TWENTY-TWO
Keats sat at the bar on the far end, where it was dark enough that no one would notice him or his black eye. He’d paint himself invisible if he could, but he needed to be here. He nursed his second Shiner Bock and kept his eyes trained on the stage. The act wrapping up was pretty good—a chick who sounded like the country version of Janis Joplin but looked like Joss Stone in cowboy boots with the pink-streaked hair. It was a good combination. One that probably would’ve captured his attention a week ago. But now all he could think about was the woman whose house he’d left an hour ago and the man about to get onstage.
A tall, blond guy squeezed into the space next to Keats and tapped the bar. The bartender turned and gave the newcomer a wide grin. “Well, how you doing, stranger? Here to see the big man play?”
The guy smiled, all effortless charm. “Just lucked out on that one. Robyn, the girl up onstage, works for me at my store, and I promised I’d stop by and watch her play. Plus, Evan and Andre are at a police fund-raiser tonight.”
“Poor thing. All alone tonight.”
“Don’t worry. There are plans for when we all get home.”
“Nice.” The bartender slid a glass of amber liquid in front of him. “Here’s to getting lucky, then.”
He raised the glass in salute. “I’ll drink to that.”
The bartender moved to take care of another customer, and the man settled his back to the bar in between stools to look at the stage. He glanced at Keats, as if noticing him for the first time. “She’s pretty good, yeah?”
Keats took a pull off his beer. “Her guitar skills need a little work, but her voice cuts right through you—in a good way.”
He smirked. “You sound like my friend Colby, the guy playing next. I swear that dude doesn’t think anyone plays the guitar well.”
Keats paused at the sound of Colby’s name. “You’re friends with Colby?”
The guy set his drink down. “I am. You know him?”
“Yeah.”
“I haven’t seen you around before. You work at the school or something?” He held out his hand. “I’m Jace, by the way.”
“Keats.” He shook the guy’s hand and then reached for his beer again. “And no, not from the school.”
Jace’s eyebrow arched and he gave Keats a more assessing look, then smiled. Keats must’ve given something away in the comment because Jace looked like he’d answered some question for himself. “No wonder I haven’t seen Colby around lately.”
Embarrassment welled in Keats when he realized what Jace was assuming. “It’s not—”
“Any of my business,” Jace finished, and lifted his glass again. “Here’s to both of us getting lucky tonight then, huh?”
Jace clinked his glass against Keats’s beer and appeared far too amused at how uncomfortable he’d made him. Keats wanted to hightail it out of there right then, but he wasn’t going to be a coward about this.
Robyn, the girl who’d been performing, wrapped up her set and then strolled out a few minutes later. She was grinning as she walked up to Jace and gave him a big hug. “You came!”
Jace released her from the hug and laughed. “That’s what she said.”
Robyn rolled her eyes. “Seriously, boss, you gotta give that line up.”
“Never. I will cling to it with my dying breath.” He moved out of the way and let her take the stool next to Keats. “You did great, kiddo. You’re way too talented to be working for me.”
“Whatever.”
“Hey, have a drink on me. This is Keats, Colby’s friend. He’ll keep you company. I’ll be right back.”
Robyn barely glanced Keats’s way at first, but then turned to take a second, slower look that said she liked what she saw. Normally, Keats would’ve flipped on the switch and sent a flirty smile back. The girl was pretty, talented, and closer to his age than Georgia and Colby were. But he couldn’t muster up that side of himself. Plus, he was too busy being annoyed that Jace had assigned him a job. Did Colby only have friends who liked to dish out orders?
Robyn slid onto the stool, ordered a beer, and then twisted her curly hair into a loose ponytail, securing it with a rubber band. She fanned her neck. “Damn, those lights are hot up there.” She leaned his way. “At least that’s what I’m telling myself and not that I’m sweating like this from nerves.”
Keats smiled at that. “First time I ever played at an open mic night I looked like the Before shot in a deodorant commercial. I learned to always have a jacket on hand.”
She popped the collar of her khaki army jacket. “Already ahead of you.” She took a sip from her drink. “So you’re a musician, too?”
He shrugged. “When I’m not doing things that make actual money, yes.”
She laughed. “I hear ya. I’d starve to death if I used this to support myself. But I have a good gig with Jace. I’m the manager of his store, and he’s easy to work for, even if he insists on calling me kiddo no matter how old I am.”
Keats smirked. “I know the feeling.”
She turned to face him fully, the pink highlights and her dark hair making her green eyes stand out in the dim light of the bar. “So how come you’re not playing tonight? It’s open mic.”
Keats shook his head. “I’m just here to see my friend. I haven’t done the stage thing in a while. I’d probably bomb.”
She pressed her lips together in mock consternation. “No way you could be worse than the dude who went on before me and sang about his dead dog.” She put a hand to his knee and leaned forward. For all the sweating she claimed, she still smelled like some light, flowery perfume. “Come on. You can even borrow my guitar if you need one. I’d love to see you play.”
Keats licked his lips. If he’d had any doubt she was flirting before, he knew for sure now. Her hand was more on his thigh than his knee. A week ago, this would’ve been a perfect setup. He’d always had a thing for confident girls who weren’t afraid to make a move. But it didn’t feel right tonight.
Big hands landed on Robyn’s shoulders, and Jace gave her a little squeeze. “Fall back, kiddo. This one’s nice to look at, but I think Keats belongs to someone else.”
Robyn peered up at Jace and then back to Keats, sending him a slightly apologetic look as she moved her hand from his leg. “I was only trying to convince him to take a turn onstage.”
“Uh-huh,” Jace said, his smile sly. “Sure you were.”
Keats had been rendered speechless at Jace’s comment—Keats belongs to someone else—but now his mind snapped back into place. Irritation edged his voice when he finally spoke. “I don’t belong to anyone.”
And fuck it, maybe this was what he needed after all. A pretty girl who seemed more than interested in what he had to offer. But just when he was about to make a really self-serving move, the deep, rumbling voice of one Colby Wilkes filled the space around him. Keats stopped everything he was about to say, his attention drawn inexorably toward the stage. Colby was perched on a stool, one foot braced on the rung and the other leg stretched to the floor. His ball cap was low over his eyes but his hair curled around the edges, and the flash of dimples hid in the almost-smile. Even on that small stage in this small bar, wearing jeans and a simple flannel shirt, Colby looked like a fucking rock star.
Colby gave a brief greeting, thanked the crowd for coming out tonight, and then launched directly into what he said was a new song. Deep, molasses-laced notes resonated through the room, wrapping around him and infiltrating every part of Keats. And when he heard the chorus, lyrics aching with want and desire for untouchable things, feelings that Keats knew all too well, he sank back against the bar like he’d been punched.
Jace leaned over, close to his ear. “You sure about that? Because I only look at one other guy like that, and I certainly belong to him.”
Keats closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face. “Fuck.”
Jace gave a low chuckle. “I know how you feel, brother. That shit is never convenient. Now, come on, you two. Let’s grab a table so we can see better.”
As if his free will had decided to put up the white flag for the night, Keats let Jace lead him and Robyn to a table closer to the stage. It was dark enough in the bar and the lights were bright enough on Colby that Keats would still be hidden. But at least now he wouldn’t have to pretend he wasn’t staring.
Colby’s set was only supposed to be a couple of songs, but the audience encouraged him to play a few more when he tried to say good-bye. According to Jace, Colby was a paid act and rarely came to the open mic nights anymore, so this was a special treat for the crowd. At the praise, Colby tipped the bill of his cap, the pleasure on his face warm and genuine, and asked if there were any audience requests.
The houselights went up before Keats could register what was happening. He blinked in the brightness, stars imprinting on his vision, and he immediately slunk down in his chair, trying to blend into the crowd. But when his vision cleared, Colby was looking straight at him. Colby stared, as if confused for a moment, and then his jaw tightened. No one but Keats had probably noticed, but the change had twisted Keats’s gut.
A woman called out the name of a song, and Colby pulled his gaze away to address her. He gave her that smile of his, even if it didn’t light his whole face like it usually did, and started the song. But suddenly Keats felt as if there were a wire of tension strung between him and Colby, the whole thing vibrating with Colby’s clear annoyance.
Jace leaned over. “He didn’t know you were here?”
“No,” Keats said on a hard swallow.
Jace frowned. “Sorry, I wouldn’t have dragged you over here. I thought—”
Keats shook his head. “It’s okay. I’ll live.”
Jace sniffed. “Maybe. I have a feeling Colby is thinking through all three hundred million ways he knows how to torture someone right now.”
Keats groaned but realized the sound wasn’t born of dread. It was of need. He put his head on the table. The impossible-to-ignore reaction was like a hammer hitting that final nail. Boom. Here lies Keats. Buried.
He took a long, steadying breath and forced himself to straighten. He wouldn’t run this time. He reached out and touched Robyn’s elbow. “Does that offer for the guitar still stand?”
She gave him a conspiratorial smile. “Absolutely. Come on.”
Right. So this was what jumping off a bridge felt like.
—
Colby was more than ready to get offstage by the time he wrapped up the last song. Usually, he left a performance feeling lighter and more energized. But he’d had a frustrating meeting at school earlier, and the stress of still not knowing where he stood with his job had already been wearing on him. Then he’d spotted Keats in the audience, and his mood had plummeted to an even darker place.
What the hell was he doing here? And how did he end up sitting with Jace? Colby knew Jace wouldn’t make a pass at Keats or anything. The dude was off his rocker in love with his two lovers. But Jace also had a knack for saying inappropriate things and putting people on the spot, even if it was delivered with a heavy dose of charm and humor. And Keats was in no condition to be put on the spot.
Colby quickly made his way over to the table where he’d spotted Keats but found only Jace and Robyn. “Where is he?”
Jace leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Oh, look at that, you’re worse off than him, Wilkes. I never thought I’d see it from you.”
“Shut the fuck up, Austin,” Colby said, not in the mood for his friend’s ribbing. “Where’d he go?”
“Turn around,” Robyn offered.
Colby spun toward the front and saw Keats striding across the stage, a guitar slung over his shoulder. His black eye stood out in relief under the bright lights but so did his tattoos, giving him the ultimate bad-boy effect.
“God, why do the good ones always turn out to be gay?” Robyn huffed.
“Or bi,” Jace corrected. “Don’t forget us.”
“He’s fucking beautiful,” she declared.
Colby hadn’t taken his eyes from the stage and he wholeheartedly agreed. Often when Keats looked at him, he saw the vulnerability there, the insecurity. But up on the stage, that guy was gone. Keats had swagger under those lights, and when one of the women in the audience gave a little catcall, he peered over at her and graced her with a smile that could be an ad campaign for sin.
“Have a seat, Wilkes,” Jace said, pushing a chair out with his foot. “I have a feeling the show’s going to be worth watching.”
Colby sat and Jace, being the annoying yet considerate friend that he was, ordered Colby a double shot of whiskey.
Keats adjusted the microphone and moved the stool aside so he could stay standing. He plucked a few strings and twisted the tuning pegs. “You’ll have to forgive me. Robyn was kind enough to lend me her guitar since I don’t have mine, so I’ll have to feel my way through this a little.”
“I know what he could feel his way through,” muttered one of the chicks at the table next to Colby. Her friend giggled.
Colby gritted his teeth, a rare bolt of possessiveness taking hold.
Keats looked out at the audience. “I only have one song for you tonight. And to be honest, it’s one song for one person. So let’s hope he likes it.”
Colby’s breathing stopped. He.
Holy shit. The guy who could barely say the word bi had just come out onstage.
Jace smiled over at Colby and held up a finger, his head tilted. “And that’s the sound of female hearts breaking all through the audience.”
But Colby couldn’t respond. Keats started strumming, and that smooth, melodic voice of his moved through Colby. He didn’t recognize the notes, but once Keats opened up his mouth to sing, Colby forgot anyone else was there in the bar with him.
The country flavor in Keats’s voice was different from Colby’s, but warm, full, and rich. Like slow honey sliding off a spoon. Much deeper than it had been in Keats’s high school days. And sexy as fuck.
Keats looked down at his guitar as his fingers moved with confidence over the strings, his words seeping into Colby’s very being.
Light the match, I said.
Feed the flames, I beg.
I need your fire to snap the beams.
Consume the doubts I hear.
Ignite the truths I fear.
Burn me down, baby.
Burn me down.
Colby closed his eyes and knocked back his whiskey, the burning in his throat matching the heat Keats’s song was fueling in his gut. Keats hadn’t looked his way once, but he’d made it clear who he was singing to. Colby didn’t know how he was going to walk away this time.
“Goddamn,” Jace muttered. “This is getting me hot under the collar, and I’m not even into the kid.”
“He’s not a kid,” Colby snapped.
Jace lifted a hand. “Sorry. Didn’t mean anything by it. Honestly.”
Colby felt like an asshole. He wasn’t one to let his temper leak into things, especially when it was unfounded. Jace was just being Jace. But everything felt on edge at the moment, like even a breath on his skin would be too much.
“The guy can sing, though, Wilkes. He’s really fucking good.”
“Always has been,” Colby said gruffly. “Just never had a chance to catch a break.”
“That sucks. Want me to talk to Foster’s friend, Pike?”
“For what?”
“Pike’s doing some producing now. He could help him put together a demo. Robyn’s going to do one.”
Colby adjusted his cap, only half able to stay engaged in the conversation. “Yeah, do that. I’m sure Keats has some stuff ready to go.”
Jace said he would do just that. But Colby’s attention stayed on Keats, and he was rewarded when on the final line of “Burn Me Down,” Keats’s eyes locked on his, and he sang the words right to him.
That was all it took for Colby’s good intentions to go up in flames. Burn me down, indeed. He shoved his chair back. “I’ll see you guys later.”
Jace grinned. “Happy trails, Wilkes.”