seven
Colt Darling
The jarring sound of my alarm rudely rouses me from my half-slumber on Duke’s arm.
“Fuck,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut. “I have to go.”
“You don’t have to,” he says, throwing a leg over mine.
“I do,” I say. “I have to get back to the hotel to get my stuff before my flight.”
“You could stay.”
“I wish I could,” I say, sighing as I relax into him again, just for a minute.
“I mean it,” he says, drawing back to look at me. “You could stay here with me.”
“I told my family I’d be home for Christmas.”
“I’m not talking about Christmas.”
For a long moment, I search those dark eyes that tormented me for so long—the fury, the resentment, the desire.
I’ve seen it all in those eyes, seen them hard with hate, blown open with drugs, unfocused from alcohol.
Even last night, they were clouded with lust. Now, in the cool light of morning, though, they’re clear, his gaze sharp and discerning.
“This is your life,” I say, reaching up to stroke his cheek, just a hint of stubble rasping against my fingertips. “You made it, and it fits you. I don’t know where I fit, Duke. I don’t know where I’ll end up, but right now, it’s Arkansas.”
“Why?” he challenges. “What’s keeping you?”
“My family?” I remind him. “My home? My work?”
“You said you travel for work.”
“I do,” I say. “But would that really be enough? Once every few months?”
“No,” he admits, scowling and rolling away, onto his back.
I sigh and climb off the bed, picking up my clothes from yesterday.
“Do you have someone at home?” he asks, frowning at the ceiling. “A boyfriend or girlfriend?”
“No,” I say. “But it’s not that easy. I grew up there. My life is there. And…” I swallow hard as I bunch my shirt before shoving in one arm and then the other. “And Cedar Crest.”
When I’ve pulled my shirt down over my head, I catch a glimpse of him from the corner of my eye. He’s watching me, his gaze moving over my tattooed arms, as if he’s trying to memorize the patterns, decipher the ink I carry on my skin.
The date my first love died.
The fingernail prints of my second.
Is he searching for a reminder of him?
“There are rehab centers in New York,” he says quietly. “If that’s what you’re afraid of.”
“Aren’t you?” I demand, pulling up my jeans.
“No,” he says. “Not for me. But you’re making me afraid for you.”
He climbs off the bed and pulls on a pair of dark bootcut jeans, doing that little bounce to get his junk situated, and I have to tear my eyes away because somehow even that looks hot on him.
His bare feet on the warm tile, bare arms with just one tattoo from the secret society we both once belonged to, bare torso with a scar that might as well announce that he’s mine, those thighs in those jeans…
It’s enough to make the strongest man cave.
“Don’t worry about me,” I say, crouching to look under the bed for my shoes. “I just like to know there’s somewhere close, just in case.”
“I’ll make you coffee,” Duke says, padding out of the bedroom and into the open floor plan of his swanky apartment.
I sit back on my heels and watch him go, my throat thick with some unnamed emotion.
He looks so good here, so at home, in his own place, in his element.
He looks like he belongs here, and it kills me a little because I know that means he never belonged in Arkansas with me—that he never will.
He belongs in this modern apartment in a glamorous city, in the black silk sheets and black tile kitchen that’s not gloomy because the floor-to-ceiling windows let in enough light to shine off everything, to make it look chic and tasteful, with his luxury espresso maker and heated floors and fancy little soaps.
He looks up from where he’s standing at the island, making our espressos, and smiles at me, and I can’t breathe.
Fuck.
This is so not good.
I quickly look away, remember my shoes are by the front door with my coat, and leave the bedroom. I keep my eyes ahead as I pass him, pretending I don’t feel his gaze on me.
When I’m ready, I turn back.
He’s still standing there, back to me, his hair sticking up in a cowlick in one spot. Overcome by a sudden tenderness, I join him in the kitchen, wrap my arms around him from behind, nestle my chin into the crook between his neck and shoulder.
He makes a sound that’s somewhere between moan and growl, leaning his head into me, pressing his cheek to mine. We stand there for a minute, and then I run my palm down the flat plain of his hard abs. He catches my hand, covering it with his, keeping me from making the moment into something sexual.
Something bearable.
I pull away, and he turns, holding up the little espresso cup like a question. I want to tell him I don’t have time, but my hand reaches out instead. He widens his stance, then hooks a finger into the top of my jeans, pulling me forward, between his knees.
“You’re so damn sexy,” he says, a smile spreading those fucking perfect lips.
I think he’s about to say more, but instead, he turns and picks up his cup, then brushes past me and around the counter to sit on one of the sleek, tall barstools. I join him after a second.
“I understand why you think you have to be near your rehab. When you know you’ll never need it again, you’ll change your mind. And I’ll be here with you when you do.”
“How can you know for sure, though?” I ask, hating that I can’t be like him, so certain of everything. That it’s still affecting my life, my decisions, even when I’m clean.
“You just do,” Duke says. “You can’t live in fear forever, Colt.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter. “You’ve never relapsed.”
Duke sips his espresso. “Maybe that’s why I never did. There was a rock bottom. I almost died, and I knew I didn’t want to anymore. I did once. I almost ended it.”
“Really?” I ask, feeling shitty for being a dick about it. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”
We’re quiet a minute.
“Remember the last time I texted you?” he asks.
“Not really,” I admit. “Remind me?”
“It was the night I got shot,” he says. “That’s what everyone remembers.
A drive-by shooting in a good part of town.
No one talks about what happened before that.
I guess Baron’s the only one who really knows.
I was with him and your sister in that fucked up relationship, and I was so damn miserable.
I didn’t see a way out, so I was going to make one.
I probably wouldn’t be here if Baron hadn’t found me.
He talked me out of it, said that whatever I needed to do, I could do it, even if that meant leaving him and Mabel.
And he didn’t go back on his word later, when I was out of danger. I’ll never forget that.”
“You texted me before you were going to commit suicide?” I ask, the espresso turning sour in my stomach. Of course I heard about him being shot, but I barely remember him texting me—he did it a few times. I don’t remember the last time, except that later, I realized he didn’t text anymore.
“I’m not laying any of this on you,” he says, holding up a hand.
“It was my shit. I take responsibility for that. I couldn’t seem to get clean, and I felt like I never would, and I’d never get to have the life I wanted, and I was scared your sister was going to convince Baron to kill me…
It was a lot. I had a lot in my system too.
So much that when I went to the hospital, they said I couldn’t survive recovery from the surgery and detox at the same time.
They literally gave me drugs while I was there so I wouldn’t stroke out. ”
“Damn, Duke. I wish I’d known how bad it was.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” he says. “You hadn’t forgiven me, and you were right not to.
I would have just fucked you up worse. But that was when it really hit for me, how close I was to dying, how fucked up I was from taking all those drugs.
As soon as I was out of the hospital, I went straight to rehab.
I never went back. I know I’m lucky. That it’s rare.
That doesn’t mean I don’t understand why you’re scared. ”
“That is rare,” I say, reaching for his knee, running my thumb over the wrinkle in his jeans. “You’re rare.”
“Yeah, well, I hope that answers your question from yesterday. Where I went. Why I left. I needed to start over, to cut ties with everything that reminded me of—of that time. But also, of you.”
I draw back. “Me? Why? We barely used together.”
He shakes his head. “You really are an idiot sometimes.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything.
Duke swallows, rubbing his thumb against the side of his fancy little espresso cup as he frowns down at it.
“I thought about texting you again,” he says.
“But I kept talking myself out of it. After a year sober, I thought, maybe now. I didn’t have a good job, though, so I told myself I’d text when I was making a little money.
And when I was, I said I’d text when I had a nicer place.
And now… It’s not perfect, but it’s good.
I could have. But maybe… Maybe I was scared. ”
“I would have answered.”
“I know,” he says quietly. “But what if, after all that, it still wasn’t good enough?”
“Duke.”
He keeps rubbing his cup until I lay my hand on his forearm, stopping him.
He stares down at my hand instead of his, but still not at me.
I slide my fingers along his arm until they reach his wrist. He swallows audibly, his gaze following the trail of my movement as I slip my hand to the inside of his wrist, his palm, and lace my fingers through his.
“You were always good enough,” I tell him.
“Bullshit.”
“That’s not fair,” I say. “I was with someone else. I was in love with someone else.”
“I fucking know that.” He tries to pull his hand away, but I only hold on tighter.
“I know I hurt you too, and I’m sorry. But it wasn’t because you weren’t enough. You were always enough, Duke.”
“Then why wasn’t it me?” he asks, his voice cracking slightly.
This time, the squeeze I give his hand is comforting. “It just wasn’t the right time for us. You said it yourself.”
“And now?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I don’t know.”
“Then when is the right time, Colt? It’s been five years.
I won’t say I waited for you, but I never gave up hope.
So tell me when. Just tell me if it’s time to give up.
If it will never happen, just say it. I’d rather know it will never happen than keep holding onto something that’s only holding me back. ”
There’s no reason to say no. We’re both sober. We’re both single.
But that doesn’t mean we’re ready.
“How would that work?” I ask carefully.
“I don’t know,” he says. “We figure it out as we go along. You said you don’t plan ahead.”
“Yeah, but my life is in Arkansas. Yours is here.”
“So you move in,” he says. “I have plenty of space.”
“You’re asking me to give up a lot.”
“What, Arkansas? We both know it sucks there.”
I pull my hand away. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?” he asks. “If you need more time, tell me that, and I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere. All I’m asking for is an answer.”
I swallow hard. “I don’t know if I can give you that.”
“I built all this,” he says, gesturing around. “Not for me. For us. Even if that wasn’t the reason at the time, in the back of my mind, it was there. You were there. You were always there. It was always for you.”
“Fuck, Duke,” I say, raking a hand through my hair. “You can’t build your life around me and then be pissed that I don’t jump to be adopted like a dog at the shelter. I’m a fucking person. I have my own shit going on.”
“I think you’re scared,” he says, leveling me with a look. “You’re running away, like you always did. Like you did with Lo. But it didn’t work that time, so what makes you think it will now?”
“I’m not running away,” I snap, sliding off the stool. “I have a flight to catch. I can’t do this right now.”
“Then when?” he demands. “Tell me when, or tell me never. I deserve that much.”
“You can’t just spring this on a guy out of nowhere,” I say.
“I didn’t know any of this shit, and you show up after five years making demands?
Hell, we’re here right now by accident. If we hadn’t run into each other last night, would you have waited ten years?
Twenty? Holding onto the past because you’re too scared to move on with your life?
If that’s how it is, then you’re right. I’m leaving because this won’t work, just like it didn’t work with Lo or anyone else.
But maybe it’s better to walk away than to keep holding onto something that will never work. ”
“You’re not scared that it won’t work,” he says evenly. “You’re scared that it will.”
“Clearly, it won’t,” I say. “So there’s nothing to be scared of. I have to go get my shit and get on a plane. If you want to call that running, do it. Do whatever makes you happy. That’s what you deserve.”
“You can’t run forever,” he warns as I start for the door. “You can try, but eventually, your shit catches up to you. Even if I can’t, you’ll catch up with yourself.”
I stop at the door and look back at him one more time. I hate that I’m leaving like this, but at least he’s pissed instead of sad. That’s something. I grip the knob, halfway expecting him to get up off the barstool and stop me. But he doesn’t move.
“Goodbye, Duke.”
“Fuck you.”
“Okay,” I say, shaking my head. “I guess you haven’t changed that much after all.”
I walk out, and I get in the elevator. I imagine him racing me down the stairs, that he’ll be waiting at the bottom when I get there. But he’s not.
It should make me happy, that he’s not chasing after me the way he used to. He let me go. Lo always said if you love someone, you let them go, and I guess she was right.
So, I go.