Onscreen, the pretty boy actor started his normal day, with rich coffee in a glass-rich apartment looking out on a glittering city. Colt wasn’t going to tell her he’d seen the movie more than once. He liked the interplay between the leads — the female lead was as gorgeous as the guy and the settings, plucky and resourceful, and her unlikely friendship helped the male character find his way once the whole world went sideways.
He didn’t need the subtitles. If he closed his eyes, the familiar rhythm of the dialogue played over him, even in a language he didn’t understand, and images flickered against his eyelids. He took a deep breath, scented with magnolia and orange blossoms. With a quiet noise, she settled closer against his side, her hand splayed on his belly. He liked that, the warm steadiness of her gentle touch.
No wonder Ralph went crazy for her.
She made Colt himself feel steadier simply with her presence. That weird moment earlier aside, he could relax with her. She liked him, pretty much the way he was, so he didn’t have to knock himself out being someone he wasn’t.
Another long breath bled over his lips, the dialogue far away. Something, from the movie, from his own life maybe, played against his lids, and sleep pulled him under.
“Colt.” A gentle voice pulled at him, a gentler hand shaking his thigh. “Go to bed.”
His eyes snapped open, and he blinked at the polished wood of his ceiling. Silence hung in the room, warmth no longer blanketing his side, although Ralph’s hot breath puffed against his ankle.
Holly’s soft laugh shimmered over him, and she cupped his jaw, rubbing a caress beneath his ear. “You’re tired. Go to bed.”
Aw, holy geez, he’d fallen asleep on her? What the . . . he’d never done that with Tyler, with anybody.
He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” Straightening, she stepped away to pick up her bag. “You work hard and your days start early. Oh, I let Ralph out so he should be good until morning.”
“Yeah.” Elbows on his knees, he stared down at Ralph, happily gnawing on the hem of Colt’s joggers. He shouldn’t feel so damned exposed and vulnerable, but he did. “Thanks.”
“Get some rest.” Her voice laden with affection, she leaned in to kiss him, a light brush of her lips against his. “I’ll see you at church in the morning.”
“Yeah.” He stopped himself, barely, from curving a hand at her nape under the softness of her hair and pulling her mouth back to his. He didn’t even get why, except he still felt off, like his skin fit too tight even while he stood apart from his own body.
He got like that sometimes, though.
Her gaze on his face was the soft blue of a spring morning, and he dredged up a smile for her. The disconnect was about him, like always, not her. He cleared his throat. “Be careful.”
“I will.” With another kiss, she straightened, and he wanted to drag her back, wanted to lose himself in warmth and steadiness and joy. Instead, he hefted to his feet and followed her to the door. She patted the center of his chest. “Sweet dreams.”
His brain recoiled from that. Thankfully, he never remembered his dreams, but he knew they were rarely sweet. “You, too.”
With a smile, she stepped into the cool night. He watched until she was in her car and out of the driveway, then he shut the door and himself into familiar isolation.
Chapter Eight
He was late.
Not three minutes late, and not late for church per se – services didn’t start for six more minutes – but late for him. Most Sundays, Holly emerged from Sunday School to find him in the lobby chatting to his grandparents or his cousins and their wives as they left their classes. He didn’t attend Sunday School or Sunday or Wednesday night discipleship classes, but he was faithful about Sunday service.
He wasalwaysin the foyer when she came down the stairs, but not this morning, Del and Chuck gathered with Mr. Gene and Mrs. Louise, the herd of Calvert children running around. D and Sue had already found their customary seats on the side section, and he wasn’t with them, either.
She fiddled with the end of her thin leather belt, cinching her sweater dress. He should already be here, and his absence weighed like her Bible in her tote, pulling at her.
Before, she wouldn’t have worried. Before would have been her friend running late or even skipping a Sunday service, but this was now. He was more than her friend, and the memory of his face going pale, confusion and pain glinting in his eyes when he’d drawn back from her, stared her down in the kitchen, haunted her. She knew that look, had seen it on Tick when he struggled with memories of his daddy’s death.
Sparking that expression on Colt was a thousand times worse.
She’d known going into this he was a mess on some levels – he was a Calvert male, after all, and except for Chuck, they were all kind of messy emotionally, haunted by Will’s death, the events surrounding that weekend like a poisonous mist.
She hadn’t expected his pain to hurt her quite so much. She hadn’t expected to feel this level of concern.
She really hadn’t expected to feel like she was abandoning him last night, to feel such a strong draw to simply stay and make sure he wasn’t alone.
And now he wasn’therewhen he should be.
