Not too quiet if a pool full of kids yelled “Marco” and “Polo” while they tried to sleep.
Mike didn’t need quiet to sleep. He’d learned to make do over the years in a bunkhouse of snoring men, or a motel with cheap rates due to the train coming by every hour. Not to mention having three younger brothers who took rambunctious to new heights, as his mother used to say.
His mother. His brothers.
The family he used to have. And didn’t anymore.
He helped Killian carry their things inside. One king-sized bed. Nice, though they’d been pretty cozy in the double back at the trailer.
However, Killian shouldn’t be living like this. Not a big star like him. He’d made the decision, so Mike would follow his lead.
This guy had likely millions tucked into a bank account, and yet he lived like Mike, getting by, hand to mouth.
Killian headed into the bathroom while Mike put a few things into dresser drawers. Making the place as homey as possible had kept him from being so adrift in the past.
When Killy returned he held his cellphone up. “We’re meeting Caleb tonight for dinner.” He sank down onto the bed, shoulders slumped.
“Caleb?” Mike didn’t know much about Killian’s personal life. His heart sank. Did Killy have a lover? They hadn’t discussed much about their history.
“Caleb. The reporter I told you about.”
Oh. “You don’t seem happy about it.”
Killy glanced up, those blue, blue eyes riveting Mike to the spot. “He doesn’t know what I’m about to tell him.” He blew out a breath. “Once I let the world know I’m still here, there’s no going back.”
What should Mike do? Were they close enough for Killian to accept his comfort? At least he’d offer. He sank down onto the bed beside his new friend, gently placing an arm around a firm shoulder. Killy smelled of cigarettes, and soap, and the open road. “You don’t have to come out of hiding if you don’t want to. We can still do pickup gigs, write music. Get out before the reporters find you again.” Mike didn’t really care, as long as he got his next fix of the drug he’d grown addicted to at The Stallion, making music with a man who seemed to be a lost piece of his soul.
Killian shook his head. “No. I need to do this. We need to do this. I want to be on stage with you, and you deserve a chance to let the world hear your talent.”
Mike nearly fell off the bed when Killy planted a kiss on his temple. He soaked in the warmth as Killy wound an arm around him. They said nothing. They didn’t need to.
They turned at the same moment, gazes meeting. Determination shown in the blue eyes boring so intently into Mike’s. He brought his chin up until their lips met.
A fleeting kiss, a brush of lips against lips, gone in an instant, yet leaving behind an electric tingle.
Killian didn’t kiss. Or said he didn’t. Now he did. What did that mean? Anything?
Something existed between them, some amazing, smoldering ember. If fanned, would the spark grow to a flame?
Too early now to tell what could become of their hearts. Killy might not be ready for romantic thoughts while still grieving. Since he’d only recently confessed the truth about the night his brother died, he’d likely started the grieving process all over again.
Mike had all the time in the world. If it happened, it happened. If not, he’d be the best friend possible.
* * *
Caleb and Killy went way back to when the reporter stumbled upon Killy Amos’ true identity and passed up the scoop of a lifetime simply because Killy asked him to. Such a story would’ve boosted the man’s career into the stratosphere.
Of course, a few threats from Papa Amos probably hadn’t hurt.
Although Killy never said so aloud, he’d secretly promised that if and when he decided to reveal the truth, he’d let Caleb have the story.
They met in the back of a steakhouse frequented by riders when the rodeo came to town. A few men sat together, some Killy recognized from his time spent on the circuit with his dad. Not his dad, though. He’d have to look the old man up later. Introduce him to Mike.
Mike. Was he really thinking of introducing Mike to his only blood relative? Of course, Papa Amos never judged. He’d merely lift the bottle of his booze of the day and use the meeting as an excuse to tie one on.
Not that he needed much of an excuse.
The scent of seared meat made Killian’s mouth water, even if the enormity of his plans threatened to tie his stomach into knots. He was doing this. He was really doing this. He’d not been this nervous the first time he’d stepped on stage with his brother as Trickster.
