was just…Garrett. His best friend. They'd talked non-stop, smiling until their faces hurt, more connected and in tune than ever.
Garrett told Shane he'd never felt closer to someone in his life.
Shane told Garrett he didn't care about anyone except him.
His heart had raced to say it, but that night, Shane believed to his bones Garrett had wondered if they could be more than friends. After they'd confessed, Garrett's arm had reached behind him, pulling his head closer, resting it against his shoulder in the dark—a moment that stretched deep fingers into the realm ofwhat could be.
Shane fell in love that evening, and Garrett asked out a girl the next day.
He opened his eyes. It was too bright, the bathroom lights harsh. The powder blue shower curtain was like artificial daylight, droplets pinging off its plastic liner and rolling to the tub.
Being seen by someone didn't guarantee a damn thing.
Saturday afternoon, William stood outside of the Clarks' house with a cooler. Jodi had called him early in the morning hoping he'd had extra fish in his ice box, and since it'd been a few weeks since his last visit, invited him over for dinner. Her timing was excellent. After a week of being glared at and ignored, an evening around friendly people was welcome.
There was a floral wreath on the door, bouncing against the wood when Jodi swung it open.
"Will!" she said, pleased. "You're early. Come in, come in."
He held out the small hand cooler. "Brought some bass, ma'am."
"Oh, these will be perfect." She took it from him, opening the white box.
He looked around the room and nodded at Kent, who'd pushed to his feet when he arrived.
"Hey, you're a sight for sore eyes, Bauer," he said, giving him a hard handshake.
William returned the grip, stepping around the tornado of toys scattered over the carpet. He noticed whenever children were present, a house's cleanliness flowed in waves like a tide. Some days, Jodi's living room was the setting for a magazine photoshoot. Other days, like this one, it was a field of Lego land mines.
Jodi closed the door, taking the fish with her into the kitchen. Childish giggles floated from the back of the house, specifically out of Vincent's room.
"Jas is over," Kent explained, going to the fridge and cracking open a can of beer for William.
He accepted it and leaned against the counter. "You need any help, Jodi? The fillets are de-boned but—"
"I can handle fish," she said. "You two get out of my way and dinner will be ready soon."
William and Kent exchanged a relieved glance and stepped out the back door.
"Sam home?" William asked as they settled underneath the tree in the yard.
"Nope. Off on another gig for that band. Just Jodi and the kids today."
William drank his beer. A quiet day in with your spouse, enjoying the home you'd made together? Sounded like a slice of heaven to him.
He'd always been busy when he was Vincent's age. Not with friends, but activities. An ill-fated attempt at baseball before he was deemed unacceptable. Some martial arts classes that wound up conflicting with his mother's obligations. Not to mention the flood of fundraisers, bake sales, and event-planning that wound up eating evenings and weekends. Home had felt like an open civic center for half the city to come through and do wheeling and dealing—not the quiet, zen bubble of domesticity Jodi and Kent nurtured.
The single story building was lovely in its simplicity. He'd grown up in a house like this once. Before his dad had made CEO of his firm, they'd lived in a small slice of suburbia, and he still could remember the way the basketball hoop had hummed when he'd missed.
"How's business out in the middle of nowhere?" Kent asked.
"Great. Going to finally take Pierre's gold medal at the fair Monday. How's it going with you guys?"
"Other than Sam never being home and worrying his mother half to death with his band adventures, it's fine." Kent drank, eyes on the stretches of shadows creeping over the house. He pulled out a package of cigarettes and offered one to William.
He accepted. It was a vice he'd picked up in the army. Guys who smoked got extra breaks, and it was something to focus on when bored. After rehab he'd mostly quit, save for the rare social cigarette with his dad—much to his mother's chagrin.
He lit the stick and exhaled, tapping it on the side of the chair. "Thanks."
They leaned back together and something twinged in William's chest.
Hanging out with a friend. Like what he'd been doing with Shane. But different.
Friendship with Kent had never gone beyond the level of cards, a few shared smokes, and a meal, William a spectator on his life. Kent was always surrounded by kids, making any deep talks too easily interrupted, and while he might've had PTSD his family had given him a peace that William envied. The contrast of his deep solidarity with Shane and this shallow companionship was troubling. It wasn't just the lack of attraction to Kent. When he was with Shane, there was a fission that electrified their words. Until the disaster last week, William thought Shane was like him: still searching for a home base. Was Kent comforting? Sure. Exciting? Not the way he'd begun to crave. Instead of growing close, they just existed together: two dudes being bros.
He puffed the cigarette.
"How's Daniels been working out?" Kent asked.
William had thought about how to approach Shane Questions. He wasn't going to tell him about all the time they spent together, nor the tension that came because he'd stuck his hand in the cookie jar. Kent was not cleared for that intel. Gossip would travel like a grass fire. No matter that William kept Kent's confidences, he wasn't stupid enough to think Kent kept what he heard from Jodi. Who told Caroline. Who told Pierre. Who told Gus. Who told everyone.
"Hard worker," William grunted.
"Huh," Kent said, blowing smoke into the branches over their heads. "Seems like a real grim character."
You forgot surly, rude, secretive, and frustrating.
William fiddled with the filter, knocking ash into the grass. All his fault anyway. Why had he thought taking things to the next level was such a swell fucking idea? They'd been peaceful before he'd reached and made Shane hate him.
He couldn't help but replay—again—Wednesday's conversation. It was the last time they'd spoken. Figured that the only nice thing Shane had said was about his cat.
"He's good with animals," William said.
"That's got to be handy."
"Yup."
He drank the beer, but it wasn't the rich blends he and Shane indulged in on the porch. It tasted watery and weak; strong enough if he drank a lot, but not the heady hit of relaxation he'd gotten used to. He'd have to add Kent to his beer-of-the-month club.
The back door burst open and Jas ran out, laughing as Vincent followed her.
"PAPARAZZI! PAPARAZZI! PAPARAZZI!" Vincent chanted, a lime-green camera between his hands as he followed Shane's little girl.
William froze, cigarette halfway to his mouth.
Jas stopped in her tracks and spun around, pigtailed braids flipping theatrically, striking a pose as Vincent bent down to snap the photo. After the click, she lifted her chin to the sky, aloof. Another click. She faced Vincent, crossing both eyes and blowing out her cheeks like a pufferfish; it lasted long enough for him to snap the third photo before the puffed cheeks sputtered and deflated into laughter.
William ashed the cigarette and side-eyed Kent, who was grinning at their reenactment of celebrity.
"Sam brought that home for him a few weeks ago," he said as the children made outrageous poses. "He barely played with it until Jas found it in his toy box. For the last week it's been, 'pappo' this and 'I'm a movie star' that."
"Seems like they're having fun," said William.
"Hate to say it since it's about my own kid and all, but if Jas dreams up the game, she can get Vincent to play. That boy's not careful, she'll lead him off a cliff one day."
"I," Jas announced, pulling his attention back to their little drama, "am Jasmeen Yolanda Applesmith, world famous supermodel. I am about to take the world by storm."
She flicked her braids once more to the side, and her eyes caught on William. Immediately she collapsed into giggles, as though an audience had crashed through the fourth wall of being a pop idol on a world-conquering adventure.
William dared anyone to be able to look at her freckled face, all scrunched up with laughter, and hold back a smile. She was so enthusiastic, like someone had bottled sunshine and given it pigtails and a dress. She flopped on her back into the grass, holding her sides, little-girl shrieks like silver trumpets.
Vincent ran over and climbed into Kent's lap, flipping the green box around so his dad could see the pictures.
"See, look! I made Jas a model," he said.
William stubbed out his cigarette, flicking it into the flower pot Kent kept as an ashtray.
"Hey, Missy," he greeted Jas. "It comfy on the ground there?"
She tucked her chin, half coy, half suspicious. "You know Vincent too?"
"Yes, I know Vincent. Me and his daddy are friends."
William glanced at Kent, who was sitting through a detailed explanation of different photos, showing fascination in the square of fuzzy images.
Jas sat up and leaned back on her elbows. She gave him an appraising stare for a nine-year-old, wheels turning behind it.
"I heard Uncle Shane say your cat was gonna have babies."
William took a long sip of his beer, turning the statement over in his mind. He had? Did that mean Shane was open enough to talk about work at home?
"That's true," he said. "Why? You want one?"
"You're giving them away?!" She popped up from her elbows. "He didn't say that part. I would be such a great cat mom. I would love it forever and play with it all the time. Aunt Marnie says I'm really good with animals!"
He shook his head in amusement.
"Ask your aunt and uncle," he advised. "If they say it's okay, then you can come over after they're weaned and pick one out."
When he looked up, Kent was skewering him with a glare.
"You're going to have kittens, Mr. Bauer?" Vincent asked, finally clued in on the topic at hand.
William nodded as an expression promising revenge flashed over Kent's face.
Jas sat up straighter. "Yup! And he just said I could have one!"
Enthused by her example, Vincent turned big eyes up to his father. "Aw, Dad! I want a kitten too!" he said, clutching his camera to his chest, vibrating with the potential of being a pet owner.
Skewering and revenge morphed into more silent promises as Kent cleared his throat and set Vincent down.
"Ask your mother," he said in an even tone, then gave a pointed look at Jas. "And Will said you could ask your aunt and uncle, Jas. Don't tell stories."
Jas smirked. "If I ask Uncle Shane first, he'll say yes."
William drained the last of the beer. Shane might yell at him too. Only that would require him being able to look William in the face, something he'd not been good at these last few days. Or maybe, he was just good at avoiding things—like avoiding how good kissing each other had been. He was also good at being an asshole the minute he remembered it was William he was spending time with.
Jas pulled him from his brooding as she flipped her attention toward Vincent.
"When we get kittens, we can dress them up and do photo shoots!" She reached for the camera, clicking through the last few pictures. With a wicked grin, she snapped a shot of William drinking his beer.
"Gotcha," she said, giggling again, then grabbed Vincent's arm. "Let's go get some of your mom!"
"And ask her about kittens!" he agreed, racing her back towards the house.
Kent sat down as they burst into the kitchen. The door slammed shut behind them, echoing across the yard.
"Bauer," he said in a conversational voice, "I'mma nail you to this tree and kill your gimpy ass."
"Aw, c'mon, Clark. I can't keep all those kittens. Might as well spread the love."
"Point of order? Don't ever tell a kid you got a baby animal. Turns the parents into villains when they have to say no."
"Eh. They're kids. I'm sure she'll forget before she gets home. Flash something shiny, and boom. Forgotten."
"This is how I know you're single, you dumbass," Kent said as he ashed his cigarette. "Kids don't forget anything. They're little sponges. They pick up things you never think about. And that Jas? She's as sharp as a knife. Trust me, Marnie is going to be calling you tomorrow wondering why in the world you promised her a kitten."
"Not if her uncle doesn't get to me first," William mused.
Though that would require talking. Way too much effort for Shane to ever spend on him. He chugged the rest of his drink.
"You sure did finish that beer fast," Kent observed as William set the empty can down.
"Felt thirsty," he admitted. "Lost my help for half of yesterday and today. Marnie needed him to get ready for the festival. Did good getting everything wrapped up in time to come eat with you guys."
Kent let it go, but William felt a prickle of annoyance. Even when things were shit between them, Shane never criticized his drinking.
They sat out for another half hour, changing the subject to sports and the weather. Kent knew how to rile him up, making a few sly comments about the new Doppler systems the local weather station had adopted. He was laughing at William when Vincent stuck his head out of the door and shouted, "DINNER!" at the top of his lungs.
"—and half the time they can't give you any type of accurate prediction for more than four days!" William continued. "The old system gave us a seven-day window. Do you know what sort of hell you've got wrapped in if you have to pull wheat and those fools have given you two days of sun when, you know, oops, it's going to monsoon? I lost nearly four acres of harvest after that mess."
"It's grass, Bauer. Not like anyone died."
Kent pushed to his feet, wiping his eyes, shoulders still shaking.
"Tell that to my bottom line," William groused, following him inside.
Jas and Vincent had TV trays and were engrossed in an animated movie with talking animals and sparkly clouds.
Kent planted a kiss on Jodi's lips as he passed. "Smells good, baby," he said, turning on the water in the sink.
Dutifully, William got behind him to wash up.
On the table Jodi had a three bean salad, a huge bowl of steamed broccoli, and a fish casserole.
"Vincent tells me you're giving Jas a kitten, William," she said, steel under her voice. William winced.
"Ahh..."
She pursed her lips. Kent squinted at her, then his face shifted to slack horror.
"Oh, Jodi, you didn't tell him—"
"Well if Jas is getting one," she said, passing the plates as the two men sat, "how are we supposed to say no?"
"It's two letters, Jodi. We do it quickly and let him deal with it."
"Maybe it would be nice to have a pet. He's old enough to help take care of it. It could teach him responsibility."
William took his servings, watching them ping-pong this debate back and forth. While Jodi and Kent continued to bicker over the pros and cons of letting their son get a kitten, he glanced at the children. Vincent quietly stacked broccoli onto Jas's plate, as if he expected her to eat it for him.
He ate, letting the atmosphere sink in.
Despite the small bit of conflict he'd introduced, he preferred the warmth of the Clarks' residence over the solitariness of his own home. There were sounds here beyond the wind chimes on the porch, or the hum of his fridge. All the movements and heartbeats in the household made him feel anchored down; he could exist here and not float away where no one would miss him.
As he scraped his plate clean, Kent dropped his shoulders.
"Well," he said, resigned, "I guess we're getting a cat."
Jodi grinned, and William rubbed the back of his neck as Kent arched an eyebrow at him.
"Maybe next time, you fix your animals before you let them roam?"
"Eh," William said, "that's the plan. Didn't mean for Ingrid to get in the family way."
"It's going to be a good thing, Kent," Jodi said, standing, but before she could clear the table Kent pushed up.
"No," he crooned, "you sit, baby. You worked so hard. Bauer will do the dishes."
William rolled his eyes, but didn't mind being 'voluntold.'
"Wouldn't be the first time," he said. "Least I can do after you two agreed to take one of the little things."
He washed pots and pans while the kids finished their movie. It wasn't long before Jas and Vincent marched their dishes into the kitchen, and as the little girl stacked her empty plate on the counter he asked, "Hey, Jas. How are you getting home?"
"Oh, I'm staying the night," she said matter-of-factly.
Jodi's head bobbed up. "Funny, Jas, I don't remember your Aunt Marnie telling me you could spend the night."
Kent opened the fridge, retrieving a soda. "And," he added, "I didn't see you bring your pajamas."
Vincent pouted. "Aww c'mon, Dad, can't she?"
"Aunt Marnie told me before I left the house it was okay," Jas insisted. "I don't mind sleeping in my clothes!"
Jodi squinted. "Well, I'm sorry Jas, but your Aunt Marnie didn't call and tell me. So unfortunately, we're going to have to reschedule."
It had, William reflected, been a believable lie. Hell, if he'd been the one in charge he'd have probably fallen for it.
Jas gave Vincent a look plainly saying: Well, what can you do?
She turned to William. "Mrs. Clark walks me home. Sometimes Aunt Marnie comes to get me, but she's on a date with Lewis."
William wiped his hands and glanced at Jodi and Kent. It was about a twenty minute walk there and back. They both looked so content together. Plus maybe if he took on another task, they'd forgive him for KittenGate.
"Well, kiddo, you're on my way home. Why don't I walk you today?"
Jas brightened. "Can he, Mrs. Clark? It's safe! He works with Uncle Shane."
Jodi chuckled. "If you want to, William, it's fine with me. I'm sure Marnie wouldn't mind."
William snagged his cooler. "Well, that's settled. Why don't you get your things?"
"Keep the camera here tonight, kids," Jodi said. "I'll take your pictures to Pierre's tomorrow."
Jas had packed light, only retrieving a purple backpack and sweater. She said goodbye to Vincent, then hopped to the door.
"After you, Mr. Tattoo."
William winked at her and held it open. "Oh no," he said, "ladies first."
She paused, face morphing into her Jasmeen Yolanda Applesmith personality from earlier. She stuck her nose in the air and swung the backpack dramatically over one shoulder. "Bye, darlings!" she called to the Clarks, sauntering through the door.
William waved and followed, letting her get some distance on him.
She was a bright little purple-clad ball of energy as she bounced forward, and it brought a strange feeling to his stomach. Kids should be like this, he decided. Carefree and innocent. Despite anything Shane said about being a bad guardian, she looked like she was doing okay under his care.
It got darker as they left the streetlamps of Pelican Town and he pulled a flashlight out. The small LED cut through the dimness of the encroaching woods.
"Did you have fun with Vincent today?"
"Yup." She skipped, as though the act of walking was too restrained. "He used to be my boyfriend in first grade. We were gonna get married, but now we're just friends."
"I had a guy I liked in the first grade. But sometimes friends are better," William agreed. "You playing any sports?"
Jas stopped skipping and cocked her head. "You liked boys too?"
Warning bells went off. Shane was in the closet, and he'd likely not appreciate Jas asking nosy questions about gay people today. Yet, the words had slipped out-honesty for honesty. He regarded her curious face and plunged ahead.
"Yup. Always liked boys. And you didn't tell me if you played any sports," he reminded.
Jas pondered this. William waited for the fall out and invasive questions, but they didn't come. She shrugged and kept moving; he noticed as they got deeper into the trail, she drew closer to him.
"I like to ride horses at home, and at school I'm really good at dodgeball and tag. I don't have a team, though. Did you know Uncle Shane played gridball? He played with my dad." She bent, picking up a pine cone. "I don't think he likes anyone. He doesn't go out on dates like me 'n Aunt Marnie."
The last thing William expected when he offered to bring Jas home was for her to spill information about Shane. He rolled over her words.
You and me agree on one thing, kid. Shane definitely doesn't like anyone right now.
"Marnie has some nice horses," he said, addressing the first part of her statement. "And I did know Shane played gridball. He mentioned it once."
At the spa. Right before we made out.
He steered her clear of a puddle he was pretty sure she was going to stomp, then tried to change the subject.
"What was your dad like?"
"I was really little when he died, only four years old. But I've got pictures. He's got freckles like me, and brown hair. Aunt Marnie said he's really handsome." She swapped shoulders for her backpack. "He used to sing to me when I was a baby. Uncle Shane said he loved music. He says I act like him a lot."
The words rang in William's ears.
Died.
He'd not known for sure.
Well, he'd had an idea. Her mom must be gone too. Shane had to have been more than just friends; you didn't leave your children to anyone less than family. He tried to remember the last time he'd heard of a godparent being more than symbolic. They were someone your parents liked, but rarely was the position a legitimate backup plan in the case of death. If he'd had kids, he'd have his parents care for them. He didn't have a single friendship close enough to entrust a child to. But Jas must not have had grandparents available, either.
"C'mon and hold my hand here," William said. "We need to watch out for snakes that might come onto the trail."
Jas slipped her hand in his. "Do you know any good songs? I like to sing, too."
"I know a few, but I only remember them when I've got the radio on," he said, keeping an eye on the underbrush. "But if you wanna sing me your favorite, I'd love to hear it."
"Hmm…I have lots of favorites."
He waited as she thought. He wondered who she resembled more, mother or father? When Shane looked at her, did he see his friends, or a responsibility? He remembered that first day, his strained expression.
"I shouldn't be raising a kid either. Those fucking lunatics that handed her over to me should be shot."
Yet there he was, busting his back at The Bowery and putting up with a shithead like William. Time and money to care for this little girl.
Just as he figured she'd given up on picking a song, she sang. It was an old classic from the radio; something his mother and father had probably played in their cars when they were teens. Her voice was high and breathy, the sweetness of a child's soprano. She messed up several of the words, fudging through parts she couldn't remember, then belting out the chorus. It was like the ring of a glass bell over a lake.
A surge of protectiveness built in William at the sound of her voice. He squeezed her hand in encouragement. When she got to the last lines she trailed off, then looked down.
"All I remember."
"It was enough," William said. "You have a very good voice."
She looked down at their hands, and turned his knuckles to examine the barbed wires that crossed the tops of his fingers.
"Your tattoos are so cool. I think Uncle Shane should get some. He dresses really boring. I'm going to get tattoos when I'm older, though."
William shook his head in amusement at her scattershot conversation. He was quite sure Uncle Shane was not going to encourage this kid to be anything like him. They approached the ranch, lights a warm, hospitable bubble of safety against the dark forest.
"Thanks," he said as their feet moved off the trail to the gravel of the parking lot. "I like my tattoos. Maybe I'll tell you about them sometime."
Marnie's truck was gone from the yard. He slowed. Shane was...not expecting him. He had a feeling he was going to be an unwelcome and unpleasant surprise if he showed up on his door.
"Well," he said, "you think you can make it from here?"
"I could make the whole walk," said Jas sagely. "But Aunt Marnie says I'm not allowed yet." She let go of his hand. "You don't want to come in? Vincent's mom didn't have dessert, and we've got brownies."
That's a negative, Ghost Rider.
He had promised Shane space and he'd meant it. Walking Jas home was a favor to Jodi, not some tactic to get close to him. It sat wrong with him to take advantage of circumstances, no matter how tempting it was to see his face.
"Nah," he said, smiling down at her. "I need to go home and check on Ingrid. But go on inside. I'll wait until you're in safe before I go."
Jas paused, squinting at him.
"Okay. But you have to wait here. I'll be right back!"
The kitchen was lit. William saw a big moth fly inside after she'd darted into the house, and seconds later heard:
"JUST A SEC! I'M GETTING WILLIAM A BROWNIE!"
Quicker than he was expecting, she darted back out, a homemade brownie clutched on a napkin. She grinned and handed it to him, out of breath. "For your walk home!"
William squatted down and gave a half-smile, accepting it.
"Well, thank you," he said. "Now go on inside, hear? Be good for your uncle. Maybe I'll see you at the fair Monday."
"Yeah! You can see our animals." She waved. "See you later. Don't let the snakes getcha."
She went back inside, the door slamming shut behind her. William stood and slipped the brownie in his jacket; a warm pocket of sweetness to combat the lonely trip to a quiet house.
Everything was ready. A game menu glowed across the TV, theme music playing softly. Cushions were plumped into a small mountain on the floor, and a red bowl of chips sat on the dresser. Shane had tossed one of his blue t-shirts over a lamp to create the cinema-like ambiance Jas loved. Yet here he sat, fingers frozen on the controller.
William. William had walked her home.
Had Marnie…?
No. There was no reason for her to ask William goddamn Bauer to bring Jas back to the ranch. Shane was available all night. He could've—and would've—gone to get her, except like always, Jodi had insisted she didn't mind.
Where did he get off?
What gave him the fucking right?
Certainly if Marnie had asked William, she'd have mentioned it. And then Shane could've told her to fuck right off with that suggestion, because William had no business casually walking into their home lives like…like…
Like a stupid overstepping dickhead.
They hadn't spoken since the Ingrid incident, and the last two days Shane had fucked off from work mid-morning to help Marnie. Just as William had taken on networking farmers for the fair, Marnie had done the same with the region's ranchers. That was on top of preparing her own showcase, and swimming in clerical work with Lewis. Being the mayor's girlfriend brought extra responsibilities, so she'd been grateful for Shane's help—and Shane had been grateful not to deal with what-the-fuck-ever was going on with William.
Except here he sat, unable to escape him even on the weekend.
Jas bounded into his room, a dramatic sweep of her arm flinging her backpack. She sank onto the pile of cushions and sighed happily.
"William," she said, the word punchy, "is so freaking cool."
More like so freaking out of bounds.
Shane clicked into the menu. "Don't let Aunt Marnie hear you talking like that."
"It's not the bad word."
"She doesn't like it."
"You use it, and the bad one," Jas said, reaching for a controller.
Shane let her scroll through the various options, picking the battle arena, music settings, and weapon type. He stared at the one dead pixel in the corner of his TV, a little red dot.
"Uncle Shane, you didn't pick anyone."
Jas had selected her character, while his controller blinked a white box around the avatars. He toggled through them one at a time, and in a measured voice said, "Why did William walk you home?"
She shrugged. "Mrs. Clark said it was okay."
Shane continued to flip frame by frame. Rolling her eyes, Jas reached over and held the toggle so it sped through them, stopping on a military commander in the third row. It was the player he'd always chosen in the past: a muscular guy with a blonde buzz cut and tattoos.
He quickly swapped to the next character, a busty spy in a secretary's outfit, and hit enter.
Jas gave him a skeptical look: Really?
The level loaded, a tiny white circle buffering on the screen, and Shane forced his voice to remain casual.
"He was at the Clarks' already?"
"He's friends with Vincent's dad." Jas had chosen the Arctic Assassin, a man in a thick fur coat with a semi-automatic. She clicked into the view that showed his weapon's stats and ammo. "He was eating dinner there too."
So William hadn't just walked her home, but had sat down for a cozy fucking family meal with her. Jas. His kid.
Each of her answers felt like another rock dropping to the rubble pile in his gut.
He forced his player forward. "Did, um. Did you ask him to do it?"
"Nope! He asked me."
Thunk. Another rock.
For awhile the game progressed in silence. Jas made her character dart around, jumping and dodging like always when she was hyper at the start. They collected ammunition and supplies, shooting down the occasional NPC enemy. Shane's fingers went through the motions but his thoughts drifted.
William was friends with Kent. Why wouldn't he be? Probably had a lot in common, both being vets. And that's what people did, as a whole—they had friends and engaged in social activities. Just because Shane orbited one person and lived his life around them, didn't mean William worked that way.
Still, he'd never thought of him spending his free time with others. At least, not like this. Hanging around the saloon, sure, but one-on-one?
Did they drink together?
Had he and Kent ever…?
Shane power-slammed his trigger, sending a spray of bullets toward a civilian in merciless overkill.
Kent was married, with kids of his own. What a dumb thing to think.
He entered a building, pressed a lever on the wall to deactivate a spike trap, and was clearing the now-safe hallway when Jas said, "Did you know that William likes boys?"
Shane choked.
"Yup," she continued, her bulky assassin skipping down a street. "I told him I used to date Vincent, and he told me he liked a boy in first grade too."
His heart hammered a hard and erratic pattern, as if attempting to bang nails and missing every other one. But before he could add anything to that observation—and what the fuck would he say?—Jas switched topics.
"Oh, and he said I could have a kitten!" She smacked her forehead, like it was so silly to forget.
Shane's jealous thoughts came to a crashing halt.
"He what now?"
"Oh yes," Jas went on. "His cat is going to have kittens, and he told me I could have one."
"Jas…you can't have a kitten."
"William said!"
And is William your fucking dad now?
No, but Jas probably wished he was, what with William being so freaking cool, while Shane was just the dull, crappy, knock-off dad she came home to at the end of each day. The one who told her things like "Not now," and "I can't tonight," and "No kittens."
She must've overheard him talking about it yesterday. Marnie had been trying to fix the tension between them by making small talk, and Shane had thrown her an Ingrid-shaped bone. But of course—stupid of him to think he could open his mouth without it coming back to bite him in the ass.
"You're in school. I work. Aunt Marnie is busy with a hundred other animals. Not right now, kid."
Jas slumped in the cushions. "I thought you'd say yes."
"You thought wrong."
"My dad would've said yes," she grumbled, slumping lower.
"Well he's not here now, is he?"
The moment Shane snapped the words, he felt the blood drain from his face. It sank, pooling around those rocks in his gut.
"Why are you so grumpy?" she cried.
In answer, he opened the options and exited from their game, taking them back to the main menu with its jaunty music.
"Hey!"
"You can keep playing," he said, standing up.
"But where are you going? We were supposed to play together!"
"Jas," he said, "just do a solo game."
She huffed and squared her shoulders to the TV. "When Aunt Marnie comes home, I'm asking her if I can get a kitten."
"Knock yourself out."
Shane exited to the hall but didn't go far, leaning his back against the wall and staring at a picture frame on the opposite side. He and Jas, two years ago, the morning of the Flower Dance. She was a beaming sunflower in her bright yellow dress, while he stared from the matte finish with tired, dead eyes.
She'd turned up the game volume; from his bedroom a loud, robotic female voice announced: "The Command Center has been breached! All personnel to Level 4!"
He couldn't do this. It was a familiar thought, one he'd battled for years. Sometimes it was a mere knock on the door, but other times was a solid hit to the jugular. He'd rarely questioned Garrett's judgment while alive, yet what had he been thinking, to leave one of the sweetest kids in the world in Shane's incapable hands?
The only person who could answer thatwas six feet deep.
An explosion rattled from the room, the Wilhelm screams of NPCs punctuating animated thunder. Shane closed his eyes. He waited for the end of the carnage, debating whether to head back and apologize, when the phone rang.
Normally he hated taking calls, but it was probably only Marnie telling him her date was running late. He slipped into her bedroom to answer, and was about to say hello when there was another click on the line. Someone else in the house had picked up, too.
"Hello?" said Marnie's voice, out of breath.
She must've walked in during the explosion. He was ready to hang up when a reply crackled into the receiver—his grandmother's unmistakable rasp.
"Hello? Marn?"
"Mom, how are you today?"
Shane slowly sat on the bed, keeping the receiver to his ear.
"Feel like dogshit," said Trudy, "so what else is new. Listen. Dunno if that good-for-nothing, piece-of-shit brother of yours called or not, but I need you to come down someti—"
A series of hard coughs overtook her sentence. Before she could wheeze to recovery, Shane heard beeping, then a stranger's voice:
"Mrs. Daniels, you took out your cannula—"
"Damn it, did I hit the red button?" There was rustling on Trudy's end, and a rattly inhale as she returned to the call. "Anyway, need to know when you're coming to town. I gotta settle some business with you."
"Yes," Marnie said, taking on a polite, formal tone; a clear tell she was nervous. "Corey did mention that. We've been trying to set something up, but the doctors keep telling us no visitors as soon as we've made plans. When is a good time for you?"
"Well, I never have any good times, Marn," Trudy snapped.
"Perhaps…tomorrow, then?"
"Fine, fine." His grandmother coughed again, a horrible hacking sound. "Your brother said you were being difficult. That doesn't sound like my sweet Marn."
Marnie didn't reply to that. "You're sure it'll be okay with the doctors?"
"If they don't let my daughter in, why, I'll wheel down that hallway and give 'em an earful. 'Sides, I'm dying. Ain't got no damn time to wait around to handle business."
Shane listened for another minute as they settled out the details, waiting until they'd hung up with a chorus of "See you tomorrows" before returning the phone to its cradle.
His pulse was going a hundred miles a minute.
Growing up, he'd heard the way Corey spoke about his mother. The names he'd used. His furious rants, slamming cupboards after their phone calls. The way he'd wondered aloud how her crotchety, stubborn old ass was still kicking. And as far as Shane knew, Trudy—who used to babysit him with open disdain—had been just as toxic. They were awful together, even now, and this whole bonding-over-dying situation wasn't adding up.
On top of that, it was here, wasn't it? Not some nebulous "soon." Marnie was going to re-involve herself with the family she'd escaped, and Shane couldn't stop picturing her in that room with Corey: on one side a sheep, on the other a wolf in half-assed disguise. If there was money, Corey would try to weasel Marnie's share of it, no matter how meager…and the ranch was struggling, and Marnie folded like a card table under pressure…
He stepped into the hall and could hear Jas's semi-automatic peppering an unknown enemy in the other room. He'd momentarily forgotten her, and knew he ought to go apologize for being short, but instead headed straight for the kitchen. He couldn't give Marnie an opportunity to hide this. After his reaction to the last call, there was plenty of reason to—but if she was going to that hospital, so was he.
He met her at the edge of the kitchen. She looked tired, her hair frizzy in front as if she'd been worrying the bangs. Yet from the first glance, it was evident he wouldn't have to pry it out.
"Tomorrow," she said with a sigh. "I'm visiting Mom tomorrow."
"I'm going," Shane replied.
"Shane, this is not your problem. You deserved to know, but I didn't tell you to ask for favors."
"I'm going," he repeated.
They stood in stalemate, Shane awaiting the next step of this dance: the one where he'd rephrase the same thing seven times because she struggled to take no for an answer. But tonight, she didn't argue.
"We'd have to take Jas with us," she whispered, and his chest tightened.
Jas had been frightened of Corey. As far as he knew, Corey had never laid a finger on her, but she'd still been around his temper and screaming plenty. At the age of five and six she'd called him "mean grandpa" and clung to Shane or Jessica like a barnacle whenever he was home.
"No," he said. "No way. She doesn't even know we're seeing him."
Marnie didn't argue this either. Though they'd never discussed the details of his and Jas's life before Pelican Town, she knew the conditions they'd fled. Picking them up in the middle of the night from a payphone might've had something to do with it.
"You're right, of course." She bit her bottom lip. "It's so short to find a sitter, though. It'd be too late to ask the Clarks again."
Shane rubbed his neck. "Lewis?" he asked, desperation pushing him toward the one name he usually tried to avoid.
Marnie softened. "That…might not be a bad idea. He was just saying how much he'd like to teach her about his flower gardens. Yes, I could call him back tonight…"
She set her coat and purse on the table, then picked up the phone and met his eyes.
"I appreciate it, Shane."
He nodded.
Hands in pockets, he went back down the hall, pausing when he reached his bedroom. Behind him Marnie's voice carried from her call; in front of him, more explosions from Jas's game.
The hospital, he realized numbly. He was going to a damn hospital. Not Harvey's little clinic with its one lone exam room. A real hospital, with overnight beds and bustling staff, and blue scrubs, and white gowns, and beeping monitors…
…and his dad.
Before he'd moved to Stardew, those final months at home had been a blur. A haze of booze and blackouts, the toxicity that had been buried in Shane's childhood now electric between two drunken adult men. One night, near the very end, Shane had been so drunk he couldn't stand on two feet, and he'd woken the next day locked inside the closet. Twenty-eight years old, revisiting the same dusty, dingy place that had tormented him as a boy: a power play by Corey when Shane had been too wasted to fight back.
Not that he could pull any shit like that tomorrow, Shane thought. They'd be surrounded by too many people.
Because they'd be in a fucking hospital.
Headed to hell to drop Satan a line.