LITMIR.BIZ

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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

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