The minute he heard the guitar his eyes went to her to see hers come to him. Then she dipped her chin, looking away while she tucked her hair behind her ear, bashful at showing her emotion.
And that’s when Colt knew it wasn’t Feb’s song. It was the song Feb chose for him, or the song she chose to say the things she couldn’t say.
A lump hit his throat, he looked down at his hand wrapped around his beer which was sitting on the bar and he paid attention to the lyrics to a song he’d heard time and again, lyrics he knew and could likely recite if asked. Lyrics he’d never paid any real attention to in his life.
Staring at his beer, his hand tightening on the bottle, fighting that lump in his throat, he listened to Stevie Nicks singing “Landslide”.
Colt’d always liked it, it was a great song. Listening to it then he thought it was the most beautiful fucking song he’d ever heard in his whole fucking life.
He saw her hand wrap around his wrist the second Stevie quit singing and his head came up.
She leaned in close and whispered, “Go home, baby, get to bed. Someone’ll drop me home later.”
She didn’t want to make a big deal of it, what she’d just given him, but her face was soft, her eyes especially, her lips tipped up at the ends, just slightly but it was all there, nothing held back, everything she felt for him showing clear on her face.
He wanted to go home, he definitely wanted to go home, but only if he was taking Feb home.
But that wasn’t the way she wanted to play it and she just handed him everything, he could give her this.
“Whoever brings you home walks you in,” he ordered, she nodded and he said, “all the way in, Feb.”
“Gotcha.”
He lifted his beer and her hand fell away. He took one last pull and put it on the bar before he tagged her around the back of her head, leaned in and brought her mouth to his.
“Later, baby,” he said against her mouth when he finished giving her his kiss.
“Later, Alec.”
He pulled away but his hand slid through her hair to her cheek, taking hair with it but he didn’t care and neither did she. She pressed her cheek into his hand as he ran his thumb along her cheekbone. Then his hand dropped away and he turned away before he did something asinine like carry her out of the bar over his shoulder.
Calling his good-byes to a dozen people as he went, Colt exited J&J’s, walked to the Station, got in his truck and went home.
He saw Melanie’s car parked out front as he turned into his street. He drew in an annoyed breath and decided his first order of business the next morning was putting in for vacation time. He’d just had time off but he didn’t give a fuck, he’d take it unpaid if he had to.
He parked the truck in the drive and by the time he slid out of it she was walking across the yard toward him.
“Melly, it’s then thirty at night,” he said when she was four feet away.
“Gotta talk, Colt.”
Fucking hell.
“Mel, I’m wiped. Seriously.”
She glanced at the house then to him and asked, “Feb livin’ here?”
Fucking, fucking hell.
He looked into the night then at his ex-wife. Melanie was everything Feb wasn’t, dark-haired, quiet, thoughtful, patient. She didn’t dance because she was worried people were watching and more worried about what they’d think. It took her weeks to come to a decision about anything, no matter how large or small because she didn’t take risks, she treaded cautiously. He’d liked all that about her when he fell in love with her, he thought it was cute and it was. Until she took her time making the decision about leaving him, pulling away the whole time she took to make it. Then it wasn’t fucking cute.
“Come into the house,” he said. He didn’t want to but he also didn’t want to have this conversation at ten thirty at night in his yard.
He led the way, hearing Melanie’s feet hit the turf as she walked beside him and partly behind him something else she’d always done and something he never understood, why she’d never walk right beside him.
He unlocked the door and went to the security panel.
When he made the beeping stop, he walked to the lamp by the couch as she asked, “You have an alarm?”
“Yeah,” he said, turning on the lamp.
In the light, she took him in, saying, “You’re in a suit.”
“Funeral today.”
They both heard the meow and their eyes went to Wilson who Colt could swear was standing in the doorway to the hall staring at Melanie with indictment in his eyes.
“You have a cat?” Melanie asked.
“Mel –”
She cut him off. “You hate cats.”
Colt expelled a breath and Melanie’s face crumpled as understanding dawned.
“It’s her cat,” she whispered.
He did not need this now. Actually, he didn’t need this at all but particularly not now.
With less patience than he would normally use with her, he reminded her, “You left me, Mel.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head, small shakes, like she couldn’t even commit to the decision to show that emotion. Then her eyes opened and she looked around the space, trying to find hints of Feb, evidence of a betrayal it wasn’t hers to claim. They’d bought that house together, intending to use it to build a life and she’d left him behind in it to live alone.
“You’re here to say something,” Colt prompted, “so say it.”
Her eyes shot to his and he saw the sting his words caused. He’d always been tolerant with the quirks in her personality mostly because, in the beginning, he thought they were sweet. After that, he did it out of habit. She’d been gone a good while and he was out of the habit.
“She told everyone to stop talkin’ about us,” Melanie said.
“What?”
“Feb,” she explained, “when people heard about… when I called… you know how people talk.”
“I do.”
“Well, she… Feb, told them to quit talkin’ about us.”
“You mean you,” Colt said honestly and Melanie sucked in her cheeks. “Feb told folks to stop talkin’ about you.”