“Why does it feel like something’s died between us tonight?” “It hasn’t. I promise, Clint.” He grunted. “You used to call me Dad. Took you a while, and I didn’t make a big deal about it when you first said it because I didn’t want you to take it back, but damn, did it hurt in the best of ways.” He hit me with a side glance. “And then one day you stopped. Out of nowhere. And that hurt, too, but in the worst of ways.” I remembered the year, month, day, and second Clint referred to. The night I shot my rope all over his bedroom door, marking my territory, manifesting the future. No longer was he
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