L.O.V.E.

by Krissy Daniels

  “Ow, Jesus. Fuck,” the man hissed.

  To which the nurse replied, “One more.”

  Another hiss.

  “There. Done. Not so bad, huh?” A machine beeped, then buzzed. “The doctor will be in shortly.”

  “How long?” the man grumbled.

  “Well, let’s see,” the nurse replied, no constraint in her tone, “when he’s done assessing the damage you inflicted on those five men, setting that broken arm, resetting that dislocated shoulder. Patching up five split lips, one broken jaw, two broken noses, seven—”

  “I get it, I get it.”

  Footsteps came my way, the wheels of the machine squeaking. Before the nurse rounded the curtain, she stopped, and over her shoulder, asked, “I heard you were defending a lady’s honor. That true?”

  “What the fuck ever,” the mystery man grumbled.

  She only chuckled, offering me a wink as she passed. “I’ll be right back, sweetheart.”

  Damn, emergency room drama put any telenovela to shame.

  I wanted to question the man, but he seemed grumpy, and I wasn’t in the mood for conversation.

  “Where is he?” someone bellowed from down the hall. “Where the fuck is he?”

  Shuffling feet and heavy footsteps ensued.

  “Sir. Sir. Excuse me.”

  The curtain next to me billowed. My neighbor muttered, “Fuck.”

  I relaxed into my pillow to enjoy the show.

  “What the fuck is your problem?” the intruder yelled.

  “The fuck’s your problem? You had her and you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants long enough to realize the best woman you’re ever gonna meet was right there, right fucking there for the taking.”

  “How the hell is that any of your concern?”

  “Where the fuck did you get that video?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I got it.”

  “And felt the need to show it to everyone in the goddamn bar? Why? Because she dumped your sorry ass? You bitter fucking prick.”

  “Again, why the fuck do you care?”

  “You know what this will do to Ellis and Lacey.”

  The weight of a two-ton puzzle crashed over me, pieces clicking into place, crushing my body.

  Ellis and Lacey. Video?

  My drug stupor lifted. “What video?” I yelled over the angry voices.

  “The fuck?” one of the men grumbled.

  “What goddamn video are you talking about?”

  The curtain rustled. Martin came around the corner, his face a bloody, swollen mess. “Nats?” His lower lip was two sizes larger than normal. “What the hell happened to you?”

  “Natalie?” the other man said. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  More rustling. Martin was shoved aside. A bloody and not as bruised as Martin, but still damaged Cole, stepped into my field of vision, blocking everything out of sight.

  “What the hell?” His fingers were on my face, too delicate for a man his size, too tender for a man who wasn’t mine. “Who did this to you?”

  Heart racing, my breaths came jagged. “What video?” I asked again, terrified of the answer.

  Cole only stared at me, jaw tight, gaze hard.

  His chest rose and fell four times before I shouted again, “What video?”

  Nothing.

  “Martin?” I tried to peek around Cole. “Martin! What video?”

  Martin stood at the end of my bed. Bloodshot eyes, three-day stubble. He pulled his cell from his back pocket.

  “Don’t fucking do it, man,” Cole warned.

  “Yes,” I argued, pushing Cole away from me. “Show me.”

  I knew. In my gut, I sensed what was coming.

  Martin thumbed his screen, his tongue darting out to lick the cut on his lip. He handed me the phone.

  And there it played in glorious HD. The video. The culmination of my years of suffering under the sadistic hand of Victoria Ford.

  The image of me, a naked white girl, smashed between two large, dark, muscular bodies—my twin cousins—seemingly entwined in passion.

  “Hey,” Martin smirked. “If I’d known you were into that kinky shit—”

  Cole’s fist hit Martin’s face, laying him down for the count.

  I couldn’t find it in me to care about Martin.

  I needed so desperately for Cole not to jump to conclusions. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Doesn’t matter what I think. This is bullshit. The fucking video should not be passed around.”

  “That was high school,” I muttered.

  “What that is, is none of my business. I did some fucked-up shit back in the day.”

  “You don’t understand…” God, how could I tell him?

  “It’s not my business.” He stepped back. Shook his head. His laugh came cruel. “I thought you were a little too close with your cousin when we met a few months back.”

  Sword through my chest.

  He couldn’t look me in the eye. His obvious disgust hurt deeper than any physical wound.

  When he turned to walk away, I spilled my guts, because fuck Victoria. He’d fall victim eventually. “That was right before graduation. I bought myself a new bikini. Lacey, Finn, Felix, and I were minding our business, found our own little corner of the beach. I got up to use the restroom. My ex was there, waiting for me, said he wanted to talk. Wanted me back.” I sucked in a shaky breath. “You see, he dumped me for Victoria two weeks earlier, just like all the other guys I dated. We talked. I said there was no chance of us getting back together. I headed back to the beach. Next thing I know, someone is laughing behind me. I hear a snip, snip, and my top falls off. I’m trying to cover my chest, more snips, and there goes my bottoms, too. I turn to find Victoria holding a pair of scissors and her phone, she and three of her friends recording the whole incident.

  “There was nowhere for me to go, so I ran toward my towel, but I tripped. My cousins ran to the rescue and threw themselves over me to cover my naked ass.”

  I shivered, fighting a wave of nausea. “I’d had it with the bullying. With her hatred toward me. Lost my shit. I fought my cousins and tried to get up. I didn’t care if I was naked. I was going to kick her scrawny little ass. I got one punch in, but then she stabbed me in the head with her scissors, screaming at me like I was the crazy one. What you see in that video is me fighting, trying to get free of my cousins, while they’re holding me down. Victoria cut the video, made it look kinky. Shared it with everyone in school.”

  My breaths came strained. Violent tremors shook my hands.

  Martin rose from the floor, bloodier than before.

  Cole stood over me. A statue. Unreadable.

  Footfalls came our way. A soft voice blurted, “Martin, I came as soon as—” Victoria skidded to a halt, eyes wide, bouncing from Martin to Cole to me, then back to Cole, who stared right through my aching skull.

  “Cole, sweetie, what happened?” She stepped behind her lover, placed a hand on his arm.

  Martin growled and disappeared.

  “What’s going on?” Though her tone was measured, her glare was feral, and I had no doubt, were there not witnesses, she would stab me again, a fatal blow.

  Cole snapped a hand to the back of Victoria’s neck, said, “That’s a good question, Vic. Why don’t you tell me what the fuck is going on,” while he ushered her away from my bed and disappeared.

  Dad had the best arms. Solid and strong. Readily available for hugs. Perfect for hauling his drunk daughter home from his best friend’s bar.

  Damn alcohol. Stupid pain meds.

  “All right, where’s your key?” he grumbled, holding me snug against his side and shuffling through my handbag. “There we are.” He unlocked my door, scooted me forward.

  I flopped onto my couch, the room tilting, my stomach churning, my sorrows thoroughly drowned.

  Lip quivering, I avoided his glare, staring instead at his brown loafers. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  “You’re lucky Hank was on
shift tonight.” He made his way to the kitchen, filled a glass of water, then stood at my side. “What’s going on with you?”

  I snagged the glass and guzzled, then wiped my lips with the back of my arm. “I just wanted to stop by Harry’s. Say hello to everyone.”

  “Bullshit.” With a huff, Dad shrugged off his jacket. “You never go to a bar alone. Not even to Harry’s.” He dropped next to me, making the cushions bounce. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  I blew a raspberry through numb lips. “I don’t have Lacey anymore.”

  “Of course, you do.”

  “No, Dad. You don’t understand.” I grabbed his arm to make sure he paid attention. “I can’t see Lacey anymore.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Of course—”

  “She’s married now,” I sobbed, releasing my pain, my heart too soft and bruised to carry all the sadness.

  He unsuccessfully fought a smile. “That doesn’t change anything.”

  “You don’t get it.” Hands to the sky, I schooled my father. “She has Ellis. And where Lacey goes, Ellis goes. Where Ellis goes, Cole goes.”

  Dad nodded. Rubbed his chin. “Who’s Cole?”

  I licked salty moisture off my lip. “The man I’m in love with.” God, that word. Love. Four simple letters. One ridiculous wallop.

  I tested it’s weight on my tongue. “Looooove. L.O.V. E.”

  Dad’s chest bounced with what was sure to be restrained laughter. “You’re in love with a man, and I haven’t met him?”

  “I’m so ashamed.” Again with the tears.

  “Talk to me.”

  Face buried in my hands, I confessed. “I don’t know how or when it happened for sure. He’s Ellis’s best friend. He looks at me like I’m his reason for existing. And he’s everywhere. Just everywhere. I’ve tried to avoid him. But somehow, he’s always there.”

  “Okay.” My father shifted, his reliable arm weighting my shoulder. “So what’s the problem?”

  “He’s engaged.”

  “Well, that’s not good.”

  “To Victoria Ford.” I fell against him then, burying my face in his chest.

  His body stiffened, arm tightened. “That’s the most fucked-up twist of fate I’ve ever heard.”

  “See?” I looked up, searching for comfort in his weathered face. “See why I needed a drink?” Or three.

  “Natalie.” He curled both arms around me and rested his chin on my head. “I’m sorry that you’re hurting, but you’re smarter than this. You know better than to get drunk over a guy. You’ve put years of hard work into getting over the shit Victoria put you through.”

  “I know, Dad.”

  He gave me a shake. “And the girl I raised would never pine over a married man.”

  I raised a pointed finger. “With the exception of Kit Harrington.”

  Dad chuckled. “Okay. Yeah, I’ll give you that one.”

  I snuggled closer to my dad, my rock, savoring the healing comfort of his heartbeat. “I’ve tried to get him out of my head. I know it’s wrong. Why is this so hard?”

  With a long sigh, my father slumped. “Maybe this is fate telling you to take that job in Whisper Springs.”

  Dad’s words cut deep. Had to kill him to speak that single, heavy sentence, because I was his only child, and family was everything to my dad. But he’d always had my back, and he’d always known best.

  I must’ve passed out in my father’s embrace. I woke sometime later, covered in a wool blanket with a pillow under my head. Dad sat in the kitchen, eating a sandwich. A soccer game played on mute on my flat screen.

  “How ya’ feeling, kiddo?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the television.

  “Okay.”

  “I flushed your pain pills.”

  “Oh.” I rubbed the haze from my eyes.

  “You don’t need that shit. Acetaminophen and ibuprofen from here on out.”

  “Sure.” I tried to sit up, but the effort made my head throb.

  Bathed in flickering light from the television, Dad’s shadow bounced against the far wall like a guardian angel watching over my home. I dug my phone out of my back pocket and captured the moment because my father, truly, was a gift from God. Patient. Wise. Stern when he needed to be. Tender when my heart ached. My rock. My safe place. My hero.

  “Your milk is expired.” He popped the last bite into his mouth.

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  The screen went black. Dad rinsed his plate, then came my way with another full glass of water. “I know you’ll do the right thing, Nugget. You’ve got your mom’s brains, her grace, too. I don’t doubt for a second you love this man, otherwise, you wouldn’t say it. So I know you’re suffering, and you can talk to me about anything, anytime. You know that, right?”

  I nodded. He set the glass on the coffee table.

  “I’m gonna get out of your hair, but you need to make a promise.”

  “What?”

  “No more going to bars alone, even Harry’s.”

  “I promise.”

  He snagged his jacket. Kissed my forehead. “Love you, Nugget.”

  “Love you, Dad.”

  “I’ll check on you in the morning.”

  “’Kay, Daddy.”

  The lights went out. So did I.

  Natalie

  The text on my screen read: Open your door.

  Same message as the last three.

  I stood my ground at the counter, filling my goblet. Wine first. Uncomfortable altercation second.

  Four desperate knocks hit the front door.

  Two deep breaths, one slow sip, and I made my way toward the unwelcome visitor. Hand to the knob, I closed my eyes and prayed for strength and wisdom.

  Sinful beauty greeted me. A test. A trap. My forbidden fruit disguised in jeans and a baseball cap.

  “For the love of God, what are you doing here?”

  Cole white-knuckled my door jamb. “We need to talk.”

  “We really don’t.” Because talking reminded me of everything I wanted and couldn’t have.

  The muscles in his arms bunched. Gnawing on his bottom lip, he stared through me as if weighing his options.

  Options were not on the table.

  “Who in the hell buzzed you in?” I hoped the heat from my cheeks would fuel the glare I fired his direction.

  “Some sweet old lady with a feisty corgi.”

  Mrs. Mariani. “Traitor,” I mumbled, though I couldn’t be angry at the woman. No doubt he’d wielded his magic smile, charmed her into compliance.

  Uninvited, he stepped over the threshold. I backed away, his beauty too cruel, his presence an affliction.

  For one whole month, I had managed to avoid Cole Adams and his cheek porn. I’d beaten my addiction to those damn dimples.

  Five seconds in his presence, and I was jonesing again. “Get out of my house.”

  “I can’t do that.” He closed the door. Turned the lock.

  Golden eyes met mine, and I was transfixed. Victim to the wonderment that was Cole Adams.

  “The wedding is off.” His lips moved.

  The words registered but my thoughts faltered, several beats behind.

  “Hmm,” was all I managed to say. I headed for the kitchen, stealing a moment to collect my wits, which Cole had splattered all over the entryway.

  “Did you hear me?” He followed, personal space be damned. “Victoria and I are over.”

  “So what?” I turned and threw my hands in the air, exasperated. “People break up every day. People kiss and make up every day. It’s none of my business, so why are you here?”

  Expression pained, he lifted a finger and traced a delicate line below the scar on my forehead. “You know why.”

  “I know nothing, Jon Snow,” came breathy and unbidden.

  Pop. Pop. Dimples. Wielded like weapons, knocking me dizzy. Cole caught my waist and with little effort, lifted me to the counter, pressing his forehead to mine. “You’re killing me, you beautiful dork.”r />
  Oh, sweet Jesus, the proximity. Unbearable. Unbelievable.

  “Tell me you know why I’m here.” His lips teased mine, soft, unsure, and definitely unreciprocated. “Tell me you’ve wanted this since that day in the coffee shop.” He towered over me, tall and confident and, damn, he smelled so good, his cologne soft and citrusy. His breath, minty and sweet.

  “Tell me I’m not alone,” he pleaded, capturing my chin and killing me slowly with his hopeful gaze.

  “This is wrong,” I argued.

  “Why?” he asked, strained, raspy. “We’re both single now. Why is it wrong?”

  Because we’d been wrong for too long. “You only just left her.”

  “Four weeks ago.” He pulled a strand of my hair through his fingers, studied my face, my scar. “Right after the hospital incident.”

  Lacey hadn’t mentioned the breakup. Then again, I’d forbidden any talk of Victoria.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He stepped away, face flushed. “We’re over.”

  “It does matter, Cole.” Nobody survived Victoria untarnished. If he’d ended things because of me, Hell would rain down in one form or another. “What happened?”

  He leaned against the counter opposite me. Arms crossed. Stance set wide. So sure in his conviction. “Truth is, things had been off with us for months. And then that video.” He scratched the back of his head. “I found out some things.” His eyes seemed to lose focus, something weighing heavy.

  “What things?”

  “Don’t get mad,” he said to the floor.

  My skin prickled. “Tell me.”

  “I have a buddy in the SPD. A detective.” He cleared his throat. Nodded. Hit me with a hard stare. “I called him after you received that text in Vegas. Those messages you’ve been getting? They were—”

  “From Victoria,” I blurted, heat flooding my face, shivers dancing up and down my arms. Oh, God. He’d been watching out for me.

  “You knew?”

  “I suspected.” She’d played the same game in high school, using multiple numbers via burner apps to harass me.

  The air thickened. Cole’s eyes darkened. I expected anger, but instead, he nodded in understanding. “When I questioned her actions, she didn’t deny a thing, but she didn’t defend herself. She screamed and cried, made like I was the bad guy, threw her ring in my face and stormed out.”