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Dalton grabbed a beer, trying not to stare. He wasn’t sure how much he needed to keep quiet. Tank had a life outside the company, a reputation.

Tank clapped Buick on the back before jerking his chin toward the other guys. Then Tank came toward Dalton, his smile widening. “Hey, you. Good show, huh?”

“Hey, stranger. It was. A few damn good rides, and did you see those ropers? God, I love to watch the Texas crew.” There were none better.

“Yeah. The broncs were pretty decent. I was surprised. They’re usually way more sluggish down here.” Tank grabbed a Coke out of the cooler. “You want anything?”

“Dr Pepper, please. There’s burgers and dogs and fried chicken for our feast.”

“I saw. I love it.” Music started up, and damn if Tank didn’t shake it for him a little.

He applauded, and there was a spatter of laughter from all over. Oh. Oh, all right. This was still all right.

Tank handed him his Dr Pepper. “I told Doc if I had to, I would take Dan into the ER, so I need to lay off the beer.”

“What’s up with him?”

“Well, he hit his head pretty hard. Doc is watching him, but he’s worried.”

“Okay. Well, Regional’s up on the loop here. It’s not a bad drive at all.”

“Cool.” Tank sank down next to him, the lawn chair creaking. “How’s Dustin doing without your pops?”

Dalton grinned. Dustin was bitching up a storm, but Dalton knew he loved it. The man was thriving on the responsibility, on the ability to streamline. “He’s having a fucking ball, but you didn’t hear it from me.”

“Nope. Never.” Tank stretched, all that tanned skin on display. So pretty.

“You have fun at the fair?”

“I did.” Tank leaned close. “That corn dog was totally worth it.”

Man, he’d pay to watch Tank eat that, yessir. “I’ll have to make you one at the house.”

“You can make them at home?” Tank put on an exaggerated O face.

“I have an airfryer. You bet your sweet ass I can.”

“Look at you.” Tank laughed, that huge sound he loved drawing some admiring looks. It drew Buick and the others too, the crowd of five guys seeming so much bigger. They set up chairs all about, eating and laughing, and it got so loud. The stories were flying, and the others gathered around, listening avidly about the big show, the big bulls, the big money.

Dalton’s jaw hurt from gritting his teeth. No one was being evil; he was just… tired.

His phone beeped, Dustin texting him withBig egos. Big mouths. Big stories. Home Monday for 8 weeks.

8 weeks. God, he sent back. It sounded like heaven.

Hang in there, Dee.

I will. Want a Ding Dong?

yes pls

“Gonna grab a sweet,” he muttered, standing up and offering a random smile at no one.

Tank watched him. Dalton saw the narrow-eyed expression from the corner of his eye. He wanted that Ding Dong, though.

Dalton grabbed three, headed for Dustin, and passed over a sweet. “Hey.”

“Hey. You cool?”