by Pam Godwin
Something moves beneath the canopy of the dock. Shifting to the window closest to the bridge, I spot Cole and Trace walking around the ski boat. They’re too far away to make out expressions, but it’s easy to differentiate between Cole’s broad build and Trace’s height.
Cole tosses a bundle of rope to Trace, and they climb onto the boat. What are they up to?
Both are wearing jeans, heavy jackets, and sunglasses. I guess I should change clothes and make my way down there?
First, I need to call my parents.
Coffee in hand, I lower onto the couch in the living room and hit the speed dial for Florida.
Mom picks up on the second ring. “Good morning, darling.”
“Hey, Mom.”
“How’s the drive going? Did you stay the night in Tennessee?”
“I’m still in Missouri.” I sip the coffee, basking in the serene view beyond the windows. “I’m at Table Rock Lake. Cole owns a house here.”
“You went back to him?” Hope whispers through her voice.
She hasn’t met Trace, but she always liked Cole. Really, I think she’d like any man I date. She just wants me married and settled.
“Trace is here, too.” How am I going to explain this? “They kind of bonded after I left.”
“That sounds…complicated.” Her tone shifts from thoughtful to worried. “What are you doing, Danni?”
“I don’t know. I guess that’s why I’m here. I need to figure it out.”
“Does that mean you’re not coming to Florida?”
“Can I get back to you on that?”
“Of course. Our home is always open to you.” She sighs. “Just be careful, sweetheart. I know you’re twenty-eight—”
“Almost twenty-nine.”
“—and you think you know everything there is to know about the world. But you have a lot of growing up to do. Relationships are hard work. Love is hard work. Whether you choose Cole or Trace, make sure you pick the one you’re willing to work the hardest for. Okay?”
“You work hard for Dad?” I grin.
“Oh, that man…” She groans. “Don’t get me started.”
I spend the next ten minutes answering her questions about the lake house and the surrounding property, going into detail about the landscaping. She loves that shit. Then I end the call and finish off the coffee while waiting for the phone to ring.
My mom and sister are tight. So tight they call each other about everything. Right now, I know my mom is updating Bree on the status of my life.
Five minutes later, my phone buzzes, flashing Bree on the caller ID. When I answer, I give her the same spiel I gave Mom.
Her questions are more intrusive. Why did you change your mind? How did you get there? Why didn’t you tell me? Are you going to choose between them?
I hate lying to her, so I keep my responses as truthful as possible. I missed them. Cole drove me here. Just arrived last night. I’m here to finally make a decision.
“You better keep me updated,” she says.
“You have my number, Nosy Nancy. I love you.”
“Love you, too”
We hang up, and I head back to the bedroom, change into the warmest clothes I find—jeans, fleece sweatshirt, UGG boots, and a thick Down coat with a faux-fur-lined hood. Slipping my phone into the coat pocket, I walk to the keypad for the bedroom’s exterior door and enter 1974—the Midget’s birth year. It opens.
Bracing for the cold, I step outside and shut the door behind me. Surprisingly, the air is warmer than I expected. Not as warm as I would like, but there’s no wind. No need for gloves or a scarf.
I follow the cobblestone path to the bridge, my boots scuffing along the wood planks. As I reach the dock, my pulse quickens. This feeling never gets old—the buzz in my belly, the anticipation of a lingering glance, and the consuming fixation on what-ifs and could-be’s.
“Morning, baby.” Cole stands in the ski boat a few feet away, his grin bright against the dark shadow of scruff on his face.
“Morning.” I pause at the edge of the slip.
Behind him, Trace rummages through a storage compartment, grumbling about Cole’s lack of organization.
“How’d you sleep?” Cole peers at me over the top of his aviator glasses.
“I don’t remember.” I return his smile. “That’s a good thing. You?”
“Fantastic.” His expression softens, and he leans over the railing and holds out a hand. “Come on.”
I grip his fingers and let him haul me into the boat. “So this is yours?”
“Yep. Wanna put some hours on it?”
“Sure. Do I get to drive?”
“Not a chance.” Trace stands, removes his sunglasses, and gives me a thorough once-over, lingering on my mouth. “You look gorgeous this morning.”
“Thank you.” I bite my lip, the flutter in my stomach showing no signs of fading. “Why can’t I drive?”
“You don’t know how.” Cole moves behind the steering wheel. “But you have six months to learn.”
Six months. I’m not sure how I feel about that time line. Maybe it’s exactly what I need. Before I left, I wasted so much energy on beating myself up because I couldn’t make a decision. It would be nice to just take one day at a time without worrying about making them wait.
Ten minutes later, Cole drives us out of the cove and into the open lake. The chilly air nips at my cheeks, but the sun is warm and energizing. Before the boat speeds up, I move to the front and stretch out on the curved bench seat. Trace sits beside me, his sunglasses back in place.
I open my mouth to ask if there are extra shades, but he’s already removing a pair from his pocket. They look identical to the cat eye sunglasses I keep in my car.
“Thanks.” I slide them on. “Did you steal these from me?”
“No.” His teeth scrape his bottom lip. “I bought them because they reminded me of the first day we spent together.”
The day he ran errands with me. He was so standoffish and rude when we met, but there was something compelling about him, something magnetic and so damn irresistible I tolerated his bullshit. In fact, I craved more of it. More of him.
“You kissed me that day,” I whisper wistfully and peek behind me.
Cole doesn’t seem to hear us over the wind and the motor. Aviator glasses conceal his eyes, his head turned slightly away as he steers us through the open water. Since there aren’t many boats out, the lake is gentle and waveless.
Trace slides his fingers around mine, pulling my attention back to him. I hold his hand on my lap and trace his knuckles. The simple connection makes my chest feel lighter. The soft frown on his mouth heats my blood. And the caress of his gaze on my face makes me feel whole, more alive.
“Tell me a story.” The wind swallows my voice.
He waves at Cole and shouts, “Find a spot to park.”
Cole veers the boat into a quiet inlet enshrouded by trees and turns off the engine. The speakers in the boat crackle, and a second later, a punk rock song thumps on low volume.
Holding the remote to the stereo, Cole moves to the front and sits across from us. Beneath the heat of his stare, I squirm with the urge to put space between Trace and me. But Cole’s jaw is relaxed, his posture reclined and easy. He seems oddly content.
“What kind of story?” Trace hooks an arm around my back and toys with a tangled lock of my hair.
“I want to hear one about the two of you.” I adjust the sunglass on my face. “Something outrageous. The more embarrassing the better.”
Trace stretches his legs across the aisle and rests his feet on the bench seat beside Cole.
He’s wearing boots? They look expensive, the brown leather smooth and scratch-free. Such a drastic departure from his spit-shined loafers.
“I have a story.” The corner of Trace’s lips twists. “We just finished an assignment, and I had to take our rental car through one of those automated carwashes.”
Cole groans and pinches the bridge of hi
s nose. “Of all the stories to tell…”
“This is a good one.” Trace leans back, settling in. “Should I tell her why I needed to wash the car?”
“No,” Cole says at the same time as I say, “Yes.”
“Danni wins.” Trace smirks at Cole before turning to me. “The prior night, we went out to celebrate the success of the mission. Cole celebrated a little too hard.”
“Okay, for the record…” Cole leans forward. “We were in a place where I didn’t speak the language and didn’t know what I was drinking. Whatever they served me hit me sideways.”
“He threw up all the way home with his head hanging out of the window.” Trace grimaces. “Painted the side of the car in Technicolor.”
“Gross.” I laugh.
“Worse, I had to carry his heavy unconscious ass up three flights of stairs. So the next day, I made him go with me to the carwash, and that’s when the damn car broke down.”
“In the carwash?” I widen my eyes. “Were you stuck on those rail things that move the car forward?”
“Yes.” Trace nods at Cole. “He decides to jump out and push.”
“But there were water jets, right?” I shake my head, picturing him soaked to the bone and fuming mad.
“Yeah.” Cole rubs a hand over his head. “My entire leg was in a cast, which by the way, isn’t supposed to get wet.”
I sober. “Why were you in a cast?”
“Just another day on the job.” He winks at me.
“So Cole was out there in a cast,” Trace says, “trying to push a car with a broken leg while the automated scrubbers slapped him in the face.”
“Did you help him?” I arch a brow at Trace.
“Hell, no. I stayed in the car and waited for someone to shut off the water. You know, like a sane person.” Trace rubs small circles on my hand. “But Cole has no patience. He lost his temper, stormed out, and hitchhiked back to the hotel.”
“Not my proudest moment.” Cole sighs.
Maybe not, but I thoroughly enjoyed the story. A few moments pass before another thought pops into my head. “Tell me about the coffee cup yesterday.”
Trace stares out at the lake, his eyebrows pulling together. “The sedative was safe. No aftereffects. It’s not something you’d find on the market, but we’ve used it many times on the job.”
Interesting. “What about the writing on the bottom of the cup?”
He flicks his eyes to Cole. “What writing?”
“It’s not over.” Cole shrugs. “That’s what I wrote.” His soft brown eyes land on me. “I didn’t expect you to see it.”
“Then why write it?” I squint at him. “That message really fucked with my head. I was certain one of your enemies drugged me as part of a revenge mission that wasn’t over.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.” He closes his eyes briefly. “I thought if you saw it, you would assume it came from Trace or me. I wanted to ease your mind, not freak you out.”
“I never thought you guys would pull something like that, so I jumped to the worst-case scenario.” I blow out a breath. “Doesn’t matter. It’s in the past. I was just curious.”
Cole relaxes, his gaze drifting over the lake. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes with you, Danni. Given you more than enough reasons to leave.” He meets my eyes. “But I have a new perspective now. Things will be different going forward.”
“How so?” I ask.
“A couple of months ago, I wouldn’t have been able to tolerate that.” He nods at Trace’s arm around my back. “When I returned home and found you with him, I sank into a miserable headspace full of doubts and insecurity about our future. Every second you spent with him felt like a threat. There were times I questioned if I deserved you, wondered if you’d be better off with him.”
Trace’s hand tightens around mine.
“And now?” My voice cracks.
“We belong together.” Cole’s gaze bores into mine, resolute and unshakable. “I’m more certain about that now than ever before. This…” He gestures to the three of us. “I see it as a journey of trials, like a training course to prepare me for all the obstacles you and I will encounter together in the future.”
It’s just like Cole to view our future together as a foregone conclusion. But the fact that he sees Trace merely as an obstacle to overcome is a little unsettling.
“This isn’t the military.” I frown. “You don’t need a training course to be with me.”
“There’s always room for improvement.” He glances at Trace, his expression expectant, as if seeking validation. “I’m making an effort to lock down my temper.”
I’ve noticed. Granted, I’ve been here less than a day, but I haven’t seen so much as a twitch of aggression from him. Not even when Trace held him at gunpoint.
“Before we brought you here,” Trace says to me, “we had some heart to heart conversations.”
“You did?” I know my eyes are bugging out of my head. “I can’t figure out if you guys are working together or against each other.”
“Both.” Trace lifts his face to the sunshine and draws in a slow breath. “We dragged you to an isolated location without your consent and are forcing you to confront the decision you ran from. The least we can do is make the next few months tolerable, and that starts with how we engage with one another. There’s a line between letting emotion control you”—he gives Cole a pointed look—”and suppressing it so completely it’s assumed I feel nothing.”
“I never assumed that, Trace.” I chew on my lip. “You have me kind of worried, though, because I don’t want either of you to change. Other than the lying and secrets…”
“We’re not changing,” Cole says. “We’re just going to be more open. Look, we can talk out our asses about being honest with one another, but that’s something that will have to be proven over time.”
Wow. They’re serving up man-sized portions of maturity, and it’s so weird to me. Especially after my mom said I have a lot of growing up to do. If Cole and Trace are taking strides toward civility, I need to up my game. Growing up isn’t something I’ve ever strived for, but maybe Mom’s right. I need to be responsible and accountable for my actions.
As another punk rock song bangs through the speakers, I hold my hand out to Cole, motioning for the stereo remote. “Let me see that.”
“Nope.”
With a dimpled grin, he taps on the remote’s digital screen, and the melody changes to a song I know.
This Is What You Came For by Calvin Harris vibrates through me, tensing my muscles and accelerating my pulse. For the first time in weeks, I feel the overwhelming urge to dance. The feeling passes quickly, however, because the boat’s too small and the audience is too close and intimate and watchful. I don’t know what the protocol is for shaking my ass in this situation. A strange thought since I’ve never hesitated to groove when the impulse arises.
“You want to dance.” Trace angles his chin down, peering at me over the glasses. “The quickening of your breaths gives you away.”
I nod, gripping the seat as a wave from a passing boat rocks us in the water. “Not right now though.”
“You don’t want to dance in front of us.” Cole narrows his eyes.
“I guess…I don’t know.” I pull my hand from Trace’s grip and shove it in the pocket of my coat. “I screwed up a lot. With both of you.” My head lowers as I mumble, “I want to do the right thing.”
“Explain what you’re thinking.” Trace hooks a knuckle beneath my chin, forcing my eyes up.
“Okay. Well…” I take a deep breath, looking at Trace. “I took advantage of your restraint. Meanwhile, I slept with Cole and didn’t tell you.” My face heats. “I know your plans are well-intended, and everything you’ve told me sounds reasonable. But I don’t know how to maneuver through this without pissing one of you off or screwing up again.”
“Be honest with us.” Trace kisses the side of my head. “Like you’re doing now.”
“And follow your hea
rt,” Cole says. “Trust us to guide you through the rest of it.”
“Okay.” I clear my throat, uncertain.
“How about I give you a tour of the lake, show you all my fishing spots?” Cole stands. “Then we’ll head back and fix lunch. There’s something else I want to show you at the house.”
Several hours later, after a heavy meal of steak and mashed potatoes, I shower and change into yoga pants and a soft shirt. Then I crash on the couch in the living room, my nose pink from the sun and my body exhausted from spending half the day on the water.
I don’t know when I fell asleep, but I wake with a blanket wrapped around me and my cheek resting on a hard, denim-clad thigh.
Long legs stretch out before me, and bare feet rest on the coffee table beside a tumbler of scotch.
I roll to my back and stare up at Trace’s arresting blue eyes. “How long was I asleep?”
“About an hour.” He runs a hand through my hair, watching the movement of his fingers. “I could sit here forever with you like this.”
I give him a sleepy smile, while my mind zeroes in on the bulge of his groin beneath my head. “Where’s Cole?”
“He’s locking up the boat and the dock.”
Without warning, he yanks me up and positions me to sit sideways on his lap. His hands frame my face, and he leans his brow against mine, inhaling deeply.
“Nag Champa.” His lips brush my cheek, hastening the patter of my heart. “My favorite smell.”
He’s close enough to kiss, and I’m afraid to move, afraid to breathe, afraid to close my eyes. I want to taste him. Saturate my senses with him. I want to delete the distance that doesn’t belong between us.
“Trace.” I rest my hands on his shoulders. “Tell me what to do.”
“Be yourself.”
His minty breath washes over me, stealing my train of thought. He’s insanely potent. Not just his delectable scent. It’s his intensity. The way he stares at me like nothing else exists. The subtle press of his fingers on my spine, reminding me he’s in control. His unwavering focus on every twitch and blink, as if gleaning my thoughts through body cues.
But I’m reading his cues, too, and his unfaltering eye contact doesn’t just tell me he wants to connect with me. That look in his eyes begs me to kiss him.
