Nothing Between Us (13 page)

“Hello?” Georgia said, her voice a little sleep soft.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“Looks like it.” The sound of water sloshing filled the background. “But that’s a good thing. I think I dozed off in the tub.”

“The tub? Are you trying to torture me?” he asked, with visions of what he imagined Georgia’s naked body would look like all wet and soapy filling his head. He’d only gotten a glimpse of her tonight.

“You called me,” she reminded him. “You’re trying to torture yourself.”

“Right.”

“Is everything okay?” More water sounds, and he could tell she was getting out of the tub.

“I dropped Keats off. He’s at some shithole motel on Hines that probably has more drug dealers and hookers in it than county lockup, and I’m trying to talk myself out of turning around and dragging his ass back to my house, willing or not.”

“So you’re calling me to convince you not to do that?” she guessed.

“Yes.”

“Turn around and go get him.”

“What?” he asked. “You’re supposed to be the rational one here, not repeat my own crazy ideas back to me.”

“Sorry, but he’s being stupid and bullheaded. Someone needs to talk some sense into him. Especially since he’s likely just freaked-out because—well, staying with you would probably be hard for him.”

“Hard? Why? Because I used to be his teacher?”

“No, of course not.” She made an impatient sound, like the answer was obvious. “Because he’s into you.”

Colby glanced at the screen showing Georgia’s number on it as if he could see her face and effectively give her the
what-the-fuck
look. “What are you talking about? He’s straight. And he was all eyes for you today.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple.”

“What do you mean?”

She let out a heavy sigh. “Look, I probably shouldn’t say anything. But last night when I was, you know, watching you, I wasn’t the only one with a front-row seat. Keats walked in.”

“What?”

“You were already on the bed and had your eyes closed, but he walked in—an accident, I think, because he looked surprised. But then he stayed. And watched.”

“Fucking hell.” That was why Keats had been so skittish when he’d brought him a towel last night. Everything went annoyingly hot at the thought that both Georgia and Keats were there with him last night.

“I mean, I don’t know,” Georgia said, and he could tell she was choosing her words carefully, “maybe I misread it. Maybe he’s just into watching . . . or listening, like tonight.”

“That’s more likely,” he said, jerking the wheel to the right and exiting the highway again. “He’s made it clear he’s straight. But when I was talking with him tonight, I got the sense he’s kind of fascinated that I’m kinky.”

“What do you mean?”

He pulled to a stoplight and tapped his head against the back of the seat. He had no idea if the vibe he’d gotten from Keats earlier was truly an untapped interest in kink or if he was projecting that onto Keats, seeing what his dirty mind wanted to see.
If my torture did it for her, then I don’t mind suffering . . .
The simple statement had drawn all kinds of pictures in Colby’s head. And it had made him look at the guy sitting at his table with new eyes. “Just a feeling I got.”

“Would you care?”

Colby scoffed. “If he’s kinky? Of course not. That’d actually make it easier, considering the things he may hear or see living with me.”

“And if he’s bi?” she asked gently.

He hit his turn signal with more force than necessary, almost breaking the arm off the steering column. “He’s not. But it’s not my business what he is or isn’t.”

She made some noise, but he couldn’t tell whether it was assent or judgment. “Just go get him, Colby. Make sure he’s safe. The rest will work itself out.”

Sure, it would.

Just like last time. He could almost look back over his shoulder and see the paved path of good intentions stretched out behind him. He knew where that road led.

But he was going anyway.

Keats fished out his key card as he approached the door to his room, trying not to look back to see if Colby was still in the parking lot. It’d been an asshole move to bolt on him like that, but he needed to get out before Colby went into takeover mode again. Yes, to someone like Colby, who lived in a posh suburb, this place probably seemed like a third world country. But for Keats this was just another day, another motel. Nothing to get all twisted up about.

He slid his card into the reader and the light blinked yellow instead of green. He tried again and got the same result. “Dammit.”

He glanced back toward the main office, which was on the far side of the parking lot. Aaron had probably already deactivated Keats’s card. But that had happened before and the light usually went red for that. He grabbed the door handle and gave a little push. The door gave—apparently, it hadn’t clicked fully into the lock.

That should’ve given him pause, but he was in too much of a rush to get inside. He swung the door open, set his bag and guitar case on the floor, and was greeted by a looming black mass in the dark. Keats didn’t have time to make a sound before a fist came crashing into the side of his head.

The doorknob slipped from his hand as the momentum from the unexpected punch propelled him to the floor. He rolled on the dingy carpet, trying to get to his feet, but the blow had dazed him, and he couldn’t get his bearings in the dark.

A sharp kick landed against his ribs. “Been waiting for you all night, pretty boy. Aaron said if you didn’t show up I could have your shit. But this is so much better.”

“What the fuck?” Keats groaned. He recognized the voice instantly but not the reason for Hank’s visit. “You said I had until tomorrow to get you cash.”

“It’s almost midnight, asshole. You have my money?”

“I got it,” Keats ground out.
Well, some of it.
His eyes were adjusting to the dark, and he tried to calculate how far he was from a possible weapon. The lamp would be within reach if he could get to his knees, but the motel bolted everything down, so that wouldn’t work. The phone had possibilities. But if he could get his arm under the bed . . . He got on his knees and lifted his hand in a placating gesture, trying to look like he was cooperating. “Just lay the fuck off and give me a second to get it.”

But Hank’s dirty biker boot planted against Keats’s chest and shoved him back down. The wind left Keats, and he quickly realized Hank didn’t give a shit about the money. He was high or drunk off his ass and looking to beat someone for entertainment. Super.

Anger moved through Keats. All this bullshit and he hadn’t even stolen anything from the guy. He gritted his teeth. This idiot had gotten the jump on him, but that wouldn’t happen again. He scrambled to the left before Hank could kick him again and rolled to his feet.

“Aww, look at Mr. Tough Guy run,” Hank teased. “I always told Nina you were a pussy.”

The insult echoed back to what Keats’s father used to call him, and all rational thought left his mind. He charged, leading with his fists.

He was going to kill this fucker.

—

Colby stalked into the dimly lit office of the Texas Star Motel. A man with a fraying Cowboys cap and cigarette hanging out of his mouth looked up with disinterest. “All booked up tonight.”

“I need to know what room Adam Keats is staying in.”

The man snuffed out his cigarette. “We don’t give out guest information. Company policy.”

Right. Colby suspected exactly what their policy was. He pulled out his wallet, plucked a twenty from it, and slapped it on the counter. “Room number.”

The guy’s tobacco-stained fingers snatched the bill and tucked it in his front shirt pocket. “One-thirty-two. Far left side.”

“Thanks for the hospitality,” Colby said, not hiding the sarcasm in his voice. He shoved open the glass door, the rickety handle nearly coming off in his hand, and strode through the parking lot.

A few guys were sitting around a dinged-up Oldsmobile, blasting a song with so much bass he could feel it vibrate his chest. The ringleader gave him a narrow-eyed look, probably sizing him up to see if the three of them could be enough to get his wallet off him. This was the part of town you only wanted to visit in the morning because the criminals were either sleeping it off or in jail. But Colby glared right back, daring them to try it. He could bench-press one of these assholes for fun.

One of the men smiled in that
ain’t-no-thing
kind of way and turned back to his friends. Good. Message received.

The motel wasn’t big, and Colby found Keats’s room without much trouble. But when he lifted his hand to knock, he heard a crashing sound from inside and angry voices. Every part of him went on alert. He grabbed the door handle and shoved. The door hadn’t clicked into the lock and it swung open easily, but what was on the other side was much worse than he expected. Keats was in a tangle, scrapping with some greasy-haired dude, fists flying. Before Colby could even process what he was seeing, the other guy broke free and shoved Keats onto the floor. The resounding thump of Keats hitting the ground snapped Colby out of his momentary shock.

Colby didn’t think. He launched himself at the guy. Surprise and size were on his side, and he propelled the man into the wall. The cheap drywall rattled behind him as the guy slammed against it. The man tried to swing out at Colby, but he was too disoriented to land a punch with any accuracy.

Colby pressed his forearm against the guy’s throat. Keats must’ve already landed a few good punches. The dude’s nose was bleeding and his jaw was starting to swell. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

The guy struggled and spat. “This fucker stole from me. I’m here to collect.”

Colby peered over his shoulder at Keats.

Keats got to his knees and wiped his bloody mouth with his forearm. “I don’t owe you shit, Hank. Talk to your goddamned sister. She’s the one stealing from you.”

“You fucking—” Hank lurched, but Colby held fast.

“If I were you, Hank, I’d stop struggling and watch how you talk to my friend,” Colby said calmly, even though he really wanted to slam this guy to the floor and beat him like Hank had been doing to Keats. “I’d hate to have to crush your windpipe.”

A wild look flashed through Hank’s dilated eyes and he reared back. Colby saw the head butt coming half a second before it would’ve connected. Colby tilted to the right to dodge the attempt. But the click of something deadly had his heart stilling.

Colby turned, finding Keats holding a gun with hands as steady as a surgeon’s. His eye was already swelling and his lip was cut. “Hank, you need to get the hell out of here and drop this. I don’t owe you any money. Nina’s just pointing that shit at me because she’s mad we broke up.”

“Liar!”

“You want to argue with me right now?” Keats asked, voice cold, gun trained on Hank. “You think I have anything to lose if I pull this trigger? Look around, what do I have to fucking lose?”

Hank’s Adam’s apple bobbed beneath Colby’s forearm.

“Listen,” Colby said in a quiet voice. “You know you’ve got no chance against me or that gun. But this doesn’t need to turn into anything. You walk out that door, leave him the fuck alone, and this is done.”

Hank didn’t respond at first, and Keats stepped closer. That was when Hank finally saw the light of logic. “Fine.”

Colby eyed Keats and tipped his head toward him, letting him know the direction he was going. Then he eased his forearm from Hank’s throat and grabbed the guy’s bicep in a firm grip. “Move.”

Hank seemed to grow a few brain cells because he didn’t try to fight. Colby led him out the door and ushered him into the parking lot with a few more warning words. He let him go but didn’t take his eyes off him. The guy was hyped up on something and could make another rash move at any moment. So Colby returned to the doorway, walking backward, and didn’t move away until Hank crossed the parking lot and climbed into a beat-up black Mustang and drove off with a
fuck you
and a one-finger salute. Only when the taillights winked out of sight did Colby let his shoulders relax. The bed squeaked behind him as Keats dropped onto the mattress.

Colby shut the door and locked it, adding the chain to it for good measure, then went over to the bed. Keats was hunched over, holding his side, and cursing under his breath. The gun was on the side table. Colby went to the gun first and checked that the safety was back on.

“What are you doing here?” Keats asked, letting out a soft groan when he tried to turn to look at Colby.

“A gun, Keats?”

He flinched at Colby’s tone, or maybe it was from pain. “Yeah. It’s the one I stole from my father when I ran away. I’ve never had to fire it, but you have to protect yourself.”

Colby sighed and crouched down in front of him. He grasped Keats’s chin and tilted his face toward the light. The skin hadn’t been broken except for the minor cut on his mouth, but he’d probably have a black eye tomorrow. “Do you need a hospital?”

Keats licked the spot of blood off his lip and gingerly pressed at his ribs. “No, I don’t think anything’s broken. Luckily, he wasn’t wearing his steel-toed boots tonight.”

Colby rubbed a hand over his face. “Fuck.”

“Look, it’s not a big deal, all right?” Keats said, the tightness in his voice making lies out of the words. “Just a few war wounds. I’ll be all right.”

“Yeah, you will. Pack your shit.”

“What?”

“You’re coming home with me and never coming back here.” Colby stood and walked to the window to make sure Hank didn’t return for a second round with his own weapon.

“Colby—”

“This isn’t a negotiation,” he snapped.

“But—”

He stared out the window, trying to keep the reins on his temper. “Did that guy have a reason for coming after you?”

“No, my ex is throwing me under the bus. I didn’t take his stash.”

He looked his way. “You do drugs, Keats? Sell them?”

Keats’s movements were slow and tentative as he pushed up from the bed to a stand. “No, not anymore.”

“Meaning?”

“I used to sell weed when I first got out on my own to make some quick cash. But the guys I sold for wanted me to get into the harder stuff. I wasn’t up for that. I try to stay away from things that will get me arrested or dead.”

“Fantastic,” Colby said with exaggerated enthusiasm. He stalked to the other side of the room and opened the closet. A large duffel bag was on the ground. He grabbed it and tossed it onto the bed. “Then you should have no problem coming with me. Because right now, listening to me is what’s going to keep you from getting arrested or dead.”

Colby folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall, daring Keats to challenge him again on this. But after a brief stare-off, Keats swore under his breath and started packing.