“I’m not giving up on us.” He bends his knees, putting us at eye level. “I will never ever walk away from you.”
I can only nod. His declaration both thrills and terrifies me.
Since Cole didn’t die, does that mean I’m engaged to two men? What if I can’t forgive either of them? What if I lose them both in the end?
My heartbeat quickens, stomping through my veins. What am I going to do?
Deep breath. Cole owes me a lot of answers. He left me for over four years, and it’s going to take a saving children from a burning building type of excuse to abolish everything he put me through.
When I open the back door, he’s not in the dance studio. I’m trembling with anxiety by the time I reach the kitchen. I still don’t see him, but he’s here somewhere. In my house, in the home we shared, where we made so many memories together. I met him right outside the front door. Kissed him goodbye on the porch. Mourned him for years within these walls. My mind is having a helluva time accepting his resurrection.
I pause at the coffee maker, desperately needing caffeine for the impending conversation.
“I dropped my mug on the driveway,” I say numbly.
“I’ll clean it up later.” Trace removes three cups from the cabinet.
“Cole drinks his—”
“The same way you do.” His expression empties, matching the detachment in his tone. “Cream, no sugar.”
“Don’t do that.” I touch the stiff muscles in his forearm. “I hated that cold mask when I met you. I don’t want to see it ever again.”
“I’m struggling to hold myself together, Danni.” He grips the edge of the sink and stares out the kitchen window. “At some point over the last six months, I convinced myself he was dead, hoping with everything inside me you wouldn’t be put in the position you’re in now.”
By position, he means decision. The choice he demanded I make two months ago.
If Cole was in this room right now, where would I fall? Would you shove me aside to get to him?
At the time, I chose Trace. He was my future. But that was before I knew a future with Cole was still possible.
“I’m going to make the coffee.” Trace straightens and focuses on the task. “So you can have a few minutes to talk to him alone. I know you need that, and I trust you.”
His tone is soft with sincerity, not a hint of warning or conjecture. He’s trying to make this easier, for my sake.
“Thank you.” Lingering behind him, I ache to press a kiss to the bare skin on his spine, but I’m conflicted.
I don’t know what’s going to happen to us, and I can’t let myself get bowled over by longing, dread, and all the other things I’m feeling right now.
In the hallway, I peek into the dining room, expecting to find Cole with his motorcycle where he left it all those years ago. But he’s not there, so I head to my bedroom and pause on the threshold.
He stands in the doorway of my closet with his back to me. The lift of his shoulders, the sound of his exhales, and the intoxication of his living, breathing presence catapults me into the one emotion I hadn’t let myself feel yet.
Happiness.
I linger in the moment, savoring the soul-deep elation curling through my insides. No matter what happens or what he’s done, I will forever be grateful for his life.
Raising a hand, he touches the hangers that once held his clothes. His fingers trail along the crisp shoulders of suit jackets and collared shirts that belong to another man. His posture tenses, and a tremor shakes down his spine.
“Your things are boxed up in the basement.” I slip into the tiny room, circle the bed, and stop within arm’s reach behind him. “I didn’t get rid of anything.”
He stiffens, and his hands lift to palm the doorframe on either side of his head, as if seeking the support to stay upright.
With a stomach full of nerves, I ghost my fingers over the back of his t-shirt, taking in the protruding ridges of his ribs. “Why are you so thin?”
“I’ve been separated from my heart for four and a half years.”
The fierce wound inside me cries out, begging to be soothed. “I’ve been here, Cole. Where have you been?”
“Hiding.” A ragged breath shudders through him. “I was being watched. Everything I did was monitored, tracked, and recorded. I can’t—” He drops his hands, fisting them at his sides. “That’s all I can tell you.”
“You have to give me more than that. Something I can grab onto. Who was watching you? Please, Cole. Talk to me.”
He whirls toward me and wraps his arms around my back, giving me a glimpse of his damp, bloodshot eyes before he buries his face in my neck. “Tell me I haven’t lost you.”
Tell me I haven’t lost you.
Cole’s plea whispers through me, igniting an ache in my throat.
“Be very careful what you ask of me.” I push against his chest, breaking his embrace. “I lost you. I moved on. It took me years. Years of unimaginable heartache—”
“I don’t have to imagine it. I lived it!” He paces through the room, panting and gripping the back of his neck. “I would never move on from you. You’re it for me. My beginning. My end. My fucking forever. If you died, even if I saw your lifeless body with my own eyes, I wouldn’t move on. And I sure as hell wouldn’t marry someone else.”
The raw, unrestrained pain in his words punches me straight through the heart, and I gasp.
“Clearly, you don’t share my feelings.” He glares at the ring on my hand.
I share his feelings in every way, and guilt stabs me anew. I never saw his body. I just blindly believed he was gone. Should I have questioned more? Dug harder?
A sob rises up, threading my voice. “I didn’t—”
Something blurs in my periphery. Before I can blink, Cole is slammed against the wall, choking in the shackle of Trace’s hand.
“Never talk to her that way again.” Trace shoves harder against Cole’s throat, punctuating his point. “She’s suffered enough.”
The thick concentration of testosterone clots the air and locks my joints. Though I’ve seen Trace attack a man once before, I’m immobilized by the calmness in his movements. He strikes, neutralizes, and commands, without showing a single sign of being winded or agitated.
Cole grips the fist around his throat and closes his eyes. His body slumps, and an anguished sound escapes him.
“I’m so sorry, Danni,” he whispers, seeking me with unguarded misery in his gaze.
I share that feeling deeply, because despite the lies and unanswered questions, I love him. But that doesn’t mean I can walk away from Trace.
When I nod my acceptance of Cole’s apology, Trace releases him and steps back.
Cole sags against the wall, tucking his chin and gripping his knees. I’ve never seen him look so defeated and shattered.
The instinct to go to him urges my legs to move, but I fight it. I can’t choose sides until I’ve heard the truth. Not that I’m capable of choosing. My heart wants both. But my damn heart got me into this mess. I need to use my brain to find a way out.
Trace hands me a mug of coffee from the dresser and kisses the top of my head.
“Thank you.” I turn to Cole and gesture at the other two mugs. “He brought you a cup.”
As Trace steps into the closet and pulls on a t-shirt, Cole trudges toward the dresser and stares at the mugs with a slack expression.
“I can’t drink coffee,” he says, lifting it to his lips, “without thinking about the morning we met.”
My smile trembles, and my insides cave in. Will this ever stop hurting? I can’t see how. There’s no resolution that brings both of them happiness, and that’s what I need. I need them to be happy again.
Dressed in a collared shirt and jeans, Trace emerges from the closet and sits on the edge of the bed, hands clasped between his spread knees, head tilted down. I can’t see his face, but I know those glacial eyes are angled toward Cole, scowling as intensely as his mouth beneath the mantle of his brow.
My bedroom isn’t big enough for the three of us, and as the seconds tick by, the space grows smaller, tighter, pressing against my chest. Unbidden, my foot taps, drawing attention to my churning nerves.