When she’d stalked back Keats’s way, she’d grabbed his arm and dragged him with her out to the parking lot. “Get me to the truck so I can get this damn panic attack out of the way.”
She’d been shaking but clear-eyed. He’d hustled her into the cab of the truck, and she’d leaned her head back and breathed through it. Afterward, she’d insisted they go back into the bar to hear Colby’s set. She’d ordered a drink and had been fine for the rest of the evening. When Keats had asked her later what she’d said to the redneck, she’d smiled sweetly. “He told me to suck his dick. So I told him exactly what I would do with that appendage if he put it anywhere near me. It involved rusty knives and profuse bleeding.”
Keats smiled at the memory and looked down at Georgia. “Well, two solo trips in a row. That’s definitely something to celebrate.”
She shook her head. “No way. Tonight we’re celebrating you. I can’t believe you walk in to find out about a demo tape and land yourself a job.”
He gave her another squeeze and let her go. “I have a feeling a certain Mr. Fix-It pulled some strings, which normally would piss me off. But I’m not going to complain this time because it’s too good a gig. Entry-level, errand-running kind of stuff but at a recording studio, so I can’t ask for a better shot than that. And I really liked Pike, the guy who owns the place. You’d dig him. He has this bleached blond spiked hair and that whole rocker thing going on—more ink than me. And his band is a pretty big deal, so I kind of expected him to have that I’m-a-badass attitude. Because, really, I’ve heard their music. He is a badass. But he was so laid-back. And he’s totally into this pet project of having his own studio and producing start-up acts, so I think it’s going to be fun.”
“Is he interested in your music?”
He shrugged and went back to the cutting board. “He really liked the song I played and said he’ll try to bring in one of his friends to hear my stuff, a guy who has more experience with country music.”
“That’s awesome, Keats,” she said, sliding onto a stool at the island. “Maybe one day I’ll be able to say I knew you when.”
He frowned. “I don’t want that word to ever be in the past tense with you—knew. Fuck that, George.”
Her gaze flicked up to his, strain there. “I leave in a few weeks. You know that.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t come back afterward.”
She looked down the counter, her posture stiff. “The trial could take months.”
“So.”
“My life is there, Keats. My friends, the house I own. My lease is up on the house next door in January. You know this was never meant to be permanent. It was an unexpected detour.”
He put his back to her and turned the dial on the stove, a foul mood seeping in. “And me and Colby? We’re just a detour, too, then?”
“Come on, don’t be like that.”
He put oil in the pan, the dismissive comment stinging more than it probably should. He knew he was too attached already, that he shouldn’t be feeling like this after only a month, especially when Georgia had made her intentions clear all along. But some part of him had been harboring hope that this happy turn in his life wasn’t just an interlude before everything went to shit again. That’d been his cycle so far in life. Like those games at the fair where you throw a ring around the bottle and get a big stuffed animal. It seems so easy. Ooh, look, you’re going to get to have this really cool thing! Look, look how awesome it is. Here we go! Then, clunk, the rings fall back into the pit. Ha, ha, just kidding. Hand over another dollar, kid.
He could hear Georgia’s heavy sigh behind him and then she was against his back, wrapping her arms around his waist. She set her chin on his shoulder. “Believe me, it’s going to be hard on me, too. But you know even if I were staying here, this isn’t realistic.”
“Colby’s friend Jace has that kind of relationship. From what I understand, they do all right.”
Her breath coasted along his neck. “Is that what you really want, Keats? I’ve loved being with you two, and part of me wishes the three of us could make it work because I care for you both so much. But it’s complicated. And you’re twenty-three. I’m almost thirty-one and at a different stage in my life. I’m in a place where I want to settle down. One day sooner rather than later I want to start a family.”
His stomach knotted. “And you assume I don’t want those things, too? That Colby doesn’t?”
“Maybe Colby does. And I’m sure you do, too. One day. But at your age, you’re—”
“Immature, barely employed, incapable of taking care of you or kids.” He stepped out of her embrace and went over to the cutting board again. “It’s fine, George, I get it.”
“Keats, that’s not what I meant.”
But it was. They both knew it. If he wasn’t in the picture and it was just Colby, would she be saying the same stuff? With Colby she could have all those things she wanted—traditional marriage, a family, a guy who could win Dad of the Year awards. But no, here he was, in the way. And she was too nice to kick him out of the picture.
Colby got home from running errands a few minutes later and the conversation was dropped. They spent the evening eating together, talking about Keats’s new job and how Colby couldn’t wait to get back to school. It’d been relaxed and domestic. Comfortable. Happy.
It’d been that stupid game from the fair, waving the pretty stuffed animal in Keats’s face.
But he’d sat back and really watched Colby and Georgia together and could paint their future in his head. Things would be so much easier for them both without him photobombing the picture. Colby wouldn’t have to hide the fact that he was dating a former student. Georgia could have the kind of life she wanted without having to answer questions about her lifestyle. God knows what people would call her around here if they found out she was in a relationship with two guys. That kind of thing raised eyebrows anywhere, but here in Texas, it’d be a social death sentence. And he couldn’t even imagine what that could turn into if kids were ever part of the picture.
Maybe he had been immature to think something like this could work long term. He’d lived his adult life on the fringes of society, where people looked the other way and minded their business about things. The street had its own code of don’t ask, don’t tell. But that wasn’t the real world. That wasn’t the world Colby and Georgia lived in.
And so, as he lay in bed that night, watching Colby and Georgia curled up in sleep next to him, he knew what he needed to do.