by Jodi Payne
“Shit, who knows? Who knows why shit goes bad? People break up. Where are you?”
“Shreveport. I want a car. A fast one. A convertible.”
“Sure thing, honey. Nothing fixes a broken heart like a fast car. And get into a hotel. Quit living like you’re a pauper.” Nathan chuckled softly. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll get a cab to the Eldorado. I’ll get you a room for a few days, book you a massage.”
Colt looked at his guitar in its beat-up, well-traveled case and his worn-in jeans and wondered what the hell he would do with himself at a high-dollar spot like the Eldorado.
“Promise me, Colt. I’ll take care of things for you, okay?”
“You got my word. Me. The Eldorado. A car.” A couple days’ nap, right? A drink or three.
“I’ll check in with you again in a few days. Until then you just rest. Relax. Fall in love with someone else for a night or two.”
“Rest. Relax. I hear you.” He didn’t have his heart back to give it to someone else, so he couldn’t promise that.
Hell, maybe he’d never get it back again.
Chapter Nineteen
COLT PAID cash for a Mustang convertible and headed south, driving along the backways, singing along with the radio, flipping stations when one grayed out. Gospel, country, R&B—he didn’t care none.
His heart was broke, his soul had a tear, and he needed to play for a few days or until he was lost. He didn’t bother to take the exit for Houma as he drove. His mamma was about as lost to him as his daddy.
There was about a thousand missed calls—from the boys, from Timmy, his management, a dozen bands—but none from anyone he wanted to talk to right now.
Right now he wanted rum and blues and a whiskey-soaked voice singing with him, the wail drowning out the rejoicing of the carols. Satan rode with him right now, not the good Lord.
He pulled into the French Quarter, heading straight for the Place d’Armes. They had good parking, rooms with no windows, and enough haints to make him feel at home. He crossed their palms with silver enough to keep him out of the weather until Christmas at least. Then he went two blocks over and two down to Sydney’s and bought him the first one of a line of bottles that were needed to help him forget how Kyle had pulled away from him, had proven he wasn’t worth a hill of shat beans.
“Lawd, that you, Boudreaux? You Laird’s boy?”
“C’est bon. Is.”
He didn’t have to look to see who it was; it didn’t matter.
It was good to be home.
These were his own people.
COLT’S PHONE rang, shut off, then rang again for the eighty millionth time in a row. Goddamn. He didn’t even have to look to see who it was.
Timmy.
The man was relentless as a hurricane.
“You drivin’ me bugshit, boo.”
“Dude! You’re freakin’ alive! I totally thought maybe the morgue-guy, the uh, coroner dude was gonna pick up. I have called you forty-two-gazillion times! Are you okay? Where the hell are you?”
“N’awlins. I been playing the blues. How was the beach?” He sat up and lit a cigarette, the pure blackness of the windowless room making the flame seem like a beacon.
“Good. First couple days were challenging. Then it was heaven. What happened to Austin? Your boys decide to head south?”
“I didn’t want to fuck with their holiday, and I ain’t feeling jolly. I went traveling.”
“What’s the matter? Did you change your flight? When do you get in? I got a session request for the twenty-seventh. You want it?”
“I didn’t make a flight back. What kind of booking?” He could go in to spend Christmas with Timmy, do the gig, and get his stuff. New York was always going to be Kyle for him, big as it was, and there wasn’t a thing of Kyle here. Not a whisper that didn’t live in his own heart.
“It’s Fivers—the jazz group you worked with before. But wait. What did I miss? Is this because of Kyle’s exhibition? Is he coming down there?”
Coming down here. Shit no. “Me and Kyle…. Things went bad Thanksgiving. I spent the night at the airport before my flight. I’ll come to you Christmas Eve, okay? We’ll have a couple days, and then I’ll do that gig.” He took a deep drag, letting the smoke burn his lungs.
“Oh. I… didn’t know, dude. I’m sorry. So you haven’t talked to him, huh? Wow. Well, I wanted company for Christmas, so thanks for that.”
“You my good friend, boo. I’m sorry too. He was my love, but… you know how it is.” He wasn’t even sure why Kyle was so down on him, not really. Colt had been late, had taken something to help him wake up that bad, bad morning. If that had been all of it for real? Then Kyle wanted more perfect than him, that was for sure. He was a man, not Jesus. Not even a saint.
Hell, he wasn’t even in the running for a good man. He was just hoping for Heaven.
“I guess I don’t know how it is, actually. I totally would have bet the farm on you two, dude. He had to cancel his exhibition, did you know?”
“Is he sick?” He sat up and swung his legs over the bed, hand flailing for the light. “I call you back, boo.” He hung up and slammed his finger on Kyle’s name, his heart banging hard. Shit, was Kyle hurt? Was it bad? “Answer your phone, butthead. Now.”
It rang a bunch of times, but someone did answer. It just wasn’t Kyle. “Hey, Colt. It’s Jake. Don’t panic. He’s coming. He asked me to pick it up because he’s gimpy. He lets everyone else go to voicemail, you know.”
“Shut up! Give me that.” There was some rustling, and then Kyle’s voice was clearer. “Colt?”
“You hurt, cher? You okay?” Gimpy? That wasn’t right.
Kyle’s sigh and the pause that followed held a world of trouble. “Well? I’m hoping I will be. How’s Austin?”
“I couldn’t stay. I went for a ride. You need anything?” Me?
“This call is nice. I could use more of these. Where are you? I miss you.”
“I came home for a bit. Been busking all over. You can call anytime, cher. I always answer for you.” He took another drag. Shit, he didn’t even know what time it was. “What you do to you?”
“Stress fracture in my foot, on, uh… well. It was on Black Friday, the same day you left town. My head wasn’t in the right place to dance. It sucks. I was out of the show that weekend and most of the next week. I can dance on it some if it’s taped up right, but I couldn’t… a ninety-minute show was too much, so….”
“Lord have mercy. I’m sorry.” And he was. He knew what all this meant for Kyle. “I didn’t know ’til just now. I been living low.”
“I know. I didn’t want to make a thing of it because of when it happened, and I didn’t know when or if you’d be ready to hear from me or not. But I was going to call soon. I just keep thinking, if I only knew someone that could sit with me and sing me the blues.”
“La, cher. You got some fair ones in that big city of yours.” Not good. Not like here. Not like him. But fair.
Kyle snorted. “Seriously, music man? I need the real deal. I need magic.”
“Thought you didn’t believe in magic.” He grinned, leaned back a little. “I miss you bad. I keep wandering, looking for a place to light.”
“I didn’t realize how much I believed until you left. Then I figured out what magic really is and I miss it. Will you wander back here?”
“I got to see if Norv wants the Mustang.” But he would, because he was an idiot who loved him a dancer. “What day is it?”
“It’s Tuesday, baby. Are you okay? Wait. You have a Mustang?”
“I bought one. A convertible. If you were here, I’d take you for a ride.”
“How the hell did you… you can afford a Mustang? Garage it with Norv, and take me for a ride after Christmas. I don’t have a show, and I need a vacation.”
He’d figure it out.
Should he figure it out?
He wanted to. He wanted to figure shit out.
“I’ll get myself up to your area of
the woods as soon as I can.” God help him, he wanted to figure this out.
“I have so much I need to say to you. But I want to say it in person. I want to hold you. Be safe. Love you.”
Love you.
Yeah, he did too. With all his heart.
“I love you, cher. You take care of that foot ’til I can.”
“I’m on it. I need it to heal right.”
“Call if you need me.” He hung up and sat there, finishing his cigarette. Lord have mercy, he guessed he had stuff to do.
First of all, he called Nathan. He needed someone to send a Christmas supper and a tree to a fancy-assed house in New York. Then he needed someone to get him up East and find a good place for his ’Stang.
Then he needed to go see whether Kyle could mean it, wanting him, believing in him.
Loving him.
Chapter Twenty
GOOD MORNING, music man. I can’t stop thinking about you, I’m so relieved you’re coming back. Drive safe. Send me a pic of your mustang!
Colt blinked at his phone, wondering how long ago the text had come in. Lord. He’d just gotten out of bed, and Kyle was probably already in his studio. Such an early bird.
Except his bird had a bit of wing clipping happening, didn’t he? Poor cher.
He needed to see Kyle. He knew it was probably stupid, but, Lord, he hadn’t never once let stupidity stop him.
He slid from the bed and started packing his things.
Heading out now. Miss your face.
His phone rang immediately. “Good morning, lover.”
Colt blinked a little. Was he? Kyle’s lover? “Mornin’, cher. How you be?”
“Impatient to see you. And I’m cursing this fucking foot. I feel optimistic for the first time in weeks, and I need to dance. How… how are you?”
He put his earphone deal in and his phone in his pocket so he could pack. “It’s been a weird few weeks, huh? I can’t seem to sleep enough.”
“I haven’t been sleeping at all. You must be making up for me.” Kyle laughed, but it sounded off somehow, forced.
“I miss you.” The words slipped from him. “Bad.”
Kyle huffed out a breath. “I miss you so much. Drive carefully but drive fast, baby.”
The line went silent for a long stretch, neither one of them quite ready to hang up, but they didn’t seem to know what to say either.
“Colt?” Kyle said at last. “If I apologize, you’ll forgive me, won’t you? If I figure out how to… once I figure out how to put it all into the right words? You won’t just tell me it’s okay. You’ll really forgive me, won’t you?”
“Oh cher, you got all my forgives. Don’t you know that?”
“No, I don’t know right now. I don’t know anything. I need to see you. I want your music back.”
“I tried to—I don’t know what I did so bad. I want to touch you.” He shoved his drawers in his bag, his notebooks.
“I… I’m afraid we just got too busy to communicate. But… but I know….” Kyle sighed. “I don’t want to say the wrong thing over the phone. If I’m going to fuck it up, I want to at least do it where you can see I’m trying. I better go. Drive fast?”
“Uh-huh. Can I call from the road?”
“Please. I want to know where you are. How you are. I love you.”
Colt stopped short. Then he smiled. “I love you, cher. I’m coming to you.”
NEVER, EVER, ever had Kyle sat by the phone waiting for a man to call. Not once in his whole damn life. But with doctor’s orders to rest his foot, all he was doing was binge-watching shows on Netflix, napping accidentally, and playing games on his phone. He was bored.
He was bored, and it was four in the afternoon, and he hadn’t heard from Colt today. Didn’t Colt say he wanted to call?
God, was he okay? If he was driving too fast and got into an accident or something, Kyle would never forgive himself.
Ring, dammit.
His phone rang, the blues sounding, and he grabbed it.
“’Lo, cher! I got me a hands-free deal. Like one without a cord even. How you?” Colt was laughing.
Well, shit, his man was having fun. “Oh, fine. Super busy day watching Netflix, you know. What’s going on?”
“I’m tickled as a pig in shit. I got this damn thing working so I can talk with you!”
“Hands-free and you figured out how to make a phone call too! I’m impressed.” He smiled. “Where are you right now?”
“Outside of Spartanburg. I’m making time. Gon’ have to spend the night here in a bit. I’m ready to see you, huh? Get a hug.”
“I’ve got a couple waiting for you, baby.” Where the hell was Spartanburg? He’d have to google it when they got off the phone. “I hope you packed some long undies. It’s cold up here.”
“I didn’t. I’ll get some when I get there. I talked to my manager about money stuff.”
“Yeah? What did he say? Are you going to have to sell the Mustang?”
“He said stop living like I ain’t got a pot to piss in or a window to pour it out of, to get a massage, and pay cash for my car.”
Kyle laughed. “Pay up front for a Mustang! You’ve got a little cash, huh? I don’t want to hear any more moaning about how I’m too fancy for you.”
“I let Nathan deal with my money. I ain’t good with it. I just try to be careful.” He heard Colt sigh. “I never had nothing. Sometimes I forget.”
“I’m not asking you to live any differently. It’s just good to know you don’t have to worry about it, right?” Hell, even he couldn’t pay for a Mustang outright.
“Lord yes. It’s good to know I don’t have to take every gig. That I can breathe some, me.”
He liked that idea. Not that he expected Colt would breathe much. But maybe they could arrange to catch a breath at the same time once in a while.
“How’s your foot, cher? You hurting bad?”
“It’s sore. It’s better when I wear the boot they gave me. I’ve only got two more shows, tonight and tomorrow night, and then I can rest it for a while.”
“Poor foot. I hate it for you. It’s gon’ be all better, though, right?”
“With rest and a little more time, it should be good as ever. I’ll have to work back up into shape, but that won’t take long. Have you talked to Timmy? He told me he has work for you.”
“Sorta. He told me you canceled your show, and I hung up on him to call you. I needed to hear your voice.”
It was such a relief to know they both wanted to figure this out. He could hear it in Colt’s voice, in the honesty in his lover’s concern for him. It might be hard at first, but if they were honest, they’d find that magic again.
“I’m okay, love. I’ll be just fine. Even better when you get here.”
Chapter Twenty-One
COLT HAD sent him a Christmas tree. He didn’t know you could send people Christmas trees, but he’d opened the door this morning and in it came. Some hunky guys set it up and turned on the lights, and a tiny little girl decorated it with colored balls and a sweet felt tree skirt. They’d swept out the way they’d come in, leaving him with a festive sunroom.
How cool was that? And how sweet was his music man?
Kyle had his foot up high and the stereo up higher, bags of frozen peas packed around his toes. He’d been on total rest except for the one show he did a night, but tonight’s show had been the last one. Closing night. They’d put that baby to bed.
He’d overdone it. It wasn’t a conscious thing. It just kind of happened with the energy of the last performance. It was worth it, but he was paying for it now.
He lay there in his recliner, taking in the tree and allowing it to cheer him up while he relaxed and let the painkillers kick in. In his head, he was dancing. Choreographing. Making the best use of this mess that he could and trying to be okay with the fact that the whole cast was out celebrating without him.
Colt was on the road somewhere. They’d talked before the show, and at some point when
he found a good place to stop again, Kyle knew he’d call to say good night.
Timmy had been at the show and had made sure he got home okay, but he’d sent Timmy home after that, saying he was tired, but mostly he just didn’t want anyone fussing over him for a little while. It was time he figured this out for himself.
It had been all of half an hour. So far so good.
His phone rang, a low bluesy sound filling the air. Colt.
“Hello, lover. Are you driving safe?” Baby, lover—maybe he didn’t really have the right to use those again yet, but so far Colt hadn’t complained.
“Sort of. How you, cher?”
“I’m… well? I’m going to miss that show, and I’m kind of glad it’s over at the same time. I don’t know if that makes sense.”
“Surely. I’m sorry you’re hurt. What you doing tonight?”
“Not a thing. I’m sitting in my reclining chair in the sunroom, listening to music and dancing in my head. Totally serious. I’m pathetic. And tired.”
“You want to share a pizza?”
He laughed. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Soon, right? How long? Where are you?”
“Standing on your stoop with a pepperoni and mushroom.”
“What?” He sat up. “What? Oh my God. I…. Okay, I’m coming. Hang on. I just… be patient. I gotta put the phone down.” He hung up. He hauled himself out of his chair, letting the ice packs fall to the floor, scooped up his crutch, and hobbled his way across the house to the front door. Fucking pizza was probably cold, and Colt was probably colder waiting on him. At least the pizza was from New York.
He unlocked the door and pulled it partway open, as far as he could manage with his crutch in the way.
“Hey, cher. I brought supper.” Colt eased his way in, shut the door behind him. “Let me put this down, and I’ll help you settle, hmm?”
He didn’t want to settle, he wanted a kiss.
Colt looked… thin. Not bad, really, just a little drawn in the face, and his tiny butt seemed even skinnier. Nothing that some beer and five or six more pizzas couldn’t fix.