Killy started the Bronco and turned to face Mike. “You sure about this?”
“I’m sitting in my truck with a man I just met a month ago and everything I own piled in back. Don’t I look sure?”
Killian studied his new lover’s profile while Mike stared straight ahead through the windshield. “Don’t you wanna look back on what you’re leaving?”
“What’s behind me ain’t important, unless you wanna sell your El Camino before we go.”
“Three-hundred-dollar piece of shit or the open road? Let’s go.”
These past few weeks relit the fire in Killian’s blood. He belonged on a stage, singing his heart out for the masses. One phone call would set the ball in motion. He and his newfound bassist could hit Denver and keep on going, be in L.A. before long. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Yeah?”
What are you doing, Killy? You just met this guy!“We sound good together.”
“I thought so. Those folks at The Stallion do too.”
You’re out of your fucking mind, man! Stop!Killy shushed his inner doubter. “Have you ever thought about joining another band? A real one, not guys like these.” Killy flapped his hand at the club.
“It’d be nice to one day show my family I got by fine without them.”
Killy’s heart sped. “You and me? You’d do it?” He’d contact Gus, arrange auditions for a keyboardist and drummer. Start practicing the compositions languishing on his laptop. But first, to secure his bass player.
“You mean play like we been playing? All the time? Damn, but that’s like an orgasm on stage.”
Not to mention all the quiet moments, just the two of them.
Killy listened, but the inner voice that normally sent him running to the hills at the first sign of permanence remained silent. “There’s a reporter hangs out at the rodeo. Nice guy, never made the big time. I was thinking…”
“About giving him the exclusive story of a lifetime? Killian Desmond done returned from the dead.”
“Something like that.”
Mike grabbed his hand and squeezed.
The first honest smile in three years stretched across Killy’s mouth. “Mike?” Mike. Mike Rose. And Killian Desmond. They had all the way to Denver to decide on a band name, and to plan Killy’s resurrection. His manager would think Christmas came early.
Now, one more thing to do to make his new start complete. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Mike, I reckon I’ll take that kiss now.”
Mike’s eyes widened, but he didn’t come closer. “You sure?”
Killian answered the only way he knew how. He grabbed the collar of Mike’s T-shirt, dragged him halfway into the driver’s seat, and sealed their lips together.
Mike let out a surprised grunt and Killy took advantage, plunging his tongue into the man’s mouth. He tasted of peppermint, the open road, and of no longer being alone.
And like Killy had feared, the one touch of lips led to a dance of tongues, weakening and strengthening his resolve all in one, while the stereo played.
“And on the highway I was born, it’s there I’ll meet my end…”
22
The rodeo wasn’t in Denver itself, but more on the outskirts. Mike had never been to Denver before, or any other big city without his family. Give him the country any day. Cities held too many people, too many reminders of studios, television cameras, and pretending to be the perfect son to a man who wasn’t his father.
Killian drove. When the sun began to set, he pulled up to a cheap motel, the kind Mike frequented but couldn’t imagine the former rock star in. Then again, he’d bunked down with Mike in a rat-hole trailer.
While Killian got them a room, Mike called his landlord and told him he’d moved out. At least he’d left the place presentable. He’d never intended to stay as long as he had, but someone upstairs must’ve been looking out for him.
Killian came out with a plastic key card and grinned. “We’re all the way at the end, opposite of the pool.”
