Down and Dirty (Down Home #2)

by Parker St. John

He walked straight into Denver’s personal space without hesitation, colliding with the solid wall of his chest and burying his nose at the base of his throat. The scent of leather and wintergreen filled his lungs, as warm and familiar as the stroke of a hand, and Lane groaned. He squeezed his eyes shut, resting his

forehead against the unshaven edge of Denver’s jaw and breathing him in. Just breathing. For what felt like the first time in years, he could breathe again.

No matter the bad blood between them, Denver would always mean safety to Lane. He was comfort. He was home. Whether he wanted to be or not.

“You’re always there when we need you.” “Yeah,” Denver croaked. “I always will be.”

Grabbing him by the back of the neck, his father pulled him close. Lane went rigid with shock as his father wrapped his arms around his shoulders and held on tight, just like when he was a little boy. He was so strong; he wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how hard Lane struggled.

“Your brother was one of us,” his father whispered hoarsely against his temple, “but he wasn’t the best of us. We’re still a family, Lane. We’re yours, and you’re ours, and we’ll be waiting for you whenever you’re ready to come home.” Lane swayed, pressing his forehead against the soggy cotton of his father’s shoulder. He covered his eyes with one hand. The dry sob that ripped from his chest felt like it took his heart with it. He shook and gasped in his father’s arms, and there beside that quiet grave, he finally let go of the pain that had been festering inside him for so long. He finally said goodbye.