His eyes close, and the sunlight from the window glances off the sharp lines of his cheekbones, highlighting the sunken hollows beneath. He lost too much weight, but he’s still criminally handsome. The stubborn lock of his jaw, the sexy shadow of whiskers, the swell of pouty lips—it’s a visage of danger and fortitude.
I always knew there was something roguish about him. Not just his temper, but something more, like a mysterious edge I couldn’t put my finger on. But as he lifts his dark lashes, I see it now—the troubling secrets in his eyes. He’s experienced things he won’t ever be able to share with me, and I hate that. It’s a wall between us, a part of his life I don’t have access to.
I reach for his chin, cupping the chiseled shape as I clean away the rest of the blood. “If you can’t tell anyone your work history, what did you put on the job application?”
“I didn’t fill one out.” A bitter smirk pulls at his lips. “Trace has connections at the stadium. He got me the job, no questions asked.”
“He did?” I widen my eyes.
“He didn’t do it out of the kindness of his heart. He’s motivated, Danni. He wants me working and moved out and far away from you.”
My chest constricts. “Don’t tell me you don’t want the same things from him.”
“You know what I want?” Eyes bright and searching, he slowly lifts a hand toward my face. “I want to be your lover, your husband, your home. I want to be your everything.”
I hold still, lost in the familiarity of his molten dark gaze. He gently touches my lips, and a teetering sensation trembles behind my breastbone, like my heart is slipping, readjusting, and settling with a contented sigh.
“I miss your smile. And the scent of your skin.” His fingers shake, gliding downward to caress my neck. “When I was away, I burned Nag Champa incense, trying to recreate your fragrance, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t you.”
“They say smell is strongly linked to emotion and memory.” I busy my hands with the first-aid supplies. “I used to sleep with your clothes, desperate to hang onto every memory I could.” Sadness creaks into my voice. “It was hard, Cole. Every fucking day was an endless crawl through hell.”
“I know, baby.” His face collapses, and he pulls me toward him. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“I was angry.” I push against his shoulder and lock my arm, keeping space between us. “I cursed you. Blamed you. And some days, I hated you.” My words tremble from the ache in my chest. “I hated you for leaving me.”
“I deserve that.”
“No, you don’t. You had an obligation to your job, and our relationship was brand new. You did what you had to do, and I just…I didn’t know how to cope. When you died…” I lower my head to my hands. “It took me so long to let go of the past, and now here it is. You’re back, bringing all those painful feelings to the surface, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Do me a favor.” He bends his neck, tugging my arms down to see my eyes. “Imagine yourself in a place you want to be. Don’t think about it. Just let your heart take you there. Where are you?”
“Dancing on a stage with Beyoncé.”
“Right.” He shakes his head with a soft chuckle. “I knew that.” Swiping a hand over his mouth, he sobers. “Who’s in the audience? Who’s watching you dance?”
Since this is a fantasy, there’s no deliberation. I open my mouth to tell him he’s there, sitting in the front row and wearing his dimpled smile. Except he’s not alone. Trace reclines beside him, and they lean their heads together, sharing a private conversation before erupting in laughter. I close my eyes and try to erase one of them from the vision. But the attempt makes my chest collapse, and a sharp burn fires through my sinuses.
When I open my eyes, Cole studies me expectantly. I press my lips together and look away, blinking back tears.
“Is it him?” he asks. “Is he where you want to be?”
“You’re both there.”
He sucks in a breath. “That can’t—”
“I know it can’t happen. That’s not what I want!” My outburst reverberates through the kitchen, and I lower my voice. “I don’t know how to do this.”
He reaches a hand toward mine, his fingers twitching, stretching, before making contact. “The half-naked girl I met on the street that morning, the one who straddled me on my bike and stole my heart… She didn’t know what she was doing, either. But she was beautifully bold and shameless. She did whatever the fuck she wanted, with mischief in her eyes and laughter on her lips.”
The sob in my throat hiccups into a coughing, helpless grin. “I wasn’t half-naked.”
“Your perfect round ass hung out of a pitiful scrap of cotton.”
“They were cheeky boyshorts.”
“They were torture. I had to go to work hard as a rock.” He twines his fingers around mine. “I would’ve married you that day. I should’ve married you. I’m a fucking idiot.”
My pulse kicks up, filling my chest with fuzzy warmth.
“Go back to that morning with me.” He puts his face in mine, his gaze fierce. “We’ll start over. Let me prove how much I love you. I can convince you—”
“You didn’t have to convince me of anything the day we met, and you shouldn’t have to do it now. That’s not how love works, and that’s never been how you and I work.”
He gives me the look. The one I know so well. It says he’ll do anything to win me back. Lying, stealing, maiming, killing—there’s no limit to the depths he’ll go. Knowing what I know now about his occupation, the thought makes my stomach cramp.
“If you hurt Trace, it’s the same as hurting me.” I untangle my hand from his and rub antibiotic ointment on the gash across his nose. “You understand that, right?”
“Yes.” He regards me so intently it takes all my energy to keep from squirming. “It’s the damnedest thing…” His head cocks. “When I look at you, I see what other men see. A stunning knockout with lips that summon filthy thoughts and eyes that turn the biggest badass into a bumbling fool. But there’s so much more. Your compassion and vulnerability, your ability to love so deeply, with your entire existence. You’re the whole package, and anyone who meets you knows this.”
A flush rises through my cheeks. “Cole—”
“It’s a miracle I’m not fighting off dozens of men. At the moment, I only have one contender.” He rubs his sternum, his timbre losing strength. “The problem is, you love him, and that’s pretty damn hard to compete with. But lucky for me, I still have part of your heart.” His eyebrows gather. “Right?”
“You already know the answer to that.”
“Good.” He blows out a breath. “That’s good, because I’m yours. All of me. Forever. I’m not going away, Danni. Not when things are hard. Not when this”—he gestures between us—“seems impossible. Through the good and the bad and all the madness in between, I’ll be wherever you are, fighting and laughing and appreciating every goddamn second you give me.”
A twinge of yearning quivers in the heart of my chest. His voice…that gravelly, passionate sound of his timbre is one of the things I missed the most. More than that, I missed his words, the rawness in every sentence he strings together.
He makes me a believer.