Honkytonk Hell: A Dark and Twisted Urban Fantasy (The Broken Bard Chronicles Book 1) by eden Hudson (ebook reader with highlight function .TXT) 📗

on the opposite side of you talking to himself while your boyfriend glares out the windshield, the middle goes back to being the worst place to ride.

“Maybe brain damage,” Colt said. “But the tar would still— You heard him. She didn’t leave me. She wouldn’t. She wasn’t done yet. It was close, but not—”

Tough glanced across the cab at Colt. That look was an easy one to read—I used to see it in the mirror when I got up in the morning. He was telling himself he could take care of Colt, that it wasn’t as bad as everybody else thought.

Trying to be subtle, I swiped my bangs out of my eyes and studied Tough’s face, looking for differences between the living him and the undead him. Vamping had leeched some of the red tones from his skin and the fluid loss had brought down most of the swelling and bruises around his eye and face. His lip was still split and the cut across his eyebrow hadn’t healed.

Those were never going away. Tough was going to look beat-up and beautiful forever.

“Shit!” Colt punched the arm rest on his door.

Tough exhaled and stared out the windshield. It was that time of night when it’s still too light out for headlights to do any good but too dark to have your headlights off, when you can’t really see anything that well. Tough looked like he was concentrating really hard on watching the road, but if he clenched his jaw any tighter his teeth were going to crack.

I reached over and touched his leg.

Tough moved too fast for me to see—almost too fast to feel. He grabbed my hand like somebody clinging to a lifeline.

“Tough,” I started. But I wasn’t sure what else to say.

He didn’t look at me, just sucked his teeth and let go.

“No, I don’t mean…” I picked his hand back up and laced my fingers through his. When I was a tween, I’d gone through the same romance-is-angst phase every anti-social nerd does. Stupid, borderline abusive, he-didn’t-mean-to-hurt-me crap. But Tough drinking my blood wasn’t the same thing. Tempie might’ve thought I was being naïve about the connection between me and him, but I wasn’t. Tough and I understood each other. We needed each other. “I don’t want to break up with you. I like you, Tough. A lot. Maybe even—” I sighed. “This isn’t how I pictured this conversation going down.”

Tough’s eyes flicked over at Colt, probably thinking the same thing.

“I don’t want to leave,” I said. “I mean, I want to stay with you. Leaving—I can’t yet anyway because of Tempie. I don’t know what to do about her. I don’t want her brain to corrode but…” But I really didn’t want to be Kathan’s familiar, incest-porno-polygamy aside. I was enough of a doormat without having an actual physical need to make someone else happy. “Tempie says it’s all about power, but I don’t want power. I just want everything to be okay again.”

Tough put his arm around the back of my seat and leaned over to kiss my cheek. He got it. Probably better than anybody. I snuggled closer to his side and put my head on his shoulder. His cool skin felt good in the summer heat.

Then I remembered earlier in the hallway, when I’d first felt how cold he was.

The bottom dropped out of my stomach and I pulled away from him.

“But if you ever mesmerize me again, I’m gone,” I said. “Promise me. Swear.”

Tough looked me in the eyes and nodded, once.

Colt started hyperventilating.

“Oh, shit, she’s gone, she’s— I can’t—” He put his arms around his head like a tornado drill and rocked back and forth on the seat. “No, God, please.”

Tough stopped the truck.

“I can’t make it go away,” Colt whispered. “The black noise—”

“Colt, it’s okay,” I said, keeping my voice calm and clear. With Mom, I’d gotten plenty of experience doing meltdown-damage-control. “Whatever you’re seeing or hearing can’t hurt you. You’re okay, Colt. You’re safe.”

He doubled over and laughed until the tendons in his neck stood out. “I’m safe? I’m safe?”

Tough jumped out of the truck and ran around to Colt’s door. He opened it, but I shook my head at him before he reached out.

“Colt, Tough is by your right side. Is it okay if he touches you?”

“The lines can’t be here. They’re not real. They’re—”

I raised my voice. “Listen to me, Colt. Tough’s going to put his hand on your shoulder. If you don’t want him to, tell me and he won’t.”

Colt went still.

Tough looked at me. When I nodded, he put his hand on Colt’s shoulder.

Colt’s arms relaxed and he took a shaky breath. After a little while, he sat up and ran both hands through his hair. Then he pulled his fingers through it again like he was measuring how long it was.

“Need to get a haircut,” he said. “Starting to look like a damn hippie.”

Tough took off his hat and pointed at his hair. Vamping had grown it out just enough to show a hat ring.

“Commie fag,” Colt said. They both laughed.

Tough got back in the truck, smiling as he drove. Nothing joking or sarcastic—a real smile, like he was happy. It made me feel as if someone had poured a gallon of sunlight into my chest.

“Rian,” Colt said.

Alongside the road was the fallen angel motorcycle cop who had taken me to the Dark Mansion the other night.

Tough rolled down his window and stuck his arm out. He flipped off Motocop. The red and blue lights started flashing almost immediately. Imagine that.

Colt didn’t even act surprised, he just said, “You better be ready to lose that dickhead.”

Tough slowed down and pulled over, but as soon as Motocop stopped behind the truck and got off of his