Nothing Between Us by Roni Loren Page B

and that’d be his best shot at grabbing a cab.
    The wind had picked up and was blowing along the sides of the buildings with a punch of cold. Thunder rumbled in the distance and promised a chilling rain. But the residual effects of the alcohol kept him warm enough for now. A few notes of music drifted through the air as people opened the doors to some of the bars and clubs. But as he neared the end of the second block, more than a snippet of a song hit his ears. Lonely notes of a familiar melody seemed to echo from far away and stopped him dead in his stride.
    He glanced behind him, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound, but the sidewalks were empty. He closed his eyes, grabbing on to the faint sound of the song. Lyrics he should’ve forgotten by now filled in the blanks in his head.
    The yellow tape winds
    The signs all warn
    Fingers grab and twine,
    And everything is torn.
    I’m a trespasser, never will I belong.
    My life is off-limits, everything is wrong . . .
    Colby opened his eyes and shook his head as a chill moved through him. No, it couldn’t be. He must’ve had more to drink than he thought. He was so drunk he was hearing ghosts. Old demons were sliding out of the gutters and wrapping around him. He picked up the speed of his steps.
    But as he moved forward, the sound of the guitar only got louder, the chords clearer. Like a man possessed, he took a sharp right, crossed the street, and followed the sound. The music grew crisp as he neared a closed record store. He turned another corner and found himself facing a small park. There was a statue of a horse at the center of a stone circle, and benches surrounded it. On one of the benches sat a guy with a guitar and full sleeve tattoos, playing a song that didn’t belong to him.
    “Hey,” Colby called out as he walked into the circle. “What song are you playing?”
    The guy glanced up for a second, his face in the shadow of the canopy of trees above him, and the music stopped. “Five bucks and I’ll tell ya.”
    Colby peered at the open guitar case at the guy’s feet. There were a few bills in it. “That’s not your song to play.”
    “The fuck it isn’t,” he said, and started strumming again.
    Colby stepped forward, his heartbeat pounding. “Tell me where you heard it.”
    “Price has gone up to twenty,” the guy said, not even bothering to look up this time. Thunder rumbled closer now and a gust of wind blew over them, rattling the leaves above them.
    Colby gritted his teeth and pulled his wallet out. He dropped a twenty in the case. “Tell me.”
    The guy’s blond hair had fallen in his face, but Colby could see his smirk. “In my head. I wrote it, asshole.”
    Well, that just pissed Colby off. He kicked the guitar case shut with a bang.
    The guy’s head jerked upward. “What’s your pr—”
    But his green eyes went wide and his words trailed off as his gaze met Colby’s.
    For a second, the pieces didn’t register, didn’t fit together in Colby’s fuzzy head. He just stared for a few long seconds. But when it all finally clicked into place, it was like a swift, hard punch to the gut.
“Keats?”
    That seemed to snap the guy out of his stunned state. He got off the bench with hurried movements and flipped open his guitar case to set his battered instrument into it. “No, man, ain’t me.”
    Colby considered for a moment that he was seeing ghosts. He’d had a bad day. He’d had a lot to drink. Keats had been on his mind earlier. But when Colby gave the guy a longer look, he knew he wasn’t imagining things. The boy he’d known had grown a few inches and had inked up his skin. His hair was longer and he was leaner than Colby remembered. Harder. But there was no doubting those pale green eyes or the awareness that had flashed through them.
    This was Keats. Alive.
    Keats yanked his case from the ground and hitched a backpack over his shoulder, turning to go. He took two steps before Colby had a hand on his upper arm.