by Pam Godwin
I give him a grateful look and return to Cole. “Six months ago, I started dating. My sister set me up with a guy. I didn’t know him, didn’t really care who he was. I hadn’t so much as kissed a man in three years, and I needed… I just really needed to move forward with my life. So I kissed this guy. He groped me—”
Cole’s hands clench tightly around mine, and his molars saw side to side.
“Sleeping with him was a possibil—” I squeak at another painful squeeze of his grip.
“Shit.” He relaxes his fingers around mine, adjusting his hold to stroke his thumbs over my knuckles. “Go on.”
“I was lonely, Cole.” My voice trembles, and the backs of my eyes burn. “You were dead, and I…I missed you so much. I thought, maybe, if I put myself out there again, if I spent the night with someone, I wouldn’t hurt so badly.” Tears sneak into my words, breaking up the syllables. “I started thinking I was sick, you know. Like I had an addiction to grief and heartache, because I couldn’t pull myself out of it and—”
“Danni.” Cole cups my face, lifting my chin to look at me. “I get it, baby. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t fucking breathe without you. You don’t have to explain it. I felt every mile and second that separated us, and I’m so goddamn sorry.”
“Did you…um…?” I grip his wrist and swallow. And swallow again. “Did you seek comfort…?”
“With another woman?” His eyes widen. “God, no.” Then louder. “No.”
My heart thuds wildly. “It’s been four and a half years since you…you…had sex?”
“You’re the only one.” He searches my face, his expression earnest.
Why do I suddenly feel so cold? I shouldn’t be stunned by this. Cole is unwavering in his loyalty to me. I just…I hadn’t let myself hope.
He was faithful.
And I wasn’t.
As the realization settles in my chest, my lungs work harder. My breaths become shallow, and I gulp for air.
I wasn’t faithful to him. I wasn’t faithful.
Sweat beads on my skin. Shadows blot my vision. Oh God, I can’t breathe.
Trace moves in my periphery, and his hand clutches my arm. “Danni?”
“Give her space.” Cole brushes the hair from my face. “Breathe, baby. Deep breaths.”
“I’m good.” I push him back, wheezing as I try to keep the sobs from escaping. “Just give me a minute.”
“This isn’t your fault.” Cole leans away, but doesn’t go far.
“None of this is your fault.” Trace hovers beside me, the heat of his body a comforting presence.
“I know.” I pull in a deep breath, and another. “But I feel this…this overwhelming shame, like I betrayed you. Like I’m betraying both of you.”
Cole reaches for me. “You’re not—”
“I love him, Cole.” I grab Trace’s hand while holding Cole’s wretched gaze. “I love him fiercely, and that’s not all.” I turn to Trace. “When I look at Cole, all the longing and devotion I felt for him comes rushing back. My feelings for him haven’t faded. Not at all.”
A muscle bounces in Trace’s jaw, and his eyes shutter.
“So yeah…” I sniff and glare at the bedding. “I feel confused and helpless and so goddamn guilty. I know this isn’t my fault. It’s yours. Both of you.” I lower my voice. “Which means you probably feel a lot worse than I do.”
Their postures are mirrored—tense shoulders, bowed spines, heads down, and hands fisted. This sucks, but I haven’t said everything I need to say, so I power forward.
“The night I started dating, Trace showed up and chased that guy away. That’s how we met, and it wasn’t a friendly introduction.” With Trace’s hand still curled around mine, I pull it against my lips, breathing across his knuckles. “He bought Bissara—”
“The restaurant you dance at?” Cole’s head shoots up as he glances between us.
“Yeah. He really caught me off guard with that.” I tell Cole about the employment contract, my ridiculous counteroffer, and the obscene salary I’m earning as a result.
Trace tilts his chin. “Hiring you was the easiest way to watch you discreetly.”
“The cameras in the casino,” I say with realization. “And you were such a dick about making me work there five days a week.”
He hired me so he could watch over me and keep me under his roof? That’s crazy. And sweet in a stalkerish way.
As memories of the past six months bubble up, I talk through them for Cole’s benefit, explaining how contentious and hateful my relationship with Trace was in the beginning. I skip over the intimate interactions while punctuating Trace’s dictate on anti-sex, anti-dating, and anti-anything between us.
“He’s the only man who turned my head after you died.” I watch Cole’s brooding expression. “I swore I wouldn’t pursue him, because he was adamant about his disinterest in me. But I couldn’t ignore the way he made me feel when he wasn’t being an asshole.”
A smile twitches my lips, and I catch a glimmer of light in Trace’s eyes.
“It’d been so long since I felt happiness.” Tendrils of warmth unfurl inside me. “Trace made me want to try again.”
Cole squeezes his eyes shut, and with a heavy sigh, he looks at Trace. “Thank you for that. For being there for her.”
Given Cole’s strained expression, it took a lot for him to say that.
“You’re welcome,” Trace says softly. “But she’s not lying. I was cruel to her, and I deeply regret it.”
I hold his hand beneath my chin, thinking back to all his hurtful insults and painful rejections. “I understand now why you treated me the way you did.”
Cole was his best friend. He wasn’t supposed to fall in love with me.
I continue to describe Trace’s behavior to Cole, detailing how Trace repeatedly pushed me away. Then I broach the incident with Marlo and the devastation that followed—the guy I picked up at the bar, the blow job I gave in the car, and the punch Trace delivered in my driveway.
“Jesus Christ.” Cole scrubs a hand down his face and glares at Trace. “You pretended to fuck another woman? That was your solution? Not only did you hurt Danni, you drove her straight into the arms of a stranger!”
“What would you have done?” Trace leans toward him, his throat turning crimson. “I was desperate and torn and at a complete and total loss. I loved her and couldn’t tell her. And she loved me. I couldn’t say no to her anymore. You don’t know what that’s like, Cole, because you’ve never had to hide your feelings from her.”
Cole clasps his hands together behind his neck, his shoulders curling inward. “You forgave him for cheating, Danni?”
“We weren’t technically together, so yeah, I eventually forgave him.” I need to put everything on the table, and there’s no easy way to say this part, so I just spit it out. “That night, Trace and I had sex for the first time.”
A pained noise crawls from Cole’s chest.
“It was angry and bitter and full of so much resentment.” I pull Trace’s hand against my breast, certain he can feel my heart banging. “He left me right after…” I peer over at Trace. “You left me because of Cole. You were shocked, spooked…”
“Sick with guilt.” His fingers curl around mine, his eyes stark. “Because of Cole. But also because I caused you so much pain. I’ve never felt as stricken and worthless as I did that night.”
“You slept in my driveway.”
He nods.
“And took a beating from Virginia’s cane the next morning.” I scrape my teeth against my lip.
Trace gives me another nod.
“You shouldn’t have made contact with her,” Cole whispers.
“You shouldn’t have ever gotten involved with her.” Trace looms over him, scowling. “Your job forbids relationships, because it endangers the people you’re close to. But you ignored that mandate and moved in with her. You got engaged to her. Then you fucking left her.”
“I left her under yo
ur protection. The one person I trusted.”
“And I kept her safe.” Trace’s lips pinch, his eyes taking on a lethal glint.
“Yeah.” Cole sneers. “I know exactly how you—”
“Shut up! Jesus.” I feel like I’m drowning in turmoil with no salvation in sight. “Trace, the moment Cole and I met, our future was sealed. We were involved instantly. Going our separate ways wasn’t an option. And Cole…” I reach out and nudge Cole’s chin up. “Six months ago, I made the decision to move on from you. Whether it was with Trace or some other guy, I was going to find a lover. So your prevention plan with Trace was fucked from the get-go.” I squint at him. “Surely, you realize it’s better that I ended up with someone you trusted to protect me instead of some stranger you didn’t know?”
The tension in Cole’s face remains, but softens. He knows I’m right.
“Something I don’t understand…” I cock my head. “If you and Trace were best friends, why didn’t I meet him before you left?”
“I couldn’t explain our relationship without a lot of questions.” Cole’s forehead crinkles.
“You could’ve made up a story and evaded my questions. You seem to be good at that.”
He winces. “I had to lie to you about my job. I didn’t want any more bullshit between us. Introducing him to you would’ve been an ongoing deception to maintain, because our friendship was founded in the work we did together. It would’ve been lies breeding more lies. I couldn’t do that to you.”
“Okay, I get that. Kind of.” My chest rises on a deep breath. “Did you talk to him when we were together?”
Cole nods as Trace says, “We were in constant contact. He told me everything.”
Everything? Before Trace and I made our relationship official, the sight of my engagement ring upset him. His reaction makes sense now. The ring was a persistent reminder that I belonged to his best friend.
But he also reacted to the piercing on my labium. The night in my dressing room, when he touched it, he immediately withdrew. That’s when I found him in the casino bar with the brunette on his lap. It’s like he knew I got the piercing because of Cole.
“Did you tell him about my piercing?” I ask Cole.
His gaze flashes to Trace and holds. “Yes.”
My shoulders droop as I consider the ramifications. “You were close enough to share intimate details about our relationship. And I didn’t even know you had a best friend.”
“Danni.” Cole rests a hand on my knee. “I’m sor—”
“No more apologies. I just need… I need to think about this. All of it.” I look down at Cole’s touch, his golden skin contrasting Trace’s paler hand interlaced with mine. “I still can’t believe you’re alive.”
The gravity of that floats between us, waiting to be plucked and processed. What now? Where will Cole live? This was his home. But it’s Trace’s home, too. Do I send them both packing and return to my isolation? My chest hurts at the thought.
I’m nowhere near ready to make decisions and formalize action plans. The aftershock of Cole’s reappearance is still shaking the foundation of my very soul. I need to let the disturbance settle and see where my feelings fall.
“Do you still have the dress?” The caution in Cole’s voice lifts my head.
“The wedding dress?”
He nods.
My stomach tumbles. I never showed him the gown, because he wasn’t supposed to see it until our wedding day.
“I have it,” I whisper.
“I want to see it.”
A broken heart undergoes varying degrees of pain, from a smarting sting to crippling desolation. I thought enduring it alone was the darkest level of hell. But as I watch Cole crouch beside the boxes in the basement and remove the wedding dress, I stagger beneath the combined weight of our torment.
With his back to me and his head angled down, he gently touches the crumpled white fabric. His spine bows through heavy gasps as he lifts the neglected thing and tries to straighten the wrinkles.
The sound of his strangled breaths slams my lungs together. His shoulders fall, pulling mine down with him. His knees collide with the floor, and I lock my legs, swaying in my attempt to stay upright.
I don’t want to cry anymore, but his regret runs deep, intensifying my own. Watching him come apart is a stake in the chest. I can’t even feel my heart. It’s just a gaping hole that won’t stop bleeding.
Trace volunteered to remain upstairs, despite the reluctance burning in his eyes. Regardless, I don’t think his presence would’ve stopped me from moving toward Cole. The need to console him crashes through me, trembling my chin and coursing tears down my cheeks. By the time I reach him and slide my hands over his back, he’s shaking as violently as I am.
He twists at the waist and hooks an arm around my back, pulling me onto his lap. His embrace is fierce, squeezing me tighter, closer, until all I feel is his heart thundering against mine.
With my arms around him, I prefer to straddle him in this position, but we no longer have that level of intimacy. So I keep my knees together and pressed against his ribs as we hold each other in an iron grip.
He hasn’t released the dress. As the tulle skirt rustles around us, I wonder what he thinks about it. I don’t ask, because it doesn’t matter. He’ll never see me wear it.
“I buried your ashes on our wedding day.” My voice breaks, thick with tears.
“I know.” His breaths thrash hotly against my neck, his lips like fire as they brush my skin. “I didn’t get out of bed that day. I just…I dreamed of you in this dress and drank myself into unconsciousness.”
Knowing he was hurting along with me doesn’t bring me comfort. “I haven’t been back to your grave site since the day of the funeral. The ashes—” My eyebrows crumple together. “Were they—?”
“Just ashes. No one was cremated on my behalf.”
Unsure how to respond to that, I continue with my train of thought. “Since you didn’t have instructions on your burial or any family to speak of, you just have a cement marker in the middle of a cemetery.” My eyes burn with damp regret. “I hated the whole arrangement and didn’t want to remember that day or the image of your name engraved on that stupid block of concrete. So I never went back. I put its very existence out of my mind. Which was easy since I drowned myself in a drunken stupor for months after you died.”
“I’m so sorry.” He makes a pained noise and rocks us back and forth, as if it hurts too much to sit still.
I rest my head on his shoulder, tighten my arms around him, and savor the warm scent of his skin.
Feeling him against me is a balm for my heart. The scratch of his whiskers against my cheek, the deep sound of his breathing, and the bunching of his muscles—all of it creates a dipping sensation in my chest and thins out my tears.
My brain questions how well I actually know him, but my body recognizes the perfect way he fits against me, the tempo of his heartbeat, and compelling aura of his presence. My body knows exactly who he is, and it vibrates to reclaim him in every way.
“I agonized over the timing of my death.” He sets the dress aside and strokes a hand through my hair. “When I severed communication with you and disappeared, I didn’t trust anyone, didn’t know who my enemies were. If they learned my true identity…”
“They would’ve found me.”
“Yes. Cole Hartman had to die for reasons I can’t tell you. It should’ve happened immediately, and every day I delayed put you at risk. But I couldn’t…” He cups the back of my head, holding my cheek against his chest as he draws a shredded breath. “I put it off for months, trying to find another way. As our wedding day approached, I knew I was out of time. I couldn’t let you wait for me at the altar. I couldn’t destroy you like that.”
“So you sent your handler to my house and destroyed me with the news of your death.”
“The alternative was your death.” He leans back and frames my face in his hands. “I know I’m asking you to blindl
y trust me after putting you through years of hell. But Danni, I need you to believe me when I say that everything I did, every second I spent away from you, was the only way to keep you from harm.”
“There haven’t been any attacks on my life.” I shrug jerkily. “So there’s that.”
His gaze delves into mine, and he slides a hand through my hair, tucking the strands behind my ear. “You’re as beautiful as I remember. Your soft little mouth, huge gray eyes, and the way you express yourself so vividly…here…” He trails a finger around the corner of my lips. “Memories of you haunted me in the best way possible. You gave me a reason to live. You kept me alive.”
“Can you tell me about it?” I touch his cheekbone, tracing the sharp angle. “About the years you were hiding?”
He shakes his head, his brow heavy with sadness.
“Not even little things,” I ask. “Like where you slept or who you were with?”
“It was a dingy hole in a nowhere town. I didn’t speak the language there and kept to myself.”
I scrunch my nose. “Do you know other languages?”
“Unë flas shtatë gjuhë.” His accent changes, softens, as he says, “Volim te više nego što misliš.”
“Was that…?” I gasp. “That was two different languages, wasn’t it?”
He sighs and kisses my forehead.
“Which languages?” I should be stunned speechless, but hearing foreign words uttered from his lips completely enraptures me. “The second one sounded like Italian.”
“No, questo è italiano.”
“Okay, that was Italian. How many more do you know?”
“Tell me about your dance company.”
“No, I want to talk about you.”
“Danni.” His voice dips, low and firm.
My knees bounce with frustration, but I’m fighting a losing battle. “I still have my company. I don’t teach anymore, though. My schedule at the casino keeps me busy, and the pay is more than I’ll ever need.”
He folds his hand around mine, brushing his thumb across my fingers.
Electricity tingles up my arm, quivering a sigh through my voice. “I have every penny that was transferred into my account when you died.”
