The Edge of Us

by Veronica Larsen

  Cole appears before me. Even with the warning of his cologne, I'm not prepared to see him. Words lodge in my throat and my entire body locks up.

  "Don't go," he says, sitting in the chair across from me. He leans forward and sets his arms on the table. "Please stay."

  The low rumble of his voice drowns out the background noise like he's pulled me underwater. My reactions slow, my gaze traveling up his arm and along the intricate designs tattooed there. I'd forgotten how beautiful they are. I used to trace them with my fingers, asking him to tell me what each tattoo meant, even when I already knew.

  Cole bows his head and peers up at me from underneath furrowed brows. Piercing green eyes lock me in place for several seconds before I manage to break away. Sound rushes back to my ears and my pulse quickens. There's a warning rising in the back of my mind, urging me to maintain my composure. I won't let him make a scene. Not again.

  "I take it Grant isn't coming."

  "I'm sorry, I knew you wouldn't come any other way."

  "Then maybe you should take a hint, Cole. I don't know who the hell you think you are, crashing my speech at the gala, using my clients to trick me into meeting you."

  I manage to keep my voice even, despite the tightness in my throat. I get to my feet and reach over him to grab my bag. His hand clasps over mine and my breath stalls. He stares at the spot where my sleeve hikes up and my tattoo peeks out.

  "I didn't think you'd ever get a tattoo," he says, with slow disbelieving amazement in his tone. He tries to nudge the sleeve farther up. "Does this run all the way up your arm?"

  I tear my hand away and use it to adjust the strap of the bag on my shoulder. My throat is closing up.

  "What do you want from me?" I snap.

  His eyes, they've always been more expressive than most. They're such a clear green, offering no room for his thoughts to hide. The way he stares at me now flips my stomach on its end, and when he speaks, it's like his throat is closing up on him, too.

  "God, Mila, I still can't get over seeing you, every time it's like I can't breathe."

  "Spare me," I say, already half turning away.

  "I came to talk to you about the exhibit."

  The words latch onto me, forcing me to face him again.

  "You really want to talk about that? You really want to talk about what a cruel joke that was?"

  "There's more, you didn't see all of it."

  "I don't need to," I grit out between my teeth. "I got the message. I don't need to see more of how suffocated you were with me, how trapped you felt. I fucking get it."

  "No, Mila. That's not what I was—"

  He jumps to his feet and reaches out, a hand extending toward me. I jerk back and hit the edge of the table, then straighten.

  "Don't you get it, Cole? I don't want to see you, I want you gone and out of my life for good."

  I spin around and rush to the door, pulling it open to inhale a rush of fresh air. But before I can step through, Cole calls out to me.

  "Mila, wait—Just please, ask Tobias what he did."

  TWENTY-FIVE

  COLE

  A WOMAN LAUGHS FROM somewhere inside the suite. Out in the hall, I pause just short of opening the door. Another voice comes in and the muffled conversation gives me the impression it's safe to enter. I punch in the code on the keypad and step into the vast living room.

  It takes me a few seconds to spot Grant.

  He's sitting in the center of one of the long leather sectionals, legs parted wide. He holds a drink in one hand and has an arm draped along the frame of the sofa. A woman I've never seen before is sitting beside him. She's propped up on her knees, staring down at him as she speaks. There's a large smile plastered across her face and the purple dress she's wearing has rolled up closer to her hips than her knees.

  The heavy door closes behind me, and Grant's and the woman's eyes snap to mine.

  "There he is," Grant calls out, raising the drink in my direction.

  "Oh, you're right, he is cute," the woman says, loud enough to ensure I don't miss it. Her high-pitched tone pierces my brain like pin needles.

  "I'll be out of your way in a minute," I say, raising a hand in greeting.

  "Don't be ridiculous," Grant half shouts. "Come join us."

  I ignore him, heading down the steps of the entry hall into the kitchen. They remain in sight. There's nowhere to hide in the massive open living space until I can disappear into the guest bedroom. But first, I pour myself a tall glass of water.

  Mila's words still ring in my ear.

  Seeing her earlier, I couldn't find the words I'd planned to convince her to let me take her back to the exhibit. Her words slashed away at me like razor blades. But there was something in her eyes I recognized. I saw how jaded and closed off she'd become. Just the way I used to be. Then I glimpsed her tattoo, the cryptic words running up her arm, and a larger picture fell into place. I'd heard she's been collecting art for years. I'd heard of how she'd quit her job to risk starting her own business—a dream of hers, but a huge risk the Mila I knew would've never taken.

  I see so much of myself in her now—and the crazy part is I've become a lot like her too. I've sought to root myself in a responsible, predictable life. I've grown ambitious and I've found my calling, the way she always wanted me to.

  What I saw today knocked me to my knees.

  She and I, we are showing symptoms of each other.

  "Hi there, you must be Cole."

  I blink at the intrusion and turn toward the soft voice behind me. Another woman stands there. She must've reached the kitchen from the bathroom at the other end of the hall.

  She tucks her long dark hair behind her ear and extends her hand to me. I give it a gentle shake before pulling away.

  "I am, and you are?"

  Grant approaches from the living room, the first woman following close behind.

  "This," he says, "is Ingrid. She's been very eager to meet you."

  A pointed silence falls over the room. I give Grant a look and he responds by tilting his head and widening his smile.

  "I was an intern at your father's company in college," Ingrid says, smiling. "I was telling Grant here that I—"

  "Excuse me." I set a hand on her shoulder, cutting her off. "I need a word with my friend, if you don't mind."

  "No, of course not." Her smile falters as Grant and I walk past her.

  We head down to the nearest room, his home office, shutting the door behind us.

  "What's the matter?" he asks, unconcerned. "I thought for sure you'd like her. She's your type."

  "What, you think I'm going to fuck some random woman you brought over?"

  "Don't be presumptuous, Cole. No one said she came here to fuck you." The ice in Grant's scotch knocks against the glass as he brings it to his lips, before hesitating. "Although, she probably did come here to fuck you." He takes a mouthful of drink and swallows it back. "You should've seen her eyes light up when I mentioned your name."

  "That's great," I say. "Tell me, Grant, do you really enjoy screwing women who only want you for your money?"

  "Predictability is an asset, my friend, not a liability. I never go into a situation until everyone involved knows exactly what it is." He tilts his glass at me. "Don't look at me like that. They're the ones hoping to use me. I'm just giving them exactly what they ask for." He heads to the door then glances back to add, "And Cole? You should hear the things they ask for. Might be something you want."

  "What I want isn't out there."

  Grant shuts the door again and turns in a slow half circle to face me. He seems to debate his words in silence before speaking.

  "What are you doing, man?" he asks, his tone serious for the first time. "You said you weren't trying to get her back."

  "I wasn't."

  "So what the hell changed?"

  "I went to see her and…I can't explain it, man. But there's something still there, in her eyes."

  "You're kidding, right? You said she's wi
th Drew."

  "I don't care."

  Grant drags one of his knuckles over his brow.

  "Listen, I'm just watching out for you. You know what happened last time you got all hung up on her. You were the one who said the only thing you cared about was making sure she saw the exhibit. She did. It's over, man, walk away."

  "She didn't see the whole thing."

  "For fuck's sake." Grant drops his hand to his side. "What would it change, Cole? Honestly? One more room of the exhibit, what difference would that make? It's not going to change what you did."

  "No, but it will change the way she sees it."

  "And what does that matter?"

  "It's all that matters, Grant." I glance away, then gesture toward the door. "Just go. Have fun. I know you don't understand why I don't want to join you. And I don't blame you. You've never felt for someone the way I do about Mila."

  He stares at me for several long seconds, his lips drawing into a flat line.

  "You're right," he says, facing the door before I catch the rest of his expression. "And looking at you now, I hope to God I never do."

  TWENTY-SIX

  MILA

  I LAY AWAKE ALL night, replaying the moment Cole appeared in front of me at lunch. Over and over again. And when my guard lowers from exhaustion, I catch myself savoring the sweet ache accompanying the memory of his face.

  The night of the gala had been a blur, too much for me to process very much of him, but this time it was as though everything moved in slow motion. His face was so close, just on the other side of the table. He sucked all the air out of the room and made my head spin with the intensity of his green eyes.

  I hate to admit it, but Cole looks as good as the day he left me.

  I've tried so hard to forget his face, forget what it does to me.

  Ask Tobias what he did.

  It's been a long time since I shut the door on my questions just so I could go on with my life. I've ignored the demons banging against it. But now? The door's creaked open and I don't think I can close it again.

  To unravel a ball of yarn you start on the outside, on the most accessible strand, and work your way inward. It's the same with the truth. There's only one truth, and that's the truth in its entirety. Anything else is glorified fiction.

  Another morning dawns and I head out on yet another detour. This time, I'm determined not to leave until I get answers.

  I find Tobias Kreisler lounging in his expansive backyard. He's wearing a robe and staring past his pool, toward the wall of manicured hedges lining the perimeter.

  "Good morning," I say from the patio doors.

  He doesn't turn, just simply lifts a glass of clear liquid to his lips and takes a sip.

  Somehow, I doubt it's water.

  "You're a hard man to reach," I go on. "You disappear when you don't want to be found."

  "And yet you managed to find me when my own son still thinks I'm out of the state."

  He knows the only reason I'm here is because he wanted me to be. He answered my call, something he refused to do for days before he dropped in on the gala. Since before I even had the nagging question of what happened between him and Cole.

  "How do you feel?" I ask.

  "Some days? I think for sure the doctors are wrong. Other days…are for vodka…"

  He trails off and for a moment I think he's forgotten me. But then he waves me over. I walk around to face him, my hands clasped in front of me. I don't know the details of his diagnosis, and if he hasn't shared them with me by now it's because he doesn't intend to. It stings that he can hold me at arm's length, even after being a part of my life for so long.

  "You still haven't told Grant, have you?"

  Tobias lifts the glass again, but instead of taking a sip he stares at it.

  "I will do everything on my own time. No one else's. But I don't want to talk about that."

  "Good thing, then, because I'm not here to talk about Grant." I straighten, hardening my resolve. "I think you know exactly why I'm here."

  "You're here because you've finally realized I haven't been truthful with you."

  "Oh?"

  He continues to look past me, his eyes tracing the scenery around us as though seeing it for the first time. Somewhere on the property, a lawnmower is running, and the scent of freshly cut grass permeates the air.

  "I always wanted a big family, more kids. Not to say I'm not thankful for Grant, because I am, but sometimes I wonder if he would've turned out differently had there been more influences in his life."

  "I'm an only child and I turned out just fine."

  "Yes…yes, you did. But your mother was an exceptional woman, and she raised an exceptional woman. I, on the other hand, did not do so well with my own son. Or even with you. I promised your mother I'd keep an eye on you after she was gone, but I've been trying to look out for you much longer than that. In ways I suspect you already know, or you wouldn't be here right now."

  His eyes connect with mine for the first time since I walked out here. There's remorse swimming in his expression, along with all the signals I read when he came into my office to deliver his awful news. Only then, I had misunderstood their meaning.

  "I wanted to tell you then," he says, "but you weren't ready. I'm going to tell you now, but I warn you—you're not going to like it."

  "Speak your truth and let me decide how I feel about it."

  "Fair enough." He exhales and his shoulders sink as though his entire body might deflate. "I never liked Cole for you, Mila. For the life of me, I never understood what you saw in him. He had a history, a reputation before you two met. I'm sure you know. Drugs. Arrests. DUIs. You didn't know him back then, Mila, but I did. Even after he got clean, I could just see it in his eyes. He was unstable. I never trusted him, never liked him being around my son."

  "This isn't news to me. It's no secret you and Cole didn't get along."

  "I want you to understand. Cole…he was a lot like me. He was exactly like me. I could see his greed, his wanting of things he didn't deserve. I could see how he would ruin you the way I…the way I ruined the only woman I really loved." He swallows back his words, then more of his drink. "That's what men like us do, Mila. We sabotage the good in our lives."

  I remain silent, the discomfort deep in my stomach growing by the minute.

  Tobias throws back his drink, sets the glass down, and stares at the space between us like someone looking through time and into the past.

  "Right before the ceremony, I asked Cole to come see me. He did and I think he knew why. I only told him what I'm sure he already knew—that he didn't deserve you, that he'd drag you down with him and ruin you. I wasn't the only person who felt this way. And he knew, he knew everyone was rooting against the two of you. He knew every person sitting out there secretly believed you were making a huge mistake. He didn't care. He was going to marry you, anyway."

  His words take me back to my wedding day, to the faltering smiles of my bridesmaids that greeted me when I opened the double doors of my bedroom suite. I knew not to expect a room buzzing with excitement at the prospect of me walking down the aisle to Cole. But the abysmal energy that rushed in on me from all directions was a punch in the gut.

  Nearly every person in that room had, at one point or another, questioned me about my decision to marry Cole. But a person's understanding is limited to their level of perception. So how could I convince them of something so intangible? Of an experience wrapped up in moments I could never share with them. Moments no one would understand, for all their intensity and passion, the slow crescendo tumbling into a blissful free fall.

  I blink away the memories as Tobias narrows his eyes, polishing off the dust on his own recollections.

  "Cole didn't like what I had to say," he goes on. "Things got heated and he started losing his temper, spitting insults at me and insisting I was wrong. Insisting he'd never hurt you. I thought the matter could be put to rest rather easily. I handed him fifteen grams of heroin and I told him
to choose, then I walked out of the room. He—well, you already know what happened."

  My mouth hangs open. Tobias's confession snatches the breath from my chest and the echo hits me with twice the force. The image of Cole's face materializes in my mind as though I had seen it myself. Trembles work their way up my body and my voice is low and shaky when I speak.

  "You gave heroin…to an addict…?"

  "Mila, he was weak."

  "Do you think he didn't know that?" I blurt out. "He knew he was vulnerable and he worked hard to stay sober. Cole didn't even want a bachelor party. He didn't want to brush up against anything resembling temptation. Damn it, Tobias. How? How could you do that?"

  "I didn't make him do anything. No one put a gun to his head—"

  "You gave heroin to a recovering addict," I repeat, slower this time because my heart is pounding in my ears. "On the biggest day of his life."

  My surroundings cloud at the edges of my vision and I'm forgetting everything I know about Tobias, forgetting the connection I thought we shared. I'm looking at him now, and I don't recognize him at all.

  "I'm not proud of what I did, but I was right to do it. He wasn't ready, Mila. Sooner or later, he would've relapsed and you were going to get dragged into one hell of a mess—"

  "It would've been our mess to solve. Not yours. It wasn't your decision to make for me. How dare you think it ever was?"

  My words cut through like a whip and Tobias remains with his mouth parted. I wait for his response, a part of me hoping he will argue, hoping he would give me a reason to unleash the full wrath of my resentment. But there's no fight left in his eyes.

  "I've done some terrible things in my time, Mila, but I've always prided myself in knowing they were necessary for the greater good. But I've watched you over the years, and I've seen you become a shell of who you were, despite achieving everything you set out to do. I've seen you push everyone away, including me. I've come to realize through the clarity only a death sentence can bring us—In trying to protect you…I might have been the one who ruined you."