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.