Dante turned away from Rami—and, by default, toward Sid—to gather his tools. “I’m outside more than I’ve ever been, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“I’m not getting at anything, Dante. I’m just here to see how you are.”
“You’re here to check up on me.”
“That too. But I won’t do it often. Next week it’ll be up to you to come and see me in town. Do you think you’ll be able to do that?”
“I know how buses work.” Dante stood and made for the tool shed, trusting that Rami would follow. He dumped his tools in the box Sid had specifically earmarked for trowels and forks, then pointed at the barn. “The boss wants us to talk in there.”
Rami nodded. “Lead the way.”
Irritation rippled the cool lake Dante had hidden behind most of his life, though he couldn’t say why. He’d been expecting Rami’s visit. Had prepared for it, knowing the questions he’d have to answer and the responses he’d get to his answers. But entering the barn without Sid a heartbeat ahead of him felt so unnatural he nearly stopped dead, rooted to the spot. Only the desire not to make a fool of himself kept him moving.
Inside the barn, the team who provided staff lunches paid him no heed as he preceded Rami to the back table where he shared breakfast and lunch with Sid. Dante sat in Sid’s usual seat, then regretted it as every noise and movement behind him made him squirm.
And Rami noticed—he was pre-programmed to. How could he not be when he had Dante’s entire life printed out in the folder he laid on the table. “Your PTSD therapy finished six months ago,” he said casually. “Have you thought about having some more? Big life changes can be triggering, and I’d imagine there aren’t many more drastic than the last few weeks has been for you.”
“Your imagination is shit then.” Dante eyed the closed folder. “Losing a limb would’ve been more drastic, among about a hundred other things.”
“You did almost lose your foot once. When you were shot.”
“That was a long time ago, and I didn’t lose it, did I? Try again.”
Rami smiled. “You’re always so combative with me, and yet I watch you with other people and you’re sweet as a nut.”
“You wind me up on purpose,” Dante retorted. “It’s your job, isn’t it? To test me? Make sure I won’t kill anyone?”
“Is that something I need to worry about? Murder isn’t on your list of negative personality traits.”
It was so close to the conversation Dante’d had with Sid that a deep scowl twisted his face before he could catch it.
Rami raised a brow. “Is there something I should know?”
“About what?”
“About anything. You seemed content when we spoke on the phone a few days ago. Has that changed?”
“No.” Dante fought the natural insolence lacing his tone and tried again. “No. I’m fine. Just tired. I’m not used to being so busy. Inside I was allowed in the garden for two hours at a time four days a week. This is nine-to-five shit.”
“And then some. The house manager told me you’ve worked after hours most days and all weekend.”
Dante shrugged. “I do what Sid does.”
“Sid?”
“The gardener. He, uh, supervises me.” Enthrals me, actually. He’s the most beautiful dude I’ve ever seen.
“That doesn’t mean you have to shadow him outside of your working day,” Rami said. “You’re a free man, Dante. Your time is your own.”
“I know that. I stay because I want to. It isn’t like I have anything else to do.”
“That might change as you settle in and make friends.”
Dante snorted. “Yeah, okay.”
Rami sighed and kept talking, but Dante tuned him out as house staff began to filter into the barn for their lunch. No one sat close enough to hear what Rami said or catch Dante’s answering grunts, but he willed them away anyway, willed everyone away until he knew Sid had entered the barn.
By then, Rami was done. He tucked his paperwork into his nerdy messenger bag and stood, eyeing Dante who had slumped onto his folded arms. “I nearly forgot,” he said. “I have something for you.”
He produced an envelope and held it out.
Dante sat up and took it, turning it over to reveal his name scrawled on the back in handwriting he didn’t recognise. “What is it?”
“It’s from your brother.”
“No, it isn’t. He doesn’t write like that, and the only thing he’d send me is a letter bomb.”
Rami pressed his lips together, fighting a smile that ultimately won out. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. He was quite positive when I saw him.”
Dante jerked further upright. “You saw him? When?”
“A week before you were released.”
“Why?”
“Because he asked to see me, and you said it was okay for me to talk to him about your case. He gave me this to give to you, so it can’t be all that bad, can it?”
“He hates me.”
Rami frowned and took a breath.
Dante braced himself for a lecture, but it never came. Rami glanced over Dante’s shoulder, nodded to someone, and left after reminding Dante to keep his court-ordered appointment the following week.
Dick. Dante’s lungs collapsed in a slow sigh of relief. He slumped forwards again, clutching the envelope as if it contained dynamite. He studied the handwriting hard enough to give himself a migraine. Maybe Luis doesn’t write the same anymore. People change. But they didn’t. That’s what he’d told Sid on his first day, and he’d meant it. Believed it, like it was fucking gospel.
A body rounded the back of Dante’s chair, knocking him slightly.
Dante dropped the envelope and jolted upright again.
“Easy,” Sid murmured. “It’s only me, and trust me, I’m not worth the excitement today.”
He set two plates of food on the table and lowered himself awkwardly into his seat, moving with far more difficulty than he had that morning, his sunny face twisted into a pained grimace.
Dante tried not to stare, but it was hard. Sid was nice to look at even when he was suffering.
It didn’t seem to matter that Sid caught him in the act.
“You can ask me, you know,” he said. “Unless you’ve heard it already from someone else.”
Dante glanced between him and the heaping plates of pasta twists and broccoli Sid had dumped on the table. “Ask you what?”
“What’s wrong with me. I keep bracing myself for it and it never comes. It’s a fucking flux, and I don’t like it.”
“You want me to ask you?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.”
“What if I don’t care what’s wrong with you?”
“Then stop fucking staring.” Sid grinned a little. “I feel your eyes on me sometimes.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. That’s not what I meant. I just—fuck, I don’t know. Let me eat, then maybe I can explain myself better.”
Dante nodded and pulled his own plate towards him for something to do while Sid fell on his food. It was bizarre to him that Sid felt the need to explain himself when it was Dante who had made things weird between them on that very first night.