“Did Cole tell you why he was detained in prison?” I soften my voice to sound like I know the answer.
“Something about a foul-up at the oil terminal, and Iraq thought the U.S. contractors caused it. I don’t really understand how all that political stuff works.”
“Yeah, it confuses me, too.”
For a cover story, I guess it’s vague enough to be believable. Virginia doesn’t seem to bat an eyelash at it.
“Whatever happened to him was bad,” she says. “He doesn’t like to talk about it.” Her hand relaxes, shifting to curl around mine. “You take special care with that boy, you hear? There’s something different about him. A sadness that wasn’t there before. He needs your love now more than ever.”
My heart pinches. “But what about Trace? I’m engaged to him, Virginia.”
“Yes, well, that’s why they’re fighting.” She lifts my hand, drawing my attention to the ring on my finger.
Rings.
Why are there two rings?
“Oh my God.” I separate the silver bands, intimately familiar with both of them. “I didn’t—”
“Cole slipped it on your finger last night while you slept.” Her cataract eyes glitter in the sun. “Trace found out about it, and there you have it.” She gestures at the grappling, grunting tangle of limbs in the grass.
My eyes widen. “How do you know this?”
“They were arguing about it this morning. Spitting and swearing and disturbing the peace.” She lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “They’ve been watching you while you sleep. They argued about that, too.”
Damn her sharp hearing. She’ll be wagging her tongue about my drama up and down the street by lunchtime.
“They’ve been sneaky about it.” She clutches the loose skin on her throat. “Tiptoeing into your room without the other one knowing. I guess they ran into each other early this morning.”
And I slept through it. What else am I sleeping through? I pinch the bridge of my nose and peek at the scuffle.
Cole attacks Trace with flying knuckles, eyes wild and muscles flexed, like he’s pumped up on faith and glory. And Trace, all graceful arms and legs, dodges the strikes and snaps his fist so fast it’s inhuman.
“I should stop them.” I twist the rings on my finger.
“You will do no such thing. The good Lord sent them to you for a reason. Don’t get in the way.”
I gape at her. “They’re fighting over me. I’m already in the way.”
“Did you choose one over the other?”
My neck shrinks, pulling my ears toward my shoulders as that wretched goddamn word ricochets through my skull. Choose. Choose. Choose.
“I can’t.” I choke on a rush of tears and curl my fingers around the rings. “I’m engaged to them both, and I can’t be. Two is a lie.” I squeeze the silver bands so hard they dig into my skin. “Loving two men is wrong.”
“A mother loves more than one child. Is that wrong?”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“Love is love, Danni.”
“Not when it’s poisoned by jealousy.”
We fall quiet as the fight across the yard breaks apart. Cole and Trace lie on their backs with several feet of distance between them. Chests heaving and splattered in blood, they stare at the big blue sky, lost in their misery.
“Love them. That’s all you can do.” Virginia grabs her cane and shuffles back to her house, mumbling, “The rest will work itself out.”
Love them. That’s all you can do.
Virginia’s words nestle into the squishy parts of my heart as I gather towels and first-aid supplies from the bathroom. When I reach the kitchen, Cole and Trace are sitting where I instructed—on the floor, side by side, backs to the cabinets, and hands to themselves.
“Look at that. You’re sharing air without snarling and foaming like rabid dogs.” I step over Cole’s bent leg and stand between their slumped postures. “I’m tempted to pat your heads.”
That earns me double frowns, and a grunt for good measure from Cole.
“I learned something interesting while you were molesting each other outside.” I lower to my knees, facing them, and set the supplies between their hips. “You’re sneaking into my room at night when I’m sleeping? Both of you?”
Trace meets my gaze without flinching. Cole wipes the blood from his nose and glares at the floor.
“Watching me sleep… Wow.” I rub my forehead. “That isn’t creepy or anything.”
“I’ve been watching you sleep for two months.” Trace leans in and drops his voice. “I miss you, Danni. So fucking much.”
Cole flares his nostrils. “You son of a—”
“That’s enough,” I snap at him. “This is already hard, for everyone involved. But watching you do this to yourselves, seeing you carry around all this animosity and resentment, I can’t do it.”
“What are you saying?” Cole searches my face with panic in his eyes.
“Chill the fuck out. That’s what I’m saying.”
He releases a heavy breath and rests his head back against the cabinet.
“I know this situation is a shit load of fucked, but this…” I gesture at the blood smudged across their chests. “This is an unwanted, avoidable travesty. Like a wet fart in a tight leotard.” I purse my lips. “You should be ashamed of yourselves.”
“A wet fart…” Cole’s mouth bounces before settling into a small lopsided grin.
The appearance of his dimples unfurls a ribbon of warmth inside me. Trace regards me with amusement gleaming in his eyes, and I thaw further, melting at the beautiful sight.
A smile possesses my lips. My cheeks lift, and for the first time in five days, I feel relieved. It’s a slapdash feeling, there and gone as quick as Cole’s dimples. But I cherish the tender moment, appreciate the clarity it offers. We can still make each other happy.
I lift a towel and reach my other hand toward Trace’s face. As my fingers slide against his sculpted jaw, my pulse spikes and my breaths quicken. For once, my reaction isn’t nerves or anger. It’s excitement. Affection. Cautious desire.
He always affects me, though. Even now, with his chest and arms all scratched up and caked with dirt. I could stare at him for hours—his unsmiling lips, rumpled blond hair, and eyes so blue they conjure greatness, like the vast sky on a summer day with the top down on my car. Like the first day we spent together, running errands, trading flirty arguments, and kissing outside of the pharmacy.
Was our time together just a fool’s paradise? Can we get back to that place again?
With my hand on his jaw, I angle his head side to side, checking for injuries. Blood smears across the smooth angles of his face, but there are no lacerations. No swelling.
I turn my attention to Cole, his grumpy features lined with abrasions and gashes around his eyes, down the bridge of his nose, and cut through the corner of his mouth.
“If you’re the one with specialized training…” I squint at Cole. “Why are you more banged up than Trace?” I look back at Trace and wipe the wet towel across his cheeks, revealing pristine skin beneath the grime. “Did you even get hit?”
“He got my mouth once, and my ribs are bruised.” Trace gingerly touches his side.
“He’s full of shit.” Cole drapes an arm over his bent knee and flexes his fingers, his gaze never leaving mine. “He just wants your hands on him.”
Trace regards me in that way he does, with his head down and eyes up. It’s distractingly sexy.
I clear my throat. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Trace was trained in hand-to-hand combat,” Cole growls. “Ranked top of our class.”
“What class? Was it military training?”
Cole’s expression empties, giving me nothing.
Christ almighty. “What about your skill set?” I ask him.
“I’m more proficient in…other areas.”
The boding descent in Cole’s tone warns me not to inquire further. Doesn’t stop my mind from jumping to images of him snapping a sniper rifle together and crawling through a jungle wearing a ghillie suit. But what the fuck do I know?