That can’t be right. Why would he be sitting here while I’m passed out and left alone in a strange house? Is he in trouble? Was he kidnapped, too?
With my back pressed to the wall, I gulp down my terror and edge forward on shaky legs. Every step down the long stairs requires stealth, vigilance, and a plan—none of which I possess. All I want to do is run back to the bedroom and hide under the bed.
When I reach the bottom stair, I see him.
Cole.
Stubble darkens his handsome profile, his brown hair tousled and physique seemingly stronger, bulkier, than the last time I saw him.
It’s been five weeks.
My pulse slams into overdrive, and a sharp pain stabs my chest.
I kicked him out. Changed my number. Sold my house. I never thought I’d see him again.
And here he is.
He doesn’t look at me, his attention transfixed on something I can’t see. But I’m in his periphery. Experience tells me he’s far more observant than he’s letting on. He knows I’m here.
My stomach hardens as I watch him, waiting for a sign, a verbal cue, anything to clue me in on how to proceed.
Seconds pass like hours. My shoulders tighten, my heart rate reaching dangerous levels. Why isn’t he speaking or moving? I need to know what he’s looking at.
With the poker gripped in a clammy hand, I lean forward, stretching as far as possible while remaining hidden. When the width of the room comes into view, my heart slams to a stop.
Trace.
He stands behind a second couch, his arctic blue eyes and angry scowl trained on Cole. The sight of him in a t-shirt and dark denim jeans is arresting, but that isn’t what holds my breath hostage.
He’s aiming a handgun, finger on the trigger, directly at Cole.
“How are you feeling, baby?” Cole doesn’t take his eyes off Trace.
I jerk my head back, and a sudden coldness hits my core. Cole’s talking to me? Why is his tone so casual? Like he’s not staring down the barrel of a gun. Like I wasn’t drugged and kidnapped and dropped in the most fucked-up situation imaginable. What the fuck is going on?
“Danni.” Trace cuts his eyes to me and returns to Cole. “Put down the poker and come sit down.”
This isn’t happening. They wouldn’t have done this.
“Please tell me you’re not responsible for drugging and kidnapping me.” My voice is reedy, halting, disbelieving.
They continue to stare at each other in silence, with that damn gun hovering between them.
“Is anyone else here?” I grip the wall and scan the living room and open kitchen on the far end.
“Just the three of us.” Cole stretches his arms across the back of the couch, making his chest a bigger target for Trace’s bullet. “One big happy family.”
I have so many questions, and my composure is eroding by the second. Fear from moments ago, grief from the past five weeks, the devastation of their betrayal, the utter shock and relief in seeing them both again—all of it churns into a cauldron of bubbling, maniacal emotions. My throat swells. My eyes burn, and the fireplace poker trembles so violently in my hand I can’t hold onto it.
“Trace?” I set the poker on the stairs and take a cautious step forward, tears welling. “Did you do this? Did you kidnap us?”
It kills me to think he might’ve resorted to this level of madness, but he’s holding a gun. I didn’t even know he owned one.
He laughs, a cold cavernous sound. “Explain to me why you think I’m the bad guy.”
I open my mouth to mention the weapon, but my assumption might be wrong. What if Cole kidnapped me and Trace showed up to save me?
That doesn’t feel right, though. This entire situation is fucking with my head, but there’s one thing I know for sure.
“You like to have the upper hand.” I swallow, eyes on Trace. “When I left you, I took away your control over me. Is that what this is? Are you taking the control back?” I pause behind the chair that sits crosswise between them. “Please, put down the gun.”
“Or shoot me already.” With a humorless grin, Cole softly sings along with the vocals of the song, taunting Trace with an arrogant lack of concern.
His beautiful voice is unnervingly distracting. Deep and seductive, he carries a humming tune, mouthing the aggressive lyrics about corrosion of trust, loss of security, and the total breakdown of love.
The song pretty much sums up the state of our ruined relationships. We circled an unsolvable problem, inadvertently tangling a web around us. Lies, jealousy, resentment, stubborn love, all of it spinning us into a vicious spiral. The more we struggled, the stickier and tighter the web became. So I walked away, gave up everything I loved, before it was too late to escape.
Or so I thought.
“I have more control than you know, Danni.” Trace holds the gun steady, arm stretched and trained on Cole. “But that’s not what this is about.”
“You’re holding Cole at gunpoint, and that has nothing to do with me?” I feel sick to my stomach with anxiety.
“We’re just settling a disagreement.” Trace scans my hunched, swaying stance. “Sit your ass down before you pass out.”
“I’m not moving until you put away the gun.”
“She’s not impressed with your weapon, asshole.” Cole smirks. “No wonder she left you.”
“I left you, too,” I whisper.
A dismal cloud darkens Cole’s expression, and his hands clench on the back of the couch.
“Have you both lost your minds?” I stab a shaky finger between them, my voice rising to a teary shrill. “I quit this and moved on. I’m supposed to be on my way to a new life right now. A new life without you. So I’m struggling to understand why I’m here, knee-deep in your toxic, manipulative bullshit.”
“How’s that going for you?” Cole tilts his head, giving me the full brunt of his gaze.
“What?”
“Your life.” His jaw sets. “Moving on. Without me.”
It’s only been five weeks, and I feel like a severed, broken sliver of the person I was. I’ve lost weight, lost energy, lost the will to do anything. The move to Florida is supposed to be a change of scenery, a way out of this miserable goddamn rut. But I’m not telling him any of that.
“Which one of you drugged me?” My throat scratches, my eyes gummy with hot tears.
Trace regards me for a moment, his brows pulling in and expression pained. Then he lowers the gun and releases the magazine into his hand.
“Do you have any idea how scared I was?” The muscles in my neck strain to the point of pain. “I woke alone, in a strange room, thinking the worst. I didn’t know who took me, why I was here, or what would happen to me.”
“I know my apology has no weight under the circumstances.” Trace empties the chamber on the gun and sets the pieces on the sofa table before him. Then his blue eyes lift to mine. “But I’m sorry. We stepped out of your room to settle a dispute.”
“It was a lapse in judgment.” Cole bends forward, elbows on his knees, and regards me with shadows in his gaze. “We’re both at fault. I’m sorry, too.”
They’re apologizing for leaving me unattended? What about the whole damn kidnapping thing? Maybe it’s the drugs, but I’m having a really hard time understanding what the living fuck is going on.
“Why did you do this?” I hug my waist, working to keep my blubbering emotions under control. “Why am I here?”
“You haven’t danced since you left,” Trace says softly.
I look away and grind my teeth. “You were watching me?”
“Always.”
“My house is still bugged?”
My old house. The reminder that I sold it makes my chest hurt.
“I reinstalled the cameras the day I moved out.” Cole studies me intently.
“It was all an illusion then.” My voice rasps, thick with resentment. “I was never free of you.” A hollow laugh bubbles up, choked by a sob. “You let me walk out of the penthouse that day, with every intention of monitoring me? That’s so fucking ironic, because your cameras and listening devices and constant invasion of my privacy were big reasons why I left.”