Passing the door that led to the first floor, they climbed to the second landing and Francisco swiped his card over the reader that allowed them to enter the upstairs hallway. There were three apartments to the left and two to the right, with a common room in the middle of the hallway with a window-seat alcove, TV, game table, and reading area.
“You want me to go with you?” asked Francisco.
Colt shook his head. “No, thanks. I got it.”
Francisco slapped him on the back. “Stop beating yourself up. You’re allowed to have a life, you know.”
“I should have been here.”
“You will be. Next time.”
“Thanks, man.”
Francisco winked at him, then turned back around as Colt headed for the third door on the left, swiping his card over the reader beside the doorbell. The light on the keypad changed from red to green, and as quietly as he could, Colt eased into Mel’s apartment.
In the months before she died, Aunt Jane had decorated the apartment with loving care: a fluffy lavender rug covered the floor of the living area, which had a violet love seat and a purple-upholstered easy chair. A TV sat on a stand in the corner, and Mel’s unit had sliding doors that led to a small balcony, large enough for two chairs and a small table, where she liked to eat her breakfast. Crossing the living room, Colt pressed his ear to her bedroom door but heard nothing, so he backed away and headed for the kitchen, opening the fridge to take out four eggs, butter, and milk.
He pulled down a bowl and whisked the eggs with milk, then melted butter in a skillet before pouring the raw eggs into the hot pan. As it sizzled and spat, he checked the clock: 6:58. He poured two glasses of orange juice and took them out to the table on the balcony, then shoved two pieces of oat bread in the toaster. Just as they popped up, he heard her bedroom door open and her familiar voice say, “C-C-C-Colton?”
Melody didn’t speak like a typical adult. Her speech was low, stilted, and somewhat garbled to an untrained ear, but since she’d been all but a sister to him since he was a young, angry preteen, Colt didn’t really notice anymore.
“Got breakfast started, Mel,” he called from the kitchen. “Juice on the table. Eggs done. Buttering the toast. You hungry?”
“Yeah. I’m hungry, C-C-C-Colton.”
She shuffled into the living room, and he looked up to catch her stretching. Her reddish-blonde hair was still in the French braid that Dawn must have plaited before bed, and her Hello Kitty pajamas were wrinkled.
“I had a s-s-seizure last night.” She clicked her teeth together, looking at him through her thick glasses.
“I heard,” he said. He finished buttering the toast and cut it in half, placing two pieces on her plate and two on his, then picked up the plates and turned to face her. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”
“Dawn was here.”
“I know. I’m still sorry I wasn’t.”
“It’s . . . okay, C-C-C-Colton.”
He scanned her face with his eyes. Her familiar freckles. Her chapped lips. Her bright blue eyes. Her ruddy cheeks. Her cheerful smile. And he did what he always did. He smiled back because he loved her.
“Ready for breakfast, Mel?”
Her smile widened as she turned for the balcony. “I’m always ready for breakfast, silly. You know that.”
***
Since Colton was working the evening show, he didn’t need to be in until four o’clock, which meant that Verity, who was working the matinee shift, hadn’t seen him since last night.
It was probably for the best because, after last night’s kiss, she wouldn’t have been able to keep her eyes off him if he walked by or stopped to visit her, and she definitely would have taken a bathroom break right about the time he entered the arena to fight Artie, so she could watch him fight for a few minutes.
It was impossible to miss—even upon first meeting—that Colton Lane was a force field of sexual energy. From the intense, angry set of his jaw to the hard, coiled strength in his frame, she’d been mesmerized by the hard-core masculinity of him. But she couldn’t have predicted their mutual chemistry. It was one thing for him to be sexy—to make any woman’s mind beeline straight to the bedroom when he was in sight—but it was quite another to discover that together they were combustible.
All day she’d relived their kiss, daydreaming into space,