“Why?”
“B-b-because.” Teeth worried a full bottom lip.
“You’re supposed to stay and help me for two weeks.”
“No.” Triton shook his head, sending blond hair shifting and catching the light.
Diesel frowned. “Maddox told me that your classes don’t start for another two weeks. Was that a lie?”
“No.” Triton’s hands twisted.
“Then stay. Please.”
Triton’s blue eyes went wide and wary, as if nobody had ever said please to him. Diesel rubbed a hand at his suddenly aching chest.
Triton wavered and then softly said, “Okay.”
“Good.” He winked. “Now, I’m starving.”
“Want to come down for dinner or do you want me to bring it up here?” Triton’s soft voice lapped over him.
“Bring it up here.”
A brief, tentative smile tipped those pink lips up and brightened those blue eyes.
“I’ll be right back!”
Diesel grabbed the opportunity to use the restroom and wash up.
A few moments later, Triton returned with two trays loaded with steak, potatoes, and salad.
“Did Frank make this?” Diesel scooped up a bite of potatoes.
“No, I took a turn tonight,” Triton said from his spot on the small sofa.
“Who taught you to cook?”
“My mom.”
Several minutes went by without talking. Diesel thoughtfully cut into his steak.
“Where are your parents?”
“Alabama,” Triton said, and the boy’s voice became remote, detached.
“Do you see them often?”
“Not since they kicked me out for being gay.”
What the fuck? His fork hung suspended for a moment. Why hadn’t Maddox shared that with him? Probably because you shut the man down every time he tried to talk about Triton’s personal life.
“I didn’t know.” He finished his last bite, placed the fork onto the plate, and calmly watch Triton avoid his gaze.
“It’s okay, I came to live with Maddox. He, Bull, and River are my family now.”
“What about Clay? He’s not family?”
“No.” Triton jumped up to clear the plates.
“I take it talking over dinner is over?”
“I don’t want to talk about him.” Triton grew agitated.
“So, how’d you hurt your ankle?”
“I said I didn’t want to talk about him!”
“Why would Clay and your ankle injury be the same topic? Unless you lied about that.”
Triton stared at him, wide eyes scared, and then he moved around the room, gathering up everything. He wanted to crush something at the panic in the boy.
“Triton, don’t leave.” Diesel held out a hand.
Triton whirled and stared at him.
“You promised to stay,” he pressed, reminding the boy to see if he would respond to the subtle request.
Triton hesitated. Yeah, the submissive nature of the boy wanted to obey, but he was scared. Clay Martin had terrified Triton of his own shadow.
“I’m not leaving the ranch,” Triton whispered, and then dashed from the room.
Not leaving the ranch, just my company.
He’d only himself to blame for pushing.
Fuck.
Triton
Diesel is coming out of his room for breakfast.
“Just keep it cool. Don’t mess up. He’s nothing like Clay,” Triton whispered, then clamped a hand over his mouth. He tended to talk to himself when he was nervous, and Diesel made him really nervous. Not only the guy’s size, but it was his reaction to him.
He knew the text from Clay was coming, he was supposed to be home yesterday, but he rubbed his damp palms down his pants at the ugliness of it.
You better get your fucking ass home by the time I get home or you’ll regret it.
I’m helping at the ranch! he replied, and tossed his phone to the counter.
Snatching up a small rubber ball, he squeezed and flexed, and then switched it to his other hand to repeat. Shoving Clay’s threat away, he concentrated on his exercises. Keeping his hands strong was important in his line of work. He loved what he did. Being a masseuse was fulfilling. Taking away another person’s pain gave him a sense of purpose. He sighed and placed the ball away.
The one thing he hadn’t been able to do yet was massage Diesel. He wanted to practice his craft on the big man’s muscled back, front, and well, everywhere. Nerves and fear warred and almost made him throw up, but it didn’t dampen his desire.
A noise drew his head up, and he turned from the living room window to spot Diesel coming along the downstairs hallway on crutches.
“You made it!” he blurted.
“I did.” Diesel squinted, but there was kindness in his voice.
Suddenly shy, Triton ducked his head.
“I’m hungry,” the soldier followed up with a grumble.
“And you’re just in time.” Triton darted around Diesel to pull a chair out at the big wooden table.
When Diesel lowered into the chair, Triton reached for the crutches. Diesel hung on to them for a moment, Triton tugged, and then the big man sighed and released them.
He admitted that struggling with Diesel to get the crutches was terrifying and completely out of character for him. But for some reason, he wanted to help Diesel.
“You don’t need to wait on me.”
“But I like to.” Triton worried his lip with his teeth and then blushed beneath the man’s dark, penetrating gaze.
With a pounding heart, Triton darted away. He needed to get a grip on his warring emotions or he was going to embarrass himself and burst into tears.
Setting the crutches against the wall nearby, Triton curled into a chair across from Diesel. He shoved plates across the table and dished up his own food. He badly wanted to dish up Diesel’s, but hung back. He used to do that for Clay until he’d messed up and spilled some of the dinner on the table and Clay’s pants.
Triton reached for his glass of milk and took several swallows. The milk reminded him of the barn kittens bobbing heads while they lapped at their first bowl of cream. Their mouths rimmed with white. He wiped at his own mouth with the back of his hand.
“There’s nine.”
“Nine what?” Diesel paused in taking a bite.
“Kittens.”
“Should get her fixed.”
“They all have homes except for the black one,” he rushed to assure Diesel.
The soldier only grunted and ate in silence.
“Supposed to be a sandstorm blowing in.” Triton made another attempt to engage Diesel. “We’ve got all the barns closed up and animals tucked away.”
“Where’s Bull?”
“He went over to Gillman’s place with Jim to help get the animals inside.” Gillman Berk was the neighbor Diesel and his unit had helped dispose of a drug lord.
Diesel grunted.
“You play cards?” He bit at his lip, squeezing his fork.
“No.”
“You like movies?”
“No.”
Triton dropped into silence, willing his eyes not to burn from the curt answers. The last thing he wanted was to make Diesel mad. The food on his plate suddenly tasted like ash and his stomach churned.