Nothing Between Us

FOUR

“You playing tonight, Wilkes?”

Colby looked over to the left at the man who’d leaned against the bar and posed the question. Jenner Bodine smiled back at him, toothpick clenched in his teeth. Colby took another sip from his whiskey. “Nope. Jus’ drinking. You?”

Had his words slurred? He couldn’t tell anymore.

“Yeah, I’m onstage next. Filling in for an act that had to cancel.” He glanced out at the empty seats in the bar. “I hate playing on Mondays. Only the real dedicated drunks show up on a Monday.”

Colby raised his glass in salute.

Jenner laughed. “Wow, the hard stuff, huh? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with anything but beer.”

Yeah, and Colby’s brain was feeling the effects. He could handle his liquor, but he’d been here since early afternoon and things were getting a little fuzzy around the edges now. Good. If there was ever a time to get shit-faced, it was the day one of your students almost fucking died—and you realized it might have been partly your fault. All he kept thinking about was how if Travis’s father hadn’t chosen Thai food for dinner that night, Travis would’ve been dead this morning. A sixteen-year-old kid. Dead. Two days after a session with Colby.

God. He rubbed a hand over his face. Was he that fucking blind? That useless? He’d been too wrapped up in his own crap and missed danger signs with his little brother all those years ago. Then he’d screwed things up with Adam Keats, and the kid had disappeared. Now this. Maybe he should just stick to his guitar and his job at The Ranch after all. Everything else he touched seemed to go to shit.

Colby tapped the bar and motioned for Lenora, the bartender, to pour him another. She grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniel’s but frowned at him before she poured. “Sugar, I know you’re a big man who can take his liquor, and I’m guessing you had a real bad day, but you’re going to be sick as hell if you keep going.”

Jenner chuckled and gave Colby’s shoulder a pat. “Looks like you’re cut off, my friend. Now you’ll have to sober up while you listen to my set.”

Colby grunted but didn’t protest for Lenora to pour. Even through his liquor-soaked thoughts, he recognized that she wasn’t giving him a choice in the matter. She was a world-class flirt and would give any customer the sweet-as-MoonPies Southern girl routine, but she ran this bar with a nonnegotiable set of rules and would kick anyone out who gave her flak about it.

“A Coke then,” he said, the words coming out slower than he intended.

“Now we’re talking.” She patted his hand and poured him a soda, then pushed a bowl of nuts toward him. “And eat something.”

Jenner said good-bye and headed toward the side door that led backstage. Colby sighed and grabbed a handful of nuts, figuring he might as well stay to listen to Jenner play. The guy was a little more pop than country in Colby’s opinion. Colby preferred playing stuff with an old-school flavor. But Jenner had a good voice and a knack for writing good lyrics. And what else did Colby have to do tonight? It wasn’t like he had to get to bed early to be up for school tomorrow.

The thought was more than a little depressing. He had no idea what he was going to do with himself for the weeks that stretched out before him. He kept his life busy for a reason. If he wasn’t working at school, he was at The Ranch giving training sessions or here at the bar with his guitar playing a gig. The thought of sitting at home and doing … he didn’t even know what he’d do, made him want to crawl out of his skin. He pulled the straw from the glass and took a swig of his soda. He’d go crazy stuck in that house with nothing to do.

Stuck in the house. Something about the thought niggled him. He tried to pinpoint whatever it was, then gave up and pushed it aside.

It didn’t hit him in that moment. It didn’t even hit him for the first few songs of Jenner’s performance. But when the alcohol started to filter out of his system and his mind began to clear, the thought circled back to him. Stuck in the house …

Shit.

He’d told Georgia this morning that he would bring burgers by. She’d barely accepted the invitation as it was, but now it was past ten and he hadn’t even stopped by to tell her something had come up. Goddammit. He’d finally gotten his neighbor to agree to a semi-date with him, and he’d fucking blown it.

Way to go, Wilkes. He pushed away from the bar, relieved that the world tilted only slightly and that he was steady on his feet. “Hey, Lenora.”

She spun his way. “Yeah, hon.”

“I’m going to leave my truck in the parking lot and take a cab. I’ll come by and get it in the morning, so don’t tow me.”

“Sure thing,” she said with a smile. “Get some rest.”

He stepped out of the bar, the brisk air sobering him even more. The street was mostly deserted. No cabs in sight. He should’ve known. This part of Fort Worth was honky-tonk party row on the weekend, but on a Monday night, it was a ghost town. He stuck his hands in his pockets and took a left down the street. He knew there was a Hilton a few blocks over, and that’d be his best shot at grabbing a cab.

The wind had picked up and was blowing along the sides of the buildings with a punch of cold. Thunder rumbled in the distance and promised a chilling rain. But the residual effects of the alcohol kept him warm enough for now. A few notes of music drifted through the air as people opened the doors to some of the bars and clubs. But as he neared the end of the second block, more than a snippet of a song hit his ears. Lonely notes of a familiar melody seemed to echo from far away and stopped him dead in his stride.

He glanced behind him, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound, but the sidewalks were empty. He closed his eyes, grabbing on to the faint sound of the song. Lyrics he should’ve forgotten by now filled in the blanks in his head.

The yellow tape winds

The signs all warn

Fingers grab and twine,

And everything is torn.

I’m a trespasser, never will I belong.

My life is off-limits, everything is wrong …

Colby opened his eyes and shook his head as a chill moved through him. No, it couldn’t be. He must’ve had more to drink than he thought. He was so drunk he was hearing ghosts. Old demons were sliding out of the gutters and wrapping around him. He picked up the speed of his steps.

But as he moved forward, the sound of the guitar only got louder, the chords clearer. Like a man possessed, he took a sharp right, crossed the street, and followed the sound. The music grew crisp as he neared a closed record store. He turned another corner and found himself facing a small park. There was a statue of a horse at the center of a stone circle, and benches surrounded it. On one of the benches sat a guy with a guitar and full sleeve tattoos, playing a song that didn’t belong to him.

“Hey,” Colby called out as he walked into the circle. “What song are you playing?”

The guy glanced up for a second, his face in the shadow of the canopy of trees above him, and the music stopped. “Five bucks and I’ll tell ya.”

Colby peered at the open guitar case at the guy’s feet. There were a few bills in it. “That’s not your song to play.”

“The fuck it isn’t,” he said, and started strumming again.

Colby stepped forward, his heartbeat pounding. “Tell me where you heard it.”

“Price has gone up to twenty,” the guy said, not even bothering to look up this time. Thunder rumbled closer now and a gust of wind blew over them, rattling the leaves above them.

Colby gritted his teeth and pulled his wallet out. He dropped a twenty in the case. “Tell me.”

The guy’s blond hair had fallen in his face, but Colby could see his smirk. “In my head. I wrote it, asshole.”

Well, that just pissed Colby off. He kicked the guitar case shut with a bang.

The guy’s head jerked upward. “What’s your pr—”

But his green eyes went wide and his words trailed off as his gaze met Colby’s.

For a second, the pieces didn’t register, didn’t fit together in Colby’s fuzzy head. He just stared for a few long seconds. But when it all finally clicked into place, it was like a swift, hard punch to the gut. “Keats?”

That seemed to snap the guy out of his stunned state. He got off the bench with hurried movements and flipped open his guitar case to set his battered instrument into it. “No, man, ain’t me.”

Colby considered for a moment that he was seeing ghosts. He’d had a bad day. He’d had a lot to drink. Keats had been on his mind earlier. But when Colby gave the guy a longer look, he knew he wasn’t imagining things. The boy he’d known had grown a few inches and had inked up his skin. His hair was longer and he was leaner than Colby remembered. Harder. But there was no doubting those pale green eyes or the awareness that had flashed through them.

This was Keats. Alive.

Keats yanked his case from the ground and hitched a backpack over his shoulder, turning to go. He took two steps before Colby had a hand on his upper arm. “You’re just going to walk away?”

Keats tensed in his grip, and he turned cold eyes on him. “Unless you plan to throw more money at me, big man, I’m outta here.”

Colby let his arm go but squared off in front of him to block him, the dominant side of him shimmering to the surface. “Keats, if you think you’re going to blow me off and pretend you don’t know me, I suggest you rethink that.”

Keats’s smile was wry even though fear flickered through his eyes. “Blow you? So that’s what this is about? Not my thing, dude. But give me two hundred bucks and maybe I can forget that I don’t like cock.”

Colby stepped into his space, unsure what pissed him off more—that Keats was still keeping up this act or that what he said could be true—that the smart, quiet kid he used to know was now selling himself to keep afloat. He hoped to God Keats was just bluffing. But if the kid wanted to play this game, he could, too.

“Fine.”

Keats blinked, the tough-guy face faltering for a second. “What?”

“Five hundred and you come home with me for the night.”

“That wasn’t the offer.”

“You’re going to turn down five hundred bucks and a warm place to sleep?” he asked, knowing Keats had no more than thirty bucks in his case and that the cold rain would start falling any minute.

“Nobody gives you that much money for nothing,” he said, his expression tight. “And I don’t fuck guys.”

Even hearing the crass words roll off Keats’s lips had anger welling in Colby. So he was going to keep this bravado crap up. Colby crowded Keats against the side of the bench, using his size to the fullest advantage. He knew he wasn’t fighting fair. Keats was nervous even if he was trying to play it off. But there was no way in hell Colby was letting him walk away. If it meant playing as dirty as Keats was playing, so be it. He leaned in, meeting Keats eye to eye. “Do I look like someone who’d need to pay for a fuck?”

“Col—” he started, then caught himself. “Shit.”

Colby smiled and backed off, victorious. He took the guitar case from Keats’s hand, the burden of Colby’s awful day lifting a little. The situation was beyond screwed up. Keats was on the street—or close enough to it to be busking in a park. He hadn’t actually asked him if he had somewhere to go. But he was alive. That was enough to be thankful for. “Come on. Let’s get a sandwich and get indoors before the skies open up. I need to sober up before I can drive. But when we’re done, you are going home with me.”

The nothing-bothers-me attitude dropped from Keats’s expression and he looked … lost. “Why?”

“Do you have someplace better to go?” he asked, lifting a brow.

Keats’s jaw twitched and he glanced away, the shame in his eyes making him look more like the kid he used to know and less like—Colby counted off the years in his head—the twenty-three-year-old man he’d grown into. “Not if I don’t show up with some cash in my pocket.”

“That’s reason enough, then. I’m guessing five hundred will cover you. Come on.”

Keats followed him when Colby started walking back toward the main road. He fell into step with him. “Your … family isn’t going to mind you showing up with some stranger?”

Colby peered over at him, the question catching him off guard. “I live alone.”

“Oh.” Keats looked down. “That’s cool.”

Ah, hell.

This had trouble written all over it. Colby switched the guitar case to his other hand and put some distance between the two of them.

Line drawn.

FIVE

Georgia sat curled up in her living room, nursing a glass of wine and trying to plot out the next scene in her book on the legal pad propped on her lap. A rerun of 48 Hours was on in the background, but she wasn’t listening to it. Really, she hadn’t been able to concentrate on much of anything all evening. Instead, her eyes kept drifting to her living room window. Colby had said he might bring over burgers tonight. All day she had stressed about it, wondering if she would be able to manage it. She knew she couldn’t go over to his house, but she wasn’t sure she could let him in hers either. Every time she thought about it, she got that electric feeling in her muscles—like they were all going to seize up at once.

But Leesha had been so enthusiastic when Georgia had mentioned the potential date-that-wasn’t-really-a-date to her this morning. According to Leesha—in all her therapeutic wisdom—getting interested in a man was a “major” step in the right direction. It showed willingness to trust again and reconnecting to the outside world and blah blah blah. Georgia had zoned out a little on the therapist-speak. Even so, Leesha’s excitement had been contagious, and Georgia had promised her she would do all she could to give it a chance and not chicken out.

So she’d started making plans to eat on the backyard deck. Her garden back there was quiet and the trees offered shade. She could control the situation there. But all the planning and worrying had been for naught. Colby hadn’t come home at his normal time. And it wasn’t like he had her phone number, so he hadn’t called. So either something had come up or he’d simply forgotten. Or something was wrong.

She pushed the thought aside, frustrated that her mind always went there. Hello, Paranoia, nice to see you again. It was always there, waiting in the rafters and ready to pounce. Sometimes she wondered if Phillip had seared it into her psyche permanently, that there was no getting better for her, that he had killed the woman Georgia used to be spiritually even if her physical form had managed to survive. Maybe she was sentenced to a life inside these walls, watching the world go by through her windows and on her TV screen, and only going out when she popped a pill that made her thoughts go slow and sticky. She set her wineglass aside and pressed the heels of her hands to her eye sockets, the thoughts making her brain want to implode.

No, she wouldn’t let that happen. She was trying to get better. She was going outside every day. She was doing her therapy. Hell, she’d held a full conversation with her neighbor today. Even Leesha was hopeful. Things were getting a little better, right? And once Phillip was put away for good, the fear would surely go away. Knowing that he was out on bond and could pop back into her life was what held her hostage. The chances were slim that he’d leave the state since if he tried, he’d be thrown in jail. But it was the existence of that minute possibility that she couldn’t get past. Because she knew without a doubt that if he found her, there would be no escape this time.

A door slammed in the distance, making her jump and almost knock over her wine. She turned her head toward the window. Colby was back and someone was climbing down from the passenger side of his truck. Georgia shifted on the couch to turn fully around and watch. At least he was safe, even if the thought of him bringing home some woman had a different kind of feeling twisting in her stomach. But when his passenger came around the front of the truck, it was a lanky guy with shoulder-length blond hair. Not anyone she recognized from Colby’s gaggle of friends.

Jealousy rooted down in her gut despite the fact that it was a guy. Georgia had watched Colby long enough to know he wasn’t only into women. Though not recently, she’d seen him with a male lover once before. It had shocked the hell out of her initially. She knew gay or bisexual men didn’t necessarily fit a stereotype. But Colby was the epitome of the Southern-boy alpha male—the last person she would’ve ever suspected. When she’d first watched him fool around with the guy, she’d expected to be turned off. She’d always dated what she’d thought of as “manly” men, ones who would’ve balked at the idea of touching another guy.

But she’d been floored by how hot it had been to watch Colby take over another man. It hadn’t been effeminate at all. It’d been rough and sexy and intense. Transfixing. By the time the night was done, she’d been sweating, breathless, and out of her mind with all the … wanting. She hadn’t quite understood her reaction, but she’d decided not to dig too deep into that one.

However, tonight she wasn’t in the mood to watch. Her pride was dinged. She and Colby had made plans, albeit loose ones, and then Colby had blown it off and brought someone else home. It was probably stupid to feel any jealousy. She and Colby were just neighbors. It was only an offer for burgers. She probably wouldn’t have even been able to invite him inside. But it didn’t stop the feelings from surfacing.

She watched the other guy pull something out of the truck bed, a guitar case from the looks of it. Colby said something to him and then glanced toward Georgia’s house. Instinctively, she ducked back. All he’d be able to see between her blinds was the ambient light from the television, but even so, Colby was already heading her way.

“Shit.” She scrambled off the couch. She was still in her jeans and favorite pink cashmere sweater. Stupidly, she’d gotten a little dressed up for the night, even putting on some makeup. Of course, she probably had raccoon eyes at this point from rubbing them. She strode to the mirror above the small table in the entryway and ran her fingers under her eyes to clear the smudged mascara right before the knock hit the door.

She almost didn’t want him to see that she was still fully dressed. She didn’t want him thinking she’d been waiting like some forgotten girl on prom night. That gave him an edge, power. But she didn’t have any choice. She checked the peephole to make double sure who was on the other side, then deactivated the alarm and undid the deadbolts.

She swung the door open, finding the hulking mass of Colby Wilkes filling the doorway. He looked nothing like the fresh and spry guy he’d been when he’d left that morning. His hair was disheveled, his eyes a little bloodshot, and his clothes looked like they’d been rained on.

“Hey,” she said tentatively.

He gave her a brief up-and-down glance. “Good, you’re still up. I saw the TV was on and took a chance.”

“Yeah, I was just about to go up to bed.”

Something flickered over his expression at that, but he shifted his weight, bracing his hand on the doorjamb, and the flicker was gone. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry I didn’t stop by tonight like I said I would.”

She shrugged. “It’s okay. I didn’t really know if you were serious anyway.”

He sighed and ran a hand over the back of his head. “I was. But today has been … complicated.” He glanced toward his house and the guy leaning against the side of Colby’s truck. “And is still complicated.”

“Everything okay?” she asked, eyeing Colby’s guest.

“I don’t know if it can be defined as okay, but I have things under control. Mostly.”

“Who’s the guy?” she blurted, then cringed when she realized how nosy she sounded. “Sorry, none of my business.”

Colby rubbed his jaw, considering her. “He’s … a guy I used to know and who needed a place to crash tonight. Long story.”

The way he said it, the underlying current of regret in his voice, had her curiosity welling, but she kept her questions to herself. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Not really.” His lip curled at the corner. “Having dinner with you tonight would’ve helped. I was looking forward to that. Rain check?”

“Sure, okay.”

“Good. I’ll hold you to that.” He leaned over, cupping her elbow, and panic stiffened her for a second as he entered her space. But all he did was press a light kiss to her cheek.

He smelled faintly of maple syrup, but the rough brush of his beard against her skin sent a current straight downward. She had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from making a sound. He lingered close for a moment, and she swallowed hard. She could turn her head—just a few inches and those lips would be on hers. If she were her old self, she would’ve done it. That girl didn’t cower. That girl took chances.

But that girl wasn’t her. Not anymore.

He pulled back before she could even attempt to get the nerve. He gave her that heartbreaker smile of his, though she could see the tiredness and strain lingering in his eyes, and stepped back onto her porch. The whole exchange had her wanting to reach out, run her hands along his jaw, and offer comfort—possibly of the naked variety. But all she could do was tell him good night and close the door.

When Georgia went upstairs a little while later, she tried to walk past the guest room without stopping in. But it was a siren call she couldn’t shut off. After slipping into her oversized nightshirt, she padded barefoot into the dark guest room. A few lights went on and off in Colby’s house, but eventually he appeared in his bedroom doorway. He shut his door and leaned against it. He ran a hand over his face in a fuck-my-life motion. It was the first time she could remember seeing him look so beat down. He headed into his bathroom. She knew she needed to close the curtains and go to bed, but she remained in her chair, somehow feeling less alone sitting here instead of in her room.