“Yeah.” Cole sneers. “I know exactly how you—”
“Shut up! Jesus.” I feel like I’m drowning in turmoil with no salvation in sight. “Trace, the moment Cole and I met, our future was sealed. We were involved instantly. Going our separate ways wasn’t an option. And Cole…” I reach out and nudge Cole’s chin up. “Six months ago, I made the decision to move on from you. Whether it was with Trace or some other guy, I was going to find a lover. So your prevention plan with Trace was fucked from the get-go.” I squint at him. “Surely, you realize it’s better that I ended up with someone you trusted to protect me instead of some stranger you didn’t know?”
The tension in Cole’s face remains, but softens. He knows I’m right.
“Something I don’t understand…” I cock my head. “If you and Trace were best friends, why didn’t I meet him before you left?”
“I couldn’t explain our relationship without a lot of questions.” Cole’s forehead crinkles.
“You could’ve made up a story and evaded my questions. You seem to be good at that.”
He winces. “I had to lie to you about my job. I didn’t want any more bullshit between us. Introducing him to you would’ve been an ongoing deception to maintain, because our friendship was founded in the work we did together. It would’ve been lies breeding more lies. I couldn’t do that to you.”
“Okay, I get that. Kind of.” My chest rises on a deep breath. “Did you talk to him when we were together?”
Cole nods as Trace says, “We were in constant contact. He told me everything.”
Everything? Before Trace and I made our relationship official, the sight of my engagement ring upset him. His reaction makes sense now. The ring was a persistent reminder that I belonged to his best friend.
But he also reacted to the piercing on my labium. The night in my dressing room, when he touched it, he immediately withdrew. That’s when I found him in the casino bar with the brunette on his lap. It’s like he knew I got the piercing because of Cole.
“Did you tell him about my piercing?” I ask Cole.
His gaze flashes to Trace and holds. “Yes.”
My shoulders droop as I consider the ramifications. “You were close enough to share intimate details about our relationship. And I didn’t even know you had a best friend.”
“Danni.” Cole rests a hand on my knee. “I’m sor—”
“No more apologies. I just need… I need to think about this. All of it.” I look down at Cole’s touch, his golden skin contrasting Trace’s paler hand interlaced with mine. “I still can’t believe you’re alive.”
The gravity of that floats between us, waiting to be plucked and processed. What now? Where will Cole live? This was his home. But it’s Trace’s home, too. Do I send them both packing and return to my isolation? My chest hurts at the thought.
I’m nowhere near ready to make decisions and formalize action plans. The aftershock of Cole’s reappearance is still shaking the foundation of my very soul. I need to let the disturbance settle and see where my feelings fall.
“Do you still have the dress?” The caution in Cole’s voice lifts my head.
“The wedding dress?”
He nods.
My stomach tumbles. I never showed him the gown, because he wasn’t supposed to see it until our wedding day.
“I have it,” I whisper.
“I want to see it.”
A broken heart undergoes varying degrees of pain, from a smarting sting to crippling desolation. I thought enduring it alone was the darkest level of hell. But as I watch Cole crouch beside the boxes in the basement and remove the wedding dress, I stagger beneath the combined weight of our torment.
With his back to me and his head angled down, he gently touches the crumpled white fabric. His spine bows through heavy gasps as he lifts the neglected thing and tries to straighten the wrinkles.
The sound of his strangled breaths slams my lungs together. His shoulders fall, pulling mine down with him. His knees collide with the floor, and I lock my legs, swaying in my attempt to stay upright.
I don’t want to cry anymore, but his regret runs deep, intensifying my own. Watching him come apart is a stake in the chest. I can’t even feel my heart. It’s just a gaping hole that won’t stop bleeding.
Trace volunteered to remain upstairs, despite the reluctance burning in his eyes. Regardless, I don’t think his presence would’ve stopped me from moving toward Cole. The need to console him crashes through me, trembling my chin and coursing tears down my cheeks. By the time I reach him and slide my hands over his back, he’s shaking as violently as I am.
He twists at the waist and hooks an arm around my back, pulling me onto his lap. His embrace is fierce, squeezing me tighter, closer, until all I feel is his heart thundering against mine.
With my arms around him, I prefer to straddle him in this position, but we no longer have that level of intimacy. So I keep my knees together and pressed against his ribs as we hold each other in an iron grip.
He hasn’t released the dress. As the tulle skirt rustles around us, I wonder what he thinks about it. I don’t ask, because it doesn’t matter. He’ll never see me wear it.
“I buried your ashes on our wedding day.” My voice breaks, thick with tears.
“I know.” His breaths thrash hotly against my neck, his lips like fire as they brush my skin. “I didn’t get out of bed that day. I just…I dreamed of you in this dress and drank myself into unconsciousness.”
Knowing he was hurting along with me doesn’t bring me comfort. “I haven’t been back to your grave site since the day of the funeral. The ashes—” My eyebrows crumple together. “Were they—?”
“Just ashes. No one was cremated on my behalf.”
Unsure how to respond to that, I continue with my train of thought. “Since you didn’t have instructions on your burial or any family to speak of, you just have a cement marker in the middle of a cemetery.” My eyes burn with damp regret. “I hated the whole arrangement and didn’t want to remember that day or the image of your name engraved on that stupid block of concrete. So I never went back. I put its very existence out of my mind. Which was easy since I drowned myself in a drunken stupor for months after you died.”
“I’m so sorry.” He makes a pained noise and rocks us back and forth, as if it hurts too much to sit still.
I rest my head on his shoulder, tighten my arms around him, and savor the warm scent of his skin.
Feeling him against me is a balm for my heart. The scratch of his whiskers against my cheek, the deep sound of his breathing, and the bunching of his muscles—all of it creates a dipping sensation in my chest and thins out my tears.