Didn’t have to self-flagellate anymore because, damn, that shit exhausted a man.
He slowed for the drive to the house that had once been one of his favorite places to be. The original cracked concrete was long gone, replaced when Tick had had the place redone earlier in the year. A fence guarded the river — guarded Eleanor, really, from the river — and the vintage black Jeep waited in the drive. Colt pulled to a stop beside it, catching sight of Red Dog parked under the back shed. The square body Ford held memories, but he was too wiped out to think about those, good or bad.
And it was only eight-thirty.
He put the truck in park, left the motor running. Grandaddy opened his door and stepped out, glancing back with a quirked eyebrow. “Come on.”
Colt bristled. “No.”
Resting his arm along the open door, Gene studied him, one hip cocked. “Son, did I stutter?”
Staring at him, Colt fought down a multitude of responses — slamming his hand into the wheel after all, flat out refusing to comply, leaving the old man here and letting Tick drive him to the course. All held a certain appeal, but men didn’t act like that, not in his world.
Jaw tight as a pipe wrench, he shut off the engine and opened his door. Fuck it but being raised right was a bitch sometimes.
He followed Gene up the brick walk to the porch, setting his gaze on the back of Grandaddy’s head, refusing to catalogue any changes to the house. He didn’t belong here, and Gene made a huge mistake in dragging him through this.
Tick didn’t come to the door when Grandaddy knocked, so Gene being Gene, he punched in a code on the back door lock and swung it open. Stepping aside, he laid a hand between Colt’s shoulders and ushered him inside. “Boy?”
“Grabbing my shoes, Grandaddy.” Tick’s voice, hoarse and a little ragged, carried from what used to be Louise and Gene’s bedroom. The door had been in a different place, though.
Colt paused, two strides into the kitchen. Everything old was gone, except the piece of trim where Louise had measured her boys as they grew. The house felt . . . weird, maybe, bearing Aunt Lenora and Deanne’s touch and not quite enough of Tick and Caitlin’s yet to feel like a home.
This was more a pretty vacation rental.
“Lamar, get a move on, boy.” Gene raised the authority level of his voice. “I ain’t aiming to be late and lose our tee time.”
“I’m coming.”
He stared at the tile mosaic over the chef-worthy gas stove. Tick was about a sandwich or pizza, but maybe she cooked. Maybe it was for show.
Hell if Colt would ever know.
She hadn’t seemed flashy. She’d seemed genuine, a little nervous and shy under that old-money polish, and Colt had actually enjoyed talking movies with her. But what did he know? Maybe she was as much a chameleon as—
He wasn’t going there.
Why he was standing here, thinking about asinine shit that didn’t matter was beyond him. He should have stayed his ass in the truck, or better yet, stayed his ass at home. Wasn’t like he hadn’t figured golf would involve Tick if he was in town.
Murmured voices preceded the thump of bare feet on the hardwoods, a familiar stride close to Colt’s own.
A handful of steps into the living room, Tick skidded to a stop, a pale line about his mouth, every muscle in his body fired up like he faced down a threat. Colt refused to let his shoulders slump, but yeah. In the circumstances, having him in the house they’d been in and out of as kids probably hit like a threat.
He didn’t say anything, barely let his gaze skim over Tick, staying out of his way as much as possible. Definitely should have stayed his ass in the truck.
Gene snickered, and Colt darted a look at their grandfather. He thought this wasfunny–
But the old man’s gaze wasn’t on him, but on Tick, whose cheekbones flushed a dull red. Colt frowned. What was that all about, anyway? He swung his gaze back in Tick’s direction.
Oh. Got it.
The collar of Lamar’s sweater, over an undershirt, half-covered the bruise, but that was definitely a lovemark where his neck met his shoulder. Colt hitched his thumbs in his pockets. Geez, hadn’t Tick learned that lesson ten years ago? Back then, she’d left a deliberate hickey on his neck, had laughed about it in front of them. Aunt Lenora had hit the ceiling, and Tick had groused for days about being made to sit at the kitchen table and fit a condom on a banana.
The whole incident had bothered Colt to no end at the time. He was careful with Jada, and she was careful with him, not that they’d gotten up to near what Tick had been doing with her. They liked each other, were okay kissing and making out a little, but they’d just gotten to the point where she’d let him put his hand under her shirt. No hickeys in his world.
Her little showout of putting one on Tick and stirring up trouble for him at home? Yeah. That had bothered him.
Maybe that mark was deliberate, too. Maybe his cousin had a type, women who didn’t get the idea of boundaries.
