She touches her forehead to mine. “I love you, Cole, and I can’t wait to be your wife.”
I place a chaste kiss on her lips, brushing her tears away with my thumb. “I don’t have the kind of money you’re used to. I don’t think your parents would approve of you marrying someone like me.”
“I don’t need money. All I need is you. My parents will see how well you treat me, how happy you make me. That’s all that matters. Me and you.”
“Just the two of us, Penn. Forever.”
“And maybe a little one running around too.” Her smile fades, and her eyes suddenly go wide. “Oh, no. What if you don’t want kids? We didn’t talk about this. We didn’t have any of the important talks we’re supposed to have!”
I chuckle, rolling onto my back and pulling her on top of me. “Of course I want kids. I want to make a family with you. Watch your beautiful belly grow. Hold our baby in my arms and rock him or her back to sleep in the middle of the night.”
“Her. I think our first one will be a her.”
My eyebrows lift. “Is that right?”
She giggles as she nods. “I just feel it.”
“Okay. A little girl that looks just like her mama. I’m down with that.”
She rolls her hips against me. “What do you say we start practicing?”
“I say I love the way you think.”
Penny leans in and presses her lips to mine. “I’m going to love you forever, Cole.”
“Me too, Penny.”
Always.
Nine
Cole
“No.”
Josie throws her hands up. “Why not?”
“Because I’m not a babysitter.”
“You’re right. You’re not.” She folds her arms over her chest. “You’re an uncle.”
“No.”
A frustrated growl rips from her throat. “You’re impossible! I don’t understand why you can’t watch the kids for two measly hours so your big sister can go to dinner for her anniversary.”
“I don’t understand how you can’t understand why that might be hard for me.”
“Why don’t you help me understand, Cole?”
I shake my head. “Forget it.”
“Exactly.” Josie huffs out a laugh and runs her fingers through her hair. “How can I understand anything that goes on in that head of yours if you don’t talk to me? You never talk to me.”
“Nothin’ to talk about.”
“If you won’t talk to me, maybe you should talk to a professional. Callie sees a therapist and—”
“No!” My fists clench at my sides. “End of discussion.”
She blows a puff of air through her lips. “The boys have been looking forward to watching Star Wars with you all week. All you’d have to do is press play, and they’ll sit there. I’ll put the twins down before I leave, so you won’t have to deal with poopy diapers or bottles or anything.”
“It’s not about the diapers or the feeding, Josie.”
She steps closer to me. “Then what is it about?”
I stare into her eyes, ashamed to say it aloud, the words burning my tongue like acid.
It’s about being alone with the kids.
Unaccompanied.
Unsupervised.
Trusted.
My chin drops, and my voice quivers. “You shouldn’t want me to watch your kids.”
Josie’s lips part, eyes widening in surprise. “Cole, what happened is not your fault. You—”
“Don’t.” My razor-sharp tone causes her shoulders to jump. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”
She chews her bottom lip, and I know she wants to press on. My sister isn’t one to leave anything well enough alone.
But she heeds my warning.
With a nod, she turns around and walks out of the pool house.
Guilt gnaws at my conscience for an hour before I give in and make my way to Josie’s house.
Don’t know what I’m going to say, but I have to make up for refusing to watch her kids. She’s letting me stay in her pool house for free, giving me a place to stay and food to eat. I’d be a selfish prick if I didn’t try to help her and Dan out when they needed it.
The faint sound of voices floats through the house as I look for the happy family. The kitchen and dining rooms are empty, so I head toward the living room.
“Yes! Now it’s your turn!” Brandon’s voice gets louder the closer I get. “Come on, Callie!”
Callie.
I despise the way my pulse thunders at the sound of that woman’s name.
Eliciting something inside me that I shouldn’t feel.
Not for her.
Not for anyone.
Not ever again.
I hang back behind the corner, assessing the scene. Dozens of pillows and blankets line the floor, and the coffee table is shoved against the wall to open the space. Brandon and Miles are perched on top of each armrest, black streaks across their faces like war paint, shirtless and chanting like skinny little savages.
“Callie! Callie! Callie!”
Where’s the woman in question, you ask?
She’s balancing herself on the back of the couch, legs planted in a wide squat, arms stretched out in front of her, tongue between her teeth like she’s rallying all of her concentration for what she’s about to do. Her hoodie is tied around her neck like a cape. The now-yellowed bruises on her arm serve as her own war paint—the scars from the real-life battles she’s been in.
“All right, boys,” she says. “Give me a countdown.”
“Three! Two! One!”
Callie launches herself into the air and does a front-flip before bouncing onto the pillows, sticking the landing.
Well, I definitely wasn’t expecting that.
The boys cheer, diving off the couch to high-five Callie, who then raises her arms and flexes her non-existent biceps.
Can’t remember the last time I smiled—a true, genuine smile—but catching a glimpse of a carefree Callie Kingston being silly with the boys has the corner of my mouth curving up.
That should be my cue to leave. I should acknowledge the danger sign and walk away.
But Miles spots me lurking. “Uncle Cole!”
Callie spins around, green eyes wide.
I step further into the room, though my feet should be carrying me back to the pool house. “What’s going on in here?”
“We’re wrestling!” Miles spreads his arms out wide. “I’m Mayhem Miles.”
Brandon slams his fist into his palm. “I’m Brandon the Bruiser.”
I arch an eyebrow at Callie. “And who are you?”
Her cheeks tinge a deep shade of pink. “I’m just playing around with them.”
I shake my head. “After a move like that, I’d say you need a fitting name.”
“Callie the Crusher!” Miles shouts.
“Callie the Cannon,” Brandon offers.
She scrunches her nose as she laughs. “No, no. I don’t need a name like that.”
No, those aren’t right. She’s not one for violence. She isn’t rough or loud or in your face. Callie possesses a silent strength, unaware of all that she’s capable of.
Don’t say it.
Don’t say it.
Don’t say it.
But the words are tumbling out of my mouth before I can catch them. “Callie the Courageous.”
Callie’s full, pink lips part, and her magnetic orbs lock with mine.
“That’s perfect!” Miles holds out his fist, and I tap my knuckles against his.
Callie lifts a brow. “Why are you here?”
I don’t miss the accusatory tone in her voice. No doubt Josie told her that I’d refused to babysit.
“Came to talk to Josie.”
“Mom left, like, twenty minutes ago.” Brandon smacks my arm with the back of his hand. “Hey, can we watch Star Wars tonight, Uncle Cole?”
“I should go.”
“No!” the boys whine in unison.
&nbs
p; “You don’t have to leave,” Callie says. “I’ll make some popcorn. You guys go get the movie started.”
“Yes!” Brandon drags Miles by his elbow toward the basement.
As soon as the sound of their feet beat a drumline on the stairs, Callie plants her hands on her hips and glares at me. “You made your sister very upset tonight.”
My shoulders droop as I heave a sigh. “That’s why I’m here. Wanted to apologize.”
“Why wouldn’t you help her out? She’s helping you. It’s the least you could do.”
“I know.”
“Then why? Why’s it so hard for you to spend some time with your family?”
I scrub a hand over my jaw and lift my eyes to the ceiling. “It’s complicated. It ... it’s painful for me.”
Those keen eyes of hers soften as she considers me a moment. “I get that.” She gestures to the baby monitor clipped to the waistband of her leggings. “It’s easier for me when the twins aren’t here. But when they’re awake, when Serenity looks at me and reaches her arms out for me ...” She shakes her head with a wistful smile. “It kills me.”
My head tilts, and I move toward her, unable to stop the magnetic intrigue that consumes me every time I’m around this woman. “Why’s that?”
She unties the sweatshirt from her neck and pulls it over her head as she makes her way into the kitchen, retreating into her turtle shell.
I follow, like a dog being lured with a treat.
Callie searches the cabinets until she finds a box of popcorn. I lean my hip against the counter, watching and waiting, while she places the bag in the microwave and sets the timer.
“I can’t have kids.” Her back is still to me, and her voice is low. “I’ve gotten pregnant a few times. Almost went a whole trimester once.” She glances at me over her shoulder. “But I miscarried every time.”
Fuck.
Awareness spins around me. “That’s why you got so upset by that couple at the Fourth of July party.”
She nods, finally turning to face me. “Doctors said I had submucosal fibroids, so I had surgery to try to remove them. It should’ve worked, but it turns out Paul’s sperm isn’t strong enough. The odds are against us, so he ... we decided to stop trying. Many people don’t get it. They have kids, and they go about their lives, not realizing what a blessing their family truly is.”
“They take it for granted,” I grate out, hatred and disgust coursing through my veins.
“It’s difficult to be around people like that. But it’s not their fault.”
I choke out a bitter laugh. “The hell it isn’t.”
“They just don’t know what it’s like, and I’m glad for that. Nobody should have to go through this. I’ve put such a strain on my marriage and ...” She lets her sentence trail off.
She said she put a strain on her marriage. Not the situation, not the infertility or the fibroids. Her. As if it’s her fault. It’s not, though I won’t tell her otherwise.
Everyone always tries to absolve you of the guilt you place on yourself, as if their words can wash away the truth.
Callie’s eyebrows draw together, and again she asks, “Why is it painful for you to be around Josie’s kids?”
Agony throbs in my chest like a caged lion trying to escape. I’m tortured by the memory of my past, yet tortured just the same from keeping it locked inside. Damned if I do, and damned if I don’t.
So I don’t.
Doesn’t matter either way. I doubt even Callie could fathom what I’ve been through.
And for some reason, I don’t think I could stand the way she’d look at me if I told her.
The microwave beeps, pulling her attention off of me. It buys me enough time to escape from the kitchen and get to the basement.
Like the coward I am.
Callie doesn’t say a word about it when she comes down and hands the boys their bowls. She plops down on the couch cushion beside me and situates a large bowl between us. Brandon presses play, and for the next two hours, I let the world fade away.
It’s after nine when the front door thuds closed upstairs. My nephews are still glued to the screen, while my eyes are glued to Callie. She fell asleep halfway through the movie, and I haven’t been able to focus on anything else.
Long lashes fan out against her porcelain cheeks. Soft, steady breaths pass through her parted lips. Her tiny body is curled beneath the blanket. Secrets and pain surround her, calling out to me like a beacon—someone who understands.
Desire fists my stomach, and I have no right. I don’t even know this woman, yet she’s stirring things inside me that I don’t deserve to feel.
She needs a savior. A white knight to rescue her.
I’m not that guy.
I’m a destroyer.
I’m the wrecking ball who tears everything to the ground until there’s nothing left.
Cole the Killer.
Ten
Callie
I nudge the car door shut with my hip as I balance the bags in my arms.
My keys slip out of my fingertips, and when I dip to catch them, one of the paper bags breaks open, and everything spills out into the driveway.
I groan and flick my eyes skyward. “Seriously?”
I kneel down and set my bags onto the ground. Collecting the packets of seeds and various garden tools, I stuff them into the other bags.
The rumble and stutter of Cole’s truck thunders down the block. He pulls in front of Josie’s house and kills the engine, lifting his chin when he spots me through his open window.
I wave. “Hey, Cole.”
He swings open his door and steps out of his truck, eyeing me from under the brim of his hat. “Why are you on the ground?”
“Stupid bags always break. I miss plastic.”
He strides over and takes the bags from me, stacking them on top of each other. “Paper’s better for the environment. Hold them from the bottom, like this.”
I snatch my keys off the concrete and offer him a sheepish smile. “Thanks for the tip.”
He nods his head toward my house. “Open your door. I’ll bring these in for you.”
“You can bring them through the backyard, actually.”
One corner of his mouth turns up. “Don’t want me getting dirt on your perfect floors?”
“I’m building a garden.” I arch an eyebrow. “Though, you are pretty dirty. Where do you go when you’re out all day?”
“Work.”
“And is your job to roll around in mud?”
“Construction.”
My gaze skates over his biceps as I imagine him in a yellow hardhat with a tool belt slung low around his hips.
Bad, Callie. Stop ogling your best friend’s brother.
“You know how to build a garden?” he asks as I punch in the code to my back gate.
“Not a clue. But I’m going to learn.”
“How?”
“YouTube.”
He walks across the lawn and sets my bags down on the patio table. “YouTube?”
I plant my hand on my hip. “Yeah, so?”
“And you’re going to make a garden bed?”
I shrug, pretending like I know what that is. “Shouldn’t be difficult.”
“Where’s your wood?”
I slide my sunglasses to the top of my head. “Wood?”
“For the garden bed. And the saw to cut the wood. You have one of those?”
I gesture to the shed at the far corner of the yard. “I’m sure there’s one in there.”
“Does your husband build things?”
“No.”
“Then why would there be a saw in the shed?”
“I don’t know. That’s what a shed is for, storing tools, isn’t it?” I lift my hands and let them smack against my thighs. “What’s with the Spanish Inquisition?”
He blows a stream of air through his nostrils and shakes his head. “Give me five minutes. I’ll be right back.”
I scoff. “I didn’t ask you to
do this for me.”
“I’m not,” he calls over his shoulder while he jogs to the gate. “I’m going to teach you.”
Warmth pools in my stomach, and it trickles out to my arms and legs.
He’s not going to do it for me—or pay someone else to do it.
He doesn’t tell me that I can’t do it myself.
He’s going to teach me how.
Finally, someone who doesn’t want to control what I do.
An excited squeal bubbles up into my throat, and I rush inside to change.
Maverick lifts onto his hind legs and puts his paws on my chest, licking my face.
“Hi, my love.” I scratch behind his ears and push him down. “I have to change, and then you’re coming with me outside.”
He barks and springs up the stairs ahead of me.
After I throw on a pair of cut-off denim shorts and a ratty, old tank top, I twist my hair into a high bun and push a red bandana-style headband onto my head.
“Let’s go chop some wood, Mav!”
When I slide open the back door, Maverick pushes past my legs and charges toward Cole, who’s setting up some kind of table on the grass.
And dear God he’s wearing a tool belt.
“Maverick! Get down. No jumping.”
“Ah, he’s excited. Let him jump.” Cole cups Maverick’s face in both hands and bends down to let him lick his cheek.
Maverick’s tail swats the air so hard I can feel the breeze. I grimace as he bounces on his hind legs to get closer to Cole’s mouth. “Okay, boy. That’s enough. Leave the poor man alone.”
Cole glances at me and then does a double-take. His eyes blaze a trail down to my bare legs before cutting back to Maverick. “Cute dog.”
“Thanks.” I gesture to the table. “So, what’s all this?”
“This is my makeshift sawing table. You’re going to measure the wood, and prop it up on here when you cut it.”
“Where’d you get all that wood from?”
“Had scraps in my truck.”
“I can pay you for it.”
He holds his palm up. “I’m not taking your money, Callie.”
Something about the desperation in his eyes makes me not want to press the issue, so I let it go. “Where do we start?”
What's Left of Me Page 7
