He freezes, mouth parting before he lurches forward, headed this way.
Trace opens the door and turns to leave. Then he stops, spins back, and closes the distance between us. With a heavy hand on my neck, he pulls me against him and rests his lips against my forehead. I hear the shallow sound of his breaths, feel the thunder of his heart, and watch the pain shake through the length of his body.
He’s not the first man I loved or the first love I lost. But his is the love that cuts the deepest and does the most damage. The loss is immeasurable. I’m bleeding internally and sobbing wretchedly, unable to silence the gasps.
Without a word, he releases me, strides out the door, and into the rain.
This is the moment, the one I dreaded since the day Cole returned. It hurts more than I could’ve ever imagined, like I’m hacking away vital parts of myself, breath by mangled breath.
Cole chases Trace outside and hovers behind him as he opens the door to the Maserati and tosses in the bag. Cole says something, his voice indiscernible in the pouring rain. Trace turns and faces him, expressionless, blinking away the heavy drops.
Cole’s mouth moves faster, and his hands swipe through his hair, sweeping off the rain. More words. More blank stares from Trace. Then Cole drops his arms, lowers his head, and stares at the ground.
There’s nothing he can say to alleviate the pain. I wish I could find comfort in knowing a broken heart can’t break again. But it does. It breaks and breaks, and no matter how much destruction is done, it puts itself back together so it can break some more.
Cole speaks again, and whatever he says causes Trace’s shoulders to hitch. Then Cole moves, wraps his arms around Trace and embraces him in a strong, heart-wrenching hug.
As Trace hugs him back, I fall apart. My legs buckle. My vision blurs, and a horrible keening sound rips from deep inside me. I stumble away from the door, doubling over and zigzagging toward the stairs.
My knees hit the first step, and I cry, gasping, shoulders shaking, nauseous, and inconsolable. Then I picture myself—my ugly, shattered reflection in the broken mirror at my old house. I can’t go there again.
I have to let him go.
And move on.
I’m not alone.
Flattening my hands on the stair, I breathe in, out, in, out. Then I rise to my feet and wipe the tear-soaked hair from my face.
The door closes behind me, and the squeak of Cole’s boots sounds his approach. He stops at my back, drops his jacket on the floor, and grasps my upper arms with cold, wet hands.
“Did he leave?” I whisper, staring down the dark hall.
“Yes.” He slides his touch along my arms and grips my hands. “How about a warm bath?”
I nod jerkily. “What did you say to him?”
“Danni…” He expels a breath. “You’re hurting. I know I can’t take that away, but I’m going to comfort you as much as I can.” He lifts me into his arms, cradling me against his chest. “Bath first.”
“Okay.” I rest my head on his shoulder, my mind broken into a thousand aching thoughts.
He carries me through the house and into the master bathroom. There, he draws the bath and strips our clothes. When we settle in the hot water, I curl up on his lap and absorb his warmth.
“I’m not questioning my decision.” I trace a finger across his collarbone. “But I’m going to need time.”
“I’d question your humanity if you didn’t grieve him, baby.”
I place a kiss on his jaw that asks for patience. He trails a caress along my spine that offers strength.
He won the war, but what if all I can give him is a body of broken parts? I’m not the woman he fell in love with five years ago. When he died, the life inside me burned so low it barely flickered. And now… I only see darkness.
It’s hard to be strong when I know Trace is out there, in the rain, driving away from me, hurting, and alone.
“What did you say to him?” I ask quietly.
“I told him to call me, to talk to me, that I would be whatever he needed me to be.”
“Friends?” Hope blooms in my chest.
“Yes. I reminded him of my promise to you. I’ll work on that friendship.”
“Thank you.” I kiss his shoulder, his neck, and cup his whiskered face. “What did you say right before you hugged him?”
“You little voyeur.” His soft exhale whispers across my lips. “I told him my biggest issue with him is that I care. I care about what happens to him.”
My chest feels a little lighter. He’ll be there for Trace. And I know, without question, he’ll do the same for me.
His arms will hold me until the fractures heal.
His dimpled smile will breathe new life in me.
His love will toughen the pain into scar tissue.
It won’t happen overnight, over a week, or even a month. But for the first time in a long time, we have forever.
Two weeks later, I lift my face to the sun and stretch out my legs along the bench seat in Cole’s boat. Sitting in the V of his thighs with my back against his chest, I absently play with the hem of his baggy swim shorts. The sadness hasn’t waned. It feels duller, maybe, but it takes up just as much space inside me as the day Trace left.
When Cole died, I only had to deal with my own loss. Somehow that was easier than…this. I like to tell myself Trace is moving on just fine. He’s stronger than me, after all. But I know better. He’s alone in St. Louis, stuck with our memories and no shoulder to lean on.
I need to stop this. Channeling any kind of energy, time, or thought into Trace feels like I’m emotionally cheating on Cole. So I push away images of blue eyes and blond hair.
Cole anchored the boat in a quiet cove, out of view of the active part of the lake. It’s just him and me and the sounds of lapping water.
I’m wearing bikini bottoms and a long sleeve shirt. It’s a warm April day, but when I dipped a toe in the water earlier, the chill went straight to my bones.
In lieu of swimming, we decided to sunbathe. Not that he needs more color. He spends so much time outside his golden skin glows as bright as the sun.
“Tell me eleven things I don’t already know.” I twist around on his lap, facing him with my bent knees bracketing his sides. “Eleven things about anything.”
“Eleven?”
“No more. No less.” It’s the same response I gave him the morning we met. If I can recreate that feeling, that playfulness that connected us so quickly, maybe it won’t hurt so much to breathe.
“Your eyes remind me of storm clouds. Deep and gray. Always swirling. Threatening. Like thunder and lightning. Torrential downpours and puddles. I hated the rain. Until I met you.”
My chest heaves with a hicupping inhale. “Cole…”
“I speak seven languages with excellent fluency. I once strangled a long-haired man with his ponytail. I won’t drink from a straw while driving because I’m afraid it’ll stab my throat on a sudden stop.”
I gape at him. “Can we go back to the man with the—?”
“Trace called me this morning.”