Page 57

Oh, I can’t wait.

We sip our tea and talk about the storm, which has finally let up. It’s still dark and gloomy, but the rain pitter-patters instead of striking like icy pins against the glass. Meanwhile, the bourbon has warmed me to my toes and made me a little woozy. I sigh in contentment.

My mug is nearly empty when Colby takes it from me and places it beside his. Wrapping me up in his arms again, he pulls me against him and lays his cheek on my head. “Need to ask you something.”

That contented sigh? It evaporates. So do my happy bubbles.

I brace myself. “Yes?”

“When you got here today, you looked … I don’t know. Like someone kicked your dog. I just wondered if you’re having trouble with your brother.”

Relief winds its way through me, though it’s tamped down a bit by the thought of Donny finding out what Colby and I just did. I shake my head. “Not exactly.”

He shifts and peers at me. “Then what exactly?”

“Well, I-I was a little mad at him, but it wasn’t his fault,” I stammer.

“Whose fault was it?” he gently nudges.

“I got an unexpected call.” My body tenses as the conversation with Randy replays in my head.

Colby must sense the change because he hugs me a little tighter and lays his cheek back down. “Sounds like it wasn’t a call you wanted.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Any possibility you’ll tell me about it?”

I turn in his hold and stare up into those gray eyes filled with concern. “Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll trade with you. I’ll tell you what happened if you tell me about whatever organization it is that you’re a part of and why you joined.”

“I play for the Surge, and they traded for me,” he says glibly.

I know him well enough now to recognize the joke for what it is: a deflection, a way to avoid something that hits a raw nerve, that digs deep. But I realize I used the wrong term. It’s a foundation, and I should have pinned him down with the right term.

“Not what I meant, and you know it,” I scoff. “I love what you do with the kids, and maybe I’d like to participate too.”

His silence speaks volumes, and I settle my disappointed self back against him.

Moments tick by, with only the sound of the raindrops outside to fill the quiet that yawns between us.

Finally, he speaks. “You’re willing to give up one piece of information, but you want two from me.”

Another quip, but we’re inching closer to the truth. I’ll take it.

I crane my neck and look back at him. “All right, then. We’ll play it your way. Tell me why you throw yourself into the charity work.”

He opens his mouth, and it looks like he’s going to argue, but he quickly snaps it shut. “How about I answer the first one? About the organization, I mean. The one that isn’t the Surge.”

“I meant to say foundation, but fair enough.” It’s a beginning, I tell myself. This is a huge part of his life, and I find myself wanting to know everything about Colby Chase, even if I have to drag it out of him. “You first.”

His brows crawl up his forehead, but his voice is filled with amusement. “Why me? You’re the one who wanted to trade.”

How do I explain this? “I recently graduated from the school of hard knocks, and it made me … leery of trusting people.”

“So what you’re saying is you don’t trust me.” The amusement is gone, a hint of hurt in its place.

“I … don’t know you well enough to trust you.” I rush to add, “Completely. That’s something that needs to be built over time.”

He gusts out a breath. “Okay. I might need more bourbon for this.”