by SF Benson
He doesn’t make eye contact as he keeps playing the melancholic melody. “Someone who works for my family found me. He said my father was at the club. I had to leave before he discovered me.”
I’m speechless. Now his unexpected exit makes sense. If I were in his shoes, I would probably still be running.
“Father won’t stop looking for me despite what Grandfather did.”
What the hell did his grandfather do?
Colton’s fingers pluck each string, making the instrument sing in a way I’ve never achieved. It’s so damned beautiful.
Eventually, he says, “Please tell your boss I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to dance in anyone’s club. Father will check every single one until he finds me.”
If I were an ass, I’d tell Colton to get the fuck out. Let him deal with his own issues and take myself to bed. But I’m not an ass. No. I’m a dumb fucker who, like Azaria said, takes in strays, hoping to find The One the Prophet prophesied. The One I’m so drawn to I can’t help myself.
Like Colton…
I walk over to Colton and take the guitar from him, but the disturbing music lingers in my mind. Going down on my knees, I wrap my arms around the man and hold him close. I’m shocked when I’m met with a subtle tremor. What the hell has his father done to provoke this type of response?
“We’ll get you employed. I promise your father won’t find you unless you want him to.”
Colton remains quiet. It takes a minute before he finally hugs me back. I don’t care what Azaria thinks. Colton must be The One. In this moment, all I want to do is protect him against whatever terror is waiting outside these walls.
“He can’t find me, not yet,” he mutters. “I can’t deal with him.”
Enough of this. Nobody, human or otherwise, deserves shitty parents. And no one should be in this much agony at the mere idea of one of those parents being close by. Standing, I drag Colton along with me. My fingers wrap around his. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” he asks absently.
“It’s late. I’m tired, and you need to get some rest.”
Understanding shines in his eyes, and he follows me to my room. We face each other. One of us is too afraid to act while the other is unsure how to proceed. My hand slides beneath Colton’s T-shirt. A flash of pale skin captures my eye. His body shudders.
“No, JJ. Stop.” He moves out of my reach.
“What’s wrong?” My gaze lifts to his, searching for the cause of his resistance. Instead, I’m met with a stern expression. “Colton, tell me.”
“I don’t want your pity.” His words are hesitant. “You’ll wake up tomorrow with regret. That would kill me.”
My mouth opens and closes, struggling to find the right words. “But I—”
“You were right earlier. If there’s to be anything between us, it can’t happen like this. I don’t want a random quickie, and neither do you.” Colton walks to the door. “Besides, sex won’t solve my problems.”
“What will?” I ask. The truth, I suspect, might be something I don’t want to hear.
“I’m not sure.” He looks over his shoulder. “Maybe we should get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Colton shuffles back to the living room, leaving me alone. This time I’m the rejected one, and I don’t like it. My bruised ego nor my stiff dick will let the matter rest. Damn, I’ve never wanted a man as much as I want Colton. I’ll admit there’s a strong, almost magnetic attraction to him that I can’t explain. Deep down, I’m hoping he is my destiny.
I rush into the room right as Colton picks up the guitar. If he starts with that tune again, I’ll shatter into a million pieces.
“What if we talked?” I say quickly. “I can make coffee. We can talk about whatever you want.”
Colton’s gaze clouds over as his fingers strum over the strings. He frowns for a moment before speaking. “Okay. We can talk. Have anything stronger than coffee?”
“I have half a bottle of vodka in the fridge. Will that work?”
“Bring it on.” He stands and returns the guitar to a spot against the wall.
Before he changes his mind, I go into the kitchen for a couple of glasses and the bottle. The floor creaks behind me. Colton wraps his arms around my waist, and I nearly drop the vodka.
“Thank you for your concern.” He rests a cheek against my back.
The scars—dormant for so long—fire up. Intense pain courses through my body. Sucking in a breath, I’m experiencing the moment all over again—male voices shouting, the gleam from the sword, blood…
“Let me get the glasses.” Colton steps away.
My breathing returns as the recollection dissipates. Placing the vodka bottle on the table, I bite my lip. As soon as the first tumbler is in sight, I pour out a good portion and knock back the clear liquid. The burn, so different from the agony flaring through me, is appreciated.
“Are you okay?” Colton asks as he pours out a portion for himself.
“I will be.” Clearing my throat, I gesture for him to pour me another one. After the second drink, the pain lessens, and I’m back to myself.
“What was that about?”
“Nothing.” Grabbing the glass and the bottle, I shuffle to the living room.
“JJ, I know what I saw.” Colton sits beside me. “I thought you didn’t lie.”
“It’s pain from an old injury.” Resting my head against the cushion, I say, “Weren’t we going to talk about you?”
“I’d rather not.” He downs the vodka in one gulp without grimacing.
“Fine.” We all have our limits. “Don’t worry about Tom. I can clear things with him, but you still need a job.”
“True.” Colton pours another drink.
A random idea occurs to me. I’m surprised I didn’t think of it sooner. “How do you feel about bartending?”
“I’ve never done it.” He tosses back the vodka.
“As long as you don’t bail on me.” I take the bottle from Colton and help myself to another drink. “I’ll talk to my boss.”
Colton’s eyes narrow. “Tom?”
“No. Remember the bar you hung out in the night we met?”
Colton nods.
“I tend bar there too. We’ll need to get you trained and licensed. I can probably talk Marjorie into helping.”
“Why would she do that?”
“She’s the boss’s daughter. I’ll call and speak to her in the morning.”
Colton turns his head away. “Won’t becoming a bartender take considerable time? I don’t have a lot of it.”
“Stop worrying. You’re not in this alone anymore.” I rub his leg. “I’ve got you.”
His eyes land on my hand, and I remove it.
“About earlier,” he starts.
“I get it,” I say flatly.
“No. Let me explain.” He finally sets the glass down on the table. “You were right when you said I run. I never stick around after sex. I don’t let myself get close to anyone. Ever.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs. “I’m not sure. Just habit.”
“Can’t deal with the emotions?” I probe.
Colton runs a hand through his hair. “Perhaps. It’s not like I’ve had the best role models when it comes to relationships.”
There is so much pain wafting off him. It has a pulse, a stench, even a taste—it taints the alcohol in my mouth. It’s bitter and a little rancid. I chase it with what’s left in my glass before pouring another drink for the two of us. It’s not like me to get shit-faced, but this is one of those times that calls for it.
“What has your father done to you?”
A far-off look settles in Colton’s dark eyes. When he speaks, his voice trembles. “My father knows how to break me. He has the power to pull me apart and leave me shaking in a corner. The mere thought of what he can do hurts.” Colton shakes his head. “I can’t talk about it. Please don’t ask me to.”
We all have our heavy crosses to bear. I’v
e never dealt with physical abuse. If that’s what Colton’s father is guilty of, I don’t know how to help. Emotional shit—mental games meant to unravel and chafe—that’s my experience. It’s been a long time since I’ve dealt with it, but I understand what they can do to a person. I won’t press Colton for an explanation.
“Look, no matter what shit your father has put you through, you’ll get over it. He hasn’t killed you. I bet you’re a lot stronger than you think.”
“If I have to go back home, death would be welcome.” Colton downs his drink and pours out the last of the bottle. “Got any more?”
Hell, he’s talking suicidal. He’s not checking out on my watch. “Maybe I should start a pot of coffee? We have work to do later if we’re going to keep you in New York.”
“I can’t keep living here. I’m not a charity case,” he mumbles.
“No, you’re not.” I put an arm around his shoulders. “If you help me with my music, we’ll call it even. I’ll keep a roof over your head and feed you. When the time is right, and you want to, you can share my bed.”
Colton’s gaze swings to mine. “Seriously?”
“Remember, I don’t bullshit.” It takes a level of strength I didn’t know I possessed to keep from kissing this man. Azaria has to be wrong. Colton must be The One I’ve been waiting for. I drop my arm and head toward the kitchen.
CHAPTER TEN
Colt
The next morning, I wake up dazed and confused. Rubbing my bleary eyes, I take a moment to orient myself. Nothing about my surroundings makes sense. Couch, check. T-shirt and jeans off. Blanket tossed across…us. My gaze lands on the shirtless man lying next to me.
Last night’s memories return. Vodka. Too much vodka for a human body. Loud laughter. Playing the keyboard. Is that all that happened?
Disentangling myself from JJ’s arms, I sit up and try to put the pieces together, but my head throbs. The fuzziness in my brain matches the bitter, woolly taste in my mouth. This must be what humans call a hangover—a new sensation for me. Even when I drank a few bottles of whiskey on my own, I didn’t feel this bad.
But you were an incubus back then.
My stomach churns, and immediately I regret my indulgence. As I choke back the bile, I conclude humans must be lightweights when it comes to drinking. Maybe I should have had a meal to soak up the booze. Another drawback of my wish.
JJ’s hard, muscled physique—perfection rivaling Michelangelo’s David—causes me to catch my breath. My dick pulsates, letting me know this is a dangerous position to be in. Last night, I told JJ it was too soon. Looking at his broad and powerful chest, however, makes me want to eat those words. It’s tempting to reach out and touch every ropy muscle. I haven’t seen such perfection since I left Hell.
Since I left Hell…
My hand freezes over his solid body. Is someone playing a dirty trick on me? It must be the side effects of too much alcohol. Grandfather loves me. He wouldn’t do such a thing.
JJ stirs, and the blanket slips down a little further. My focus redirects to his thighs, and the outline of his rigid shaft through the sweatpants. I lick my lips, anticipating what could happen if I let it, but then I have a change of heart.
My heart stops when JJ, still asleep, rolls to his side. Vertical, jagged scars mar this man’s perfect flesh. Maybe this is another remnant of last night’s binge. I blink, but when I look again, the ugliness remains. They’re healed over with redness bordering the edges. Without thinking, I touch the rough pattern.
JJ flinches right before he whirls around and shifts to his back. His wild eyes rake over me as he pushes up on his elbows. “What the hell? Colton?”
“What happened to your back, JJ?” I ask.
“Not your concern.” He presses a palm to his face and rubs an eye. “They’re simply scars.”
I persist. “What the hell makes that type of scar?”
“It happened before I left home. Like I said, just scars.”
I shake my head. “Bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit.” JJ looks down on the floor, finds his shirt, and tugs it over his head. Determination mixed with anger light up his eyes.
Dropping the subject isn’t what I want to do. My mind constructs scenarios. Each one involves a type of blade, but incubi aren’t fighters. I have no knowledge of weapons, especially one that carves flesh and leaves behind rough marks. But why am I assuming it’s a supernatural wound? Humans are delicate creatures. They always bleed when cut, and sometimes those injuries leave behind ugly scars.
“Fine. You don’t have to tell me how it happened.” I recall the agony JJ was in last night from barely a touch. “Did it hurt?”
“Like hell.” Now, I’m the one flinching. “It’s in the past. Talking about it won’t change what happened.”
“It might not change it, but it might help me understand you.” For the first time in my life, I want to know a person on a deeper level. Before Grandfather granted my wish, my only concern was in what anyone could do for me. No regard for anyone else’s feelings or their sufferings.
JJ stares into the distance. “My life changed the night it happened. What’s important to remember is it didn’t weaken me. It helped me see that my beliefs mattered enough. My convictions threatened others, and they lashed out.” His gaze returns to me. “I’m not ashamed of the scars, but I’ve found that most people don’t stick around after seeing them.”
His words make my complaints seem shallow. At times, like now, I’m guilty of being an ass. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?” JJ swings his feet to the floor. “I know exactly why I bear these scars. It didn’t happen by accident.”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I ask, “How?”
JJ exhales loudly. “Let’s say it was a battle. Trust me, I took names, and I remember their faces. I won’t forget any of it, but it’s history. I had to put it behind me and go on.” JJ rakes a hand through his hair. “You know, there’s a big difference between my pain and yours.”
I huddle into the corner of the sofa. How did this turn into a conversation about me and my problems? “What?”
“My scars don’t define me. They represent my courage to stand up for my views.”
Humph.
Our pain isn’t that different. Each one is borne out of a firm belief. No, I don’t know JJ’s, but I know my father’s—a stubborn ideology that declares he’s right, and everyone else is wrong. But JJ rises above his anguish. Maybe that’s what it takes to end the shit my father wields.
Strength.
Quietly, I ask, “Would you do it again?”
“Hell, yeah. I’ve changed a lot since that battle, but my position has stayed strong. A little blood and gore can’t get me to back down.” JJ slides his feet into his running shoes, stretches, and stands up. “Let’s go out for breakfast. I’m starved.”
I stare up at him. He drank as much as I did, but he has no signs of a hangover—no bloodshot eyes, no gaunt expression. Instead, JJ seems refreshed like he had an energy drink.
The corners of JJ’s eyes crinkle. “I know what you’re wondering.”
“You do?” I ask, disbelief coloring my voice.
“It’s the same thing everyone wonders when they go out drinking with me. I’ve never had a hangover.”
“Never?”
“Nope,” he says over his shoulder as he walks through the kitchen. “Why don’t you make yourself some coffee while I shower? You look like you could use it.”
After a hearty breakfast at a local diner, JJ and I head over to the bar. Marjorie, dressed in ripped jeans and a hooded pink sweatshirt, waits for us at the front door.
“Morning, Marjorie,” JJ says. “Thanks for meeting us.”
She unlocks the door. “You said it was important.”
The empty bar is peaceful and unbelievably cold. I shove my hands deeper into my pockets. We take a seat at a table as Marjorie turns on the lights. I smell the faint scent of coffee brewing when she joins us.
“I put on a pot of coffee.” She takes a seat across from me, and her lips curl up. “Hi again. I’m still waiting for that phone call.”
JJ’s gaze bounces from Marjorie to me. He lifts an eyebrow. “Is there something I should know?”
Shaking my head, I say, “It’s innocent. She gave me her number when I first came to the bar.”
Her painted pink lips form a perfect O while her finger waves between JJ and me. “I didn’t realize. Shit, I’m sorry. Now I know why you didn’t call. Jeez, I’m so stupid.”
