Falling Under Read online

  She's fixated on me, as if she can't believe what just happened. I can't, either. I don't know what came over me. I'm not the charm-and-smarm kinda guy. A girl hangs with me, she knows what's up. Mom and I, we're nomads. We don't stay anywhere long. So any relationship I have is, by nature, short-lived. Not gonna waste time on silly mush bullshit, like making a chick think I love her.

  So why did I do that, touch her with my thumb that way? Sure, she's hot, but it's not like I'm staying in Nashville for long. A few semesters, finish out the degree. That's it. So...what the hell, Oz?

  I got nothin'.

  "Where are you from, Oz?" she asks, by way of breaking the awkwardness.

  I hate that question. "All over the place."

  "Your dad in the military or something?" She says it so innocently, no way of knowing how bitter I am about the topic of fathers.

  I shrug, trying to keep the ever-present fury from my voice; it ain't her fault. "No. Just Mom and me. And we just move a lot. Various reasons." I don't know why, is the real answer, but I'm not about to say that to this chick.

  "You never knew your dad?" She levels a look at me, wiping at her cheek with her napkin. Her eyes are assessing, reading me, piercing me.

  I shake my head. It's all she'll get out of me. "You got both your folks?"

  She nods. "Yep."

  "What do they do?" I'm not just asking to get her off the topic of dads; I'm genuinely interested. Another bad sign.

  Her eyes light up, and I envy her that joy. "They're musicians. They're Nell and Colt. They were signed to Columbia for a while, but they're indie now. They have their own record label, and they actually just signed their first new artist."

  I'm a little impressed, actually. I know Nell and Colt. I'm a metalhead and will be till the day I die, but I've got a secret soft spot for singer/songwriter music. Thanks to my Mom, mainly. So we have music we can listen to together. She's into hip-hop and pop and country, a bunch of stupid bullshit that I can't stand. I had to find middle ground, so we could listen to music in the car on cross-country moves. Nell and Colt are pretty big in the singer/songwriter world, actually. I call it coffeehouse music, the kinda stuff you hear in little one-off hipster joints where they do art with the latte foam.

  "I've heard of 'em," I say. "I like 'em."

  Kylie blinks in surprise. "You--you have?" Her gaze flicks to my shirt, which features a skull with a rose growing from it, and a raven perched on the skull.

  I wink at her. "I'm full of surprises, sweetness."

  She sighs. "Stop winking at me. And stop calling me 'sweetness.'"

  "You know that's just gonna make me do it more, right?" I wink at her again, exaggerated. "Sweetness."

  She shakes her head, laughing. "Who even winks, anyway? I mean, really? Winking? Isn't that for creepy uncles?"

  I laugh. "I'm not a creepy uncle. But maybe you're right."

  "I know I'm right. That's why I said it. Duh." She stuffs another cheese fry in her mouth, and again chili smears on the corner of her mouth.

  I can't help it. My hand reaches out by itself. My thumb touches her cheek, but her fingers encircle my wrist. Our eyes lock, my gray-brown eyes on her bluest blue, electric, fiery blue.

  "Don't," she whispers.

  "Why?" I match her volume; I don't know why.

  "I don't like it."

  "You lie, sweetness. And why are we whispering?" I say it all sotto voce, and I know I sound stupid, using lines like that on her, but they just slip out.

  I shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be acting like this chick could ever mean anything to me, or I to her. She's got rich, famous parents. I mean, they're not famous, but if you listen to the right kind of music, you've heard of 'em. They've even gotten some country station cross-over airplay. The point is, I'm a nobody drifter, with a nobody drifter mom. And Kylie? She's got roots here in Nashville. Friends, family, the works.

  She leans away from me, wipes at her face with a napkin. Slides out of the booth. "I've gotta pee."

  I pay the bill while she's gone, and polish off the plate of fries. The girl did a number on them, to my surprise. The chicks I've known wouldn't have gone to town on something like cheese fries, so watching her eat happily and with obvious pleasure was interesting. And hot. Yes, I'm noticing a pattern here. Anything she does is hot. The way she slipped out of the booth, for example. It was graceful, a sleek, elegant motion. No jerking or hopping or awkward movements, just a smooth slide, and then she was off across the cafe with a sway to her ass.

  When she came back, I stood up to meet her. "Ready?" I ask.

  She glances at the table, at the small pile of ones I left as a tip. "You paid already?"

  "Of course."

  A third time I get the surprised smile. "You're not what I expected, Oz."

  "What'd you expect?"

  She shrugs, blushing. "I don't know. You've got the tattoos and long hair and the motorcycle. I thought you'd be...I don't know. You're nice. I misjudged you, so...sorry."

  We're outside and standing beside my Indian. I touch her chin with the knuckle of my index finger. "I may have manners, sweetness, but I'm not nice."

  "No?"

  I shake my head. "Nope. You'll see." I swing on, shift forward to give her room.

  Oh, man. The way my zipper tightens as she slides on behind me and wraps her arms around me and crushes her chest to my back, holding on a little too tightly...bad. Not good. Warning signs. She's a good girl with a future. I'm a bad boy with none. Too bad I'm an idiot who never pays attention to warning signs.

  She directs me with pointed gestures, and soon we enter a gated community outside Nashville. Huge, huge houses. Brick, lots of glass. Wide driveways and three-car garages. Lincolns, Beemers, Mercedes, a few pickups, Rovers, and Hummers. Manicured lawns, everything in place. I'm intimidated. Two-room apartments are all I've ever known. How do you live in places like this? What would that be like? Do you ever get used to such wealth? What's it like to live in one city your entire life? I can't fathom it.

  She points at a house on the left side of the street. It's not the biggest on the block, but it's nice. Beautiful. A wide porch in front, a huge deck in back. An open garage door reveals a huge pickup truck with oversize tires, a small, sleek, black BMW, and a classic Triumph motorcycle. The motorcycle was being worked on, judging by the array of tools around it and the grease rag on the seat.

  It was being worked on by the holy-shit-he's-huge man standing in the driveway, thick, tattooed arms folded over a hard, muscular chest. I'd heard him sing, even seen YouTube videos of him and Nell performing together, but the man in person is scary as fuck. I don't scare easily, but this guy could do it, if anyone could. I swallow my nerves, call on my reserves of cool. I pull into her driveway, let the bike roll to a stop beside Kylie's dad, kill the engine. I put the stand down and swing off. He's glaring at me. At my leather jacket, the spiked helmet, my long hair. Staring me down. I'd be lying if I said I'm not a little nervous. Not scared, just...nervous. Yeah.

  Kylie hops off, hangs the helmet on the back of the bike, and slams into her father for a hug. He does it one-arm, the other hand stuffed into his pocket. "Daddy!" She leans up and kisses his cheek. "You're back!"

  He nods. "Yeah, got in this afternoon." He doesn't take his eyes off me while he speaks. "Who's this?"

  I step toward him. "Oz Hyde, sir."

  "Colt." His grip is crushing, but not with intent, simply because his hands are just that strong. "Oz, huh? What kind of name is Oz?"

  "Mine." I meet his gaze levelly. I see where Kylie got her sapphire eyes.

  There's something in his expression. Suspicion? Awareness? I'm not sure. He glances at his daughter. "Ben said you'd gone off with some guy."

  "'Ben said'?" She says it with a bit of anger. "God, really? Ben is my friend, Daddy, not my boyfriend, not my parent. I don't have to stay with him just because he says."

  He has nothing to say to this. He looks back at me. "New in town, Oz?"

 
I nod. "Yes, sir." I can't help but be respectful to Colt. He's dangerous. I can sense it in him. The fighter in me, the survivor in me, recognizes the hardness in him. He's seen some shit, and he may live a cush life now, but he hasn't always. Fists remember.

  "Where'd you move from?"

  "Atlanta."

  He glances at my bike, nodding appreciatively. "Nice bike."

  I grin, and nod at his Triumph. "Thanks. I like yours. What year is it?"

  "Forty-eight."

  "Damn. Sure is sweet."

  "Yeah." He blinks at me, assessing, thinking. "Look. My daughter is old enough to choose her own...friends. But listen to me, boy. You take my daughter on a ride, you ride careful. Got it? You hurt her, you deal with me."

  Kylie blushed, embarrassed, and moved between me and Colt. "Jeez, Dad. Are you gonna get out your shotgun next?"

  He doesn't even twitch. "Who needs a shotgun?"

  Not him, that's for damn sure.

  I meet his gaze steadily. "I got you, sir. She'll be safe."

  I see him glance over my shoulder, and I turn to see Kylie's friend Ben approaching with another man who has to be his dad. I recognize his dad, too, but I can't place him. He's a short, muscular man, and he looks like he's in sick shape, especially considering he has a teenaged son. I didn't leave things with Ben on a great note, and I have no desire to rehash the territorial aggression with him, not in front of his dad, and Kylie, and Colt. Talk about outnumbered. Shit. Time for my getaway.

  But before I can mount up, they're behind me. Ben's eying me with open hostility, and his dad sees this, glancing from him to me to Kylie. He reaches out and shakes Colt's hand, pulling him in for a man-hug. "Colt! Good to see you. Been back long?"

  "Jay. Good to see you, too. No, a few hours."

  Suddenly I know who this is: Jason Dorsey, wide receiver for the Tennessee Titans. He played for the Saints for several years at the start of his career, and he was with them for all three of their back-to-back Super Bowl wins. He was a huge part of the reason they were so good, honestly. The QB was nothing astounding, but he could hit Dorsey from anywhere in the field, and once Dorsey had the ball it was a guaranteed TD. He was acquired by the Titans twelve years ago as a free agent, and he's been here ever since, racking up numbers that'll likely get him into the Hall of Fame.

  And Ben's his son.

  I swallow my nerves. "Mr. Dorsey." I shake his hand. I force myself to be casual, neutral, and pleasant to his son. "Ben."

  "Call me Jason." He eyes his son again but says nothing. At least not in front of me.

  Ben shakes my hand, but the hostility in his eyes could drill holes into my skull. "Oz." He fairly growls it through it gritted teeth.

  I've got to get out of here. Colt is just standing there, a threat merely by his presence. Jason Dorsey is trying to figure out the source of the tension between me and Ben, and Kylie clearly just wants to go inside. I give her a grin. "I'll see you later, Calloway." I give an awkward wave, a nod. "Colt, Jason. Nice to meet you." I don't bother with saying goodbye to Ben.

  He and I are going to tangle at some point, and it's going to be a rough one.

  Kylie waves at me as I swing onto my bike, letting it roll down the driveway. I wave back and then gun the engine, twist the throttle so my Indian kicks forward. As soon as I'm out of the sub and on the freeway heading home, I open the throttle and let her purr. All the way home I'm thinking of a tall girl with strawberry blonde hair and big round tits and a smile I could kill for.

  Fuck. Maybe I'll be the one to suggest we move this time.

  TWO: Wishes At Night

  Colt

  Kylie is sitting at the island, sending yet another text to who the hell knows who. I lean against the fridge, slicing cheese off a block and eating it off the knife. She's been quiet this evening, and I think I know why.

  "You like him?" I ask, wrapping up the cheese.

  She sets the phone down, all too carefully. "Who, Daddy?"

  "New guy. Oz. With the bike."

  She blushes and looks away. "He's...surprising."

  Not a typical answer, and it has me intrigued. "Surprising? What's that mean?"

  She shrugs. "Just...not what I was expecting. I kind of judged him by the way he looks, honestly. He has the bike, and the jacket with the patches, and the tattoos, and I guess I thought he'd be--I don't know. Not what he is."

  "Which is what?" I don't know exactly why I'm pushing this with her. Except I see something in the kid, something I recognize. And it scares me that she's interested in him.

  "Smart. Polite. Easy to talk to." She scratches a smudge on the screen of her phone with a fingernail. "He held the door for me at the cafe, and he paid the bill without even telling me."

  "Wait, the cafe?"

  She bites her lip and shrugs. "We had some fries, that's all. That's not the point, Daddy."

  "What happened to telling us if you're going somewhere?"

  "Sorry. It was a last-minute thing." She glances at me. "And besides, I'm in college now, Daddy. I shouldn't have to check in anymore."

  I lift an eyebrow. "You're not in college yet, Kylie. You're taking college classes while still in high school. There's a difference."

  "Ugh. You're impossible. You're acting like I'm still a kid. I'm almost eighteen. Trust me a little."

  I sigh. "Fine. But at least text Mom or me so we know where you are. That's not checking in--that's just being respectful."

  "I will next time. I promise. You're getting off topic, Dad."

  I let it go. She's a good kid, with a good head on her shoulders. "So he's smart and he's got manners. What's Ben's issue with him? If looks could kill, our boy Ozzy would be long dead."

  She shrugs yet again. She needs to learn a new gesture. "I don't know. He didn't want me to go with Oz, I guess."

  I can't help but wonder if she knows Ben is head-over-heels for her, and has been since fourth grade. Guess not. Or if she does, she's in denial. "I guess. Just...he's your oldest friend, Ky. Don't make a habit of ditching him for something new and shiny." Not my place to tell her Ben's in love with her. She'll figure it out, or she won't, and I wouldn't be doing her any favors by interfering. As long as no one hurts her, her love life is her business.

  Nell may not agree, but what the hell do I know about teenage girls and their social lives? Jack shit, that's what.

  Speaking of Nell, here she is, finally emerging from our basement studio. We've been together for over eighteen years, and I swear to God she's even more stunning than the day we met in New York. She beelines for me, tucks up against me. "Baby," she breathes, tilting her face up to mine.

  "Hey." I run my thumb over her lips before I kiss them. "Get the track laid down?"

  She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, finally. It only took about fifteen takes for me to get that one note right. Kept hitting it off-key."

  "You? Off-key?" I laugh. "Never."

  She shoves at my chest. "Jerk. You know I have trouble with notes that high."

  "Then why'd you write the song with that note?"

  "It was the best fit." Nell leaves my side to stand behind Kylie and wrap her arms around her. "How's my baby?" she asks with a kiss to the top of Kylie's head.

  Kylie huffs and wiggles away from Nell. "God, Mom! You're so clingy!" She laughs as she says it, though. "I'm fine. Same old bullshit."

  "Language, Kylie Olivia Calloway."

  "Sorry, Mom. Usual bullcrap."

  "Yeah, usual bullshit, except for our daughter showing up on the back of some guy's motorcycle," I put in, just to watch the drama unfold.

  Kylie gives me a horrified look. "Daddy! You traitor!"

  I just laugh.

  Nell seems torn as to who to lay into first. "Colton. I just got on our daughter's case for her language. You have to set the example." She turns to Kylie. "And you, young lady. Some guy? Motorcycle?" Nell ignores me. "Spill it, Ky."

  Kylie glares at me, mouths I'm gonna kill you. I just laugh. "It's no big deal. His name is Oz.
I don't know much about him, except that he has a motorcycle, he's cute, and he's nice."

  I snort. "He may have been nice to you, but I doubt he's nice."

  Kylie frowns at me. "He said something similar."

  "Smart, well-mannered, and able to hold a conversation do not equal nice," I say. "Take me, for example. I'm a lot of things. Nice is not one of them."

  Kylie's frown deepens. "Yes, you are."

  I laugh. "I'm your dad, Ky. I'm contractually obligated as your father to be nice to you."

  Kylie looks to her mom. "Is he nice?"

  Nell snorts. "Nope. To me, usually. To you, always. To everyone else? Depends on how much he likes you."

  "You weren't very nice to Oz when he dropped me off," Kylie points out.

  I crack my knuckles. "My daughter--my only child--shows up on the back of a motorcycle with some tattooed, long-haired punk. It's sorta my job to scare a little respect into him."

  "How old is this Oz?" Nell's voice is calm, but Kylie and I both know she's anything but.

  Kylie lifts an eyebrow at her mother. "Mom. Really?"

  I watch her gather herself, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. When she opens her eyes, she's visibly calmer. "How old is he, Kylie?"

  Kylie just shrugs. "I dunno. A little older than me."

  "You don't know, you mean." Nell sighs. "Just use your judgment, baby girl. Don't do anything stupid. Don't get involved with the wrong crowd, okay?"

  Kylie is clearly done with the conversation. She rolls her eyes and walks away. "I got it, Mom." I hear her mumble under her breath, "Everyone seriously needs to chill the fuck out."

  I chuckle, knowing her mom would've grounded her for that. I let it go. Once she's gone, I voice a thought that's been nagging at me. "Something about that guy...he looks...familiar. I dunno. I can't place it, though."

  Nell doesn't look at me from where she's pulling food out of the fridge to make dinner. "I didn't meet him, so I couldn't say." As she sets a thawed pound of ground beef on the counter she, glances at me, a question in her eyes. "You really thought he seemed okay? You have a hard time denying that girl anything. I don't want to make any hasty judgments, but bad boy stereotypes exist for a reason."

  I lift an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

  She waves a messy hand at me. "You're an exception, obviously. And maybe this--Oz, is it?--maybe he is, too. But I don't want to see her get hurt. And what about Ben?"