Home > Three is a War (Tangled Lies #3)(10)

Three is a War (Tangled Lies #3)(10)
Author: Pam Godwin

“What are you proposing?” I swallow.

“Not what you think.” Trace pulls in a slow breath and releases it. “Look, Cole and I have gone through a range of emotions and expectations since he returned. In the beginning, jealousy drove most of our actions. Then came the rivalry. Suspicion. Bitterness. When you left, we reached a point of resoluteness.”

“Meaning?” I hold my breath.

“We understand the stakes,” Cole says. “I know he’s not going to give up and vice-versa. And we know the ultimate decision is completely out of our hands. We’re going to stay in his house, focus on you, and when arguments arise, we’ll talk through it. Together.”

It sounds wonderfully ideal. And unrealistic. How can I spend time with one while the other one is present? They haven’t mentioned sex, but it’s a complexity we can’t avoid. It’ll start with meaningful glances and subtle gestures of affection. Then it’ll build and invade until it refuses to be ignored. I tried the celibacy thing, the co-dating thing, the bed-hopping thing. I’ve resisted, surrendered, sneaked around, and run away. None of it worked. Because I’m right back where I started.

They’re proposing that we stay here together, under the same roof, until I make a decision. The difference this time is better communication. I can get behind that, but it doesn’t solve the problems we had before.

I suck at managing more than one relationship. It brings out the worst in me. I’ve never suffered from mental illness, but since Cole’s return, I wonder if I’ve developed bipolar disorder. Narcissism. Maybe sex addiction. I guess it could be worse. Severely distressing events can breed all sorts of nutjobs—psychopaths, serial murders, scientologists. Bottom line is I’m not good at bouncing between them.

“What’s putting that look on your face?” Trace captures me in a penetrating stare.

“All the reasons why your proposition won’t work.”

“Such as?”

Shifting toward him, I slide a hand down his chest while meeting Cole’s eyes. “What would you do if I kissed him right now?”

“Nothing.” Cole stands taller. “I won’t like it, but it’s better than the alternative.”

“Which is?”

“You choosing Florida, a new life, and eventually another man who will never bring you the happiness you deserve.”

I drop my hand and step around them, pacing toward the island in the kitchen. “Where’s my phone and my car?”

“The phone is on the kitchen counter,” Trace says. “Your car will be delivered tomorrow, along with the Maserati.” He hardens his tone. “It’s after ten o’clock. You’re not going anywhere tonight.”

“My parents expect me—”

“In two days. You’re going to stay the night and think about everything we’ve told you. If you’re still set on leaving tomorrow, you’ll have your car.”

It’s a logical argument. But he’s always logical. And compelling. And impossibly gorgeous, studying me with those intelligent eyes.

This is a bad idea. The worst. Yet the next question is already falling out of my mouth. “Where would I sleep?”

“Follow me.” Cole turns and heads toward the slight gradient of stairs that leads to the bedrooms.

Trace extends an arm, gesturing for me to walk ahead of him. I assume they have a guest room made up for me, but when I join Cole at the end of the hall, the room he unlocks with a passcode is not what I expected.

A massive king-sized bed sits in the windowed corner. Given the unmade bedsheets and picture frames cluttering the furniture, this isn’t a guest room. I recognize the photos of me in the dance studio, Cole and me at my house, and Cole with my sister’s family. There are others, however, I’ve never seen before. Like the photos of me at the casino.

The camera angles suggest they were taken with the surveillance equipment, and I’m surprised by the high quality of the zoomed-in images. There are some of Trace and me dining together at Bissara, mingling at the casino bar, and holding hands in the lobby.

I didn’t know he was capturing and saving those images, but that’s not what makes my pulse speed up. It’s the sight of them intermixed with Cole’s pictures. I recognize other things, too—Cole’s sneakers on the floor by the bed, his watch on the side table, and the headboard that looks almost identical to the one he bought me years ago.

As Trace’s scowling shadow follows me around the room, I shift to look at him and Cole. “Whose bedroom is this?”

“It used to be mine.” Cole leans against a chest of drawers and straightens a picture frame.

Trace watches me intently. “Now it’s ours.”

My mouth opens and closes, forming words that have no sound. Breathe, dammit. I can’t tell them how insane they are if I’m hyperventilating.

I gulp, and gulp again, filling my lungs with air. “Our bedroom?”

“Yours. His.” Trace clasps his hands behind him. “And mine.”

“What?” I swing my head around, my skin heating as I take in the intimate space. “No, we can’t—”

“It’s just a room.” Cole crosses his arms, frowning.

“A bedroom with only one bed.” I point needlessly at the mattress that now seems a lot smaller than it did a few seconds ago. “You need to explain whatever this is, because right now, I’m jumping to conclusions that aren’t possible.”

“Cole and I discussed multiple ways to approach this.” Trace paces around me, rubbing his jaw. “If we all have separate bedrooms, one of us will come into your room at night without the other one knowing. Or maybe we won’t, but we’ll lie in our beds, wide-awake, worrying about it.”

“You have all this high-tech security.” I wave a hand at the keypad beside the door. “Just set something up that would trip an alarm and notify you when someone entered my room.”

“We’d turn it into a competition.” Cole’s brown eyes glow beneath heavy brows. “We’re trained to penetrate every security system ever designed.”

I cross the large, open space and hold my arms out. “Then put three beds in here.”

“And sleep like twelve-year-olds at summer camp?” Cole grimaces.

“Or we could behave like adults.” Trace perches on the foot of the mattress. “And sleep in a bed that’s plenty big enough, without making an issue out of it.”

How do I not make an issue out of this? My stomach tightens with nerves. “The three of us in a room together is a ticking time bomb. All of us in the same bed after five weeks of being apart? That’s a sure path to total disaster.” I lower my voice. “I don’t want either of you feeling uncomfortable.”

“I don’t know about you,” Cole says to Trace, “but when I fall into that bed tonight, I’m going to sleep harder and deeper than I have in months.”

“Same here.” Trace’s blue eyes bore into mine, like he’s digging for a weak spot.

“I’ve slept like shit.” Cole catches my gaze, his tone soft yet urgent. “I want to be next to you, smell your hair on my pillow, and hear the sound of your breaths while you sleep.”

“We’re trying to give you transparency and reestablish your confidence in us,” Trace says. “No matter our failures and shortcomings, you know you can trust us to lie beside you while you sleep.”

I want that. So much. But they’re so jealous and possessive the idea feels strange and forced. It reeks of deception, like they’re manipulating me into spending time with them. They’re certainly not suggesting we share a bed because they want to.

But my gut tells me the simplest answer is the right one. They miss me as much as I miss them, and they can’t fathom spending another night alone.

And poof goes my will to argue. And my reason. I think my nerves bit the dust, too.

This is the quintessence of love. It’s what makes two friends-turned-enemies share a bed with a woman, even when there are plenty of other beds in the rest of the house.

As I wilt and cave, I hold onto my last thread of sensibility. “One night.”

   
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