“What’cha doing?” Ava asked, twisting to look over her shoulder at him. He’d been scribbling steadily for the last twenty-five minutes, pages turning one after the other. Cole glanced up, raising an eyebrow suggestively.
“Well, if you’d strip down, I’d offer to sketch you... but since you’re wearing too many clothes, I’m doing some work instead.”
The scratching of the pen returned. Ava flipped through a few more channels, her curiosity growing. The figure drawing suggestion had some merit, she had to admit. It was nice having her dad back in town but his presence had put a damper on Cole’s visits. The dorm was no better. His next door neighbour had given her lascivious looks the two times he’d run into her leaving. Ava was definitely too loud for Cole’s bedroom.
She rolled sideways, propping herself up on an elbow to watch him.
“What kind of work are you doing?” she asked, nudging his ribs with her toe. He smirked, catching her foot.
“Writing,” he admitted, rubbing his thumb along her instep and making her giggle. She squirmed until he let go, turning onto her back, her hands now behind her head. The minute his pen dropped back to the page, her toes prodded him. He kept his eyes on the sketchpad, ignoring her.
“Okay,” she said with a grin, “I’ll play. What kind of writing, Cole?”
Her toes wiggled against his armpit, moving lower until they hit a particularly sensitive spot and he jumped, snickering. The book dropped and she could see the lines of text filling the white pages.
“Writing for Marta,” Cole admitted, reaching out and pulling her up the bed, so that her hips were now next to his. The fingers of his free hand dropped down to her waist, finding the seam between her top and yoga pants, working underneath. He propped his book against his knees, writing once more.
“Marta, huh?” Ava said, eyes narrowing. “Should I be jealous?”
Cole snorted, fingers of one hand tugging at her waistband while he continued to write. The pauses between scribbles were growing longer.
“Depends...” Cole said, grey eyes taunting her, “what would you do if you were jealous? Hmmm....?”
Ava began to squirm as he got hold of the top of her pants, pulling on one side roughly, exposing her panties, then sliding over to the other hip and doing the same thing.
“I dunno,” Ava admitted, a line of irritation between her brows. “What does she look like?”
Cole glanced away as if remembering. Meanwhile, the fingers of his free hand slid her pants lower until they were puddled next to him. His other hand was still poised on the paper, but no longer writing.
“She has long dark hair,” he said. “Really nice hair, actually. And brown eyes.” He smirked. “Very pretty.”
Ava scowled as Cole slid his hand up her calves, inching toward her thighs. She crossed her arms, holding in the urge to sigh.
“Hmmph,” she grumbled. “Do I know her?”
Cole chuckled as his fingers reached the silken edge of her panties and began teasing back and forth, sliding along the seam toward her crotch.
“I don’t think so...” He tapped his pen on the book, watching her, his voice a low purr. “Jealous, are you, Ava?”
He worked her panties off with one hand and they joined her pants at her ankles. She kicked them violently away, abruptly annoyed. Cole stopped touching her altogether, going back to writing, his face distracted.
A full minute passed, filled only by the scratching of his pen.
“I’m not jealous,” Ava said petulantly.
At her words, Cole stopped writing. He straightened the book against his knees, his face full of mischievous good-humour.
“Cole?”
He glanced up again; this time he winked.
“Hmmm?”
Ava twisted so she could sit up, putting them face to face.
“Seriously now,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as anxious as she felt. “Who’s Marta?”
She realized that at some point her hands had rolled into fists. That part of her reaction concerned her.
Cole’s face lost the smirk and became softer. He dropped the book onto her lap and set the pen on the table. Ava waited, chewing the inside of her lip as her heart pounded. This conversation left her feeling more naked than all of the moments she'd been undressed in front of Cole in the last months combined.
“Marta Langden is the therapist that Dad and I are seeing,” Cole said gently; his fingers dropped to her waist, stroking lightly down the naked curve of her hip. His fingers were persuasive, laying a path of feather-light touches on her skin.
“Oh.”
Ava knew they were seeing a counsellor. She also knew that Cole was going for an hour before each session, too. She frowned for a moment, trying to remember if the therapist had ever been mentioned by her first name. Ava didn’t think so.
All the while, Cole’s hand moved lower, dropping overtop her curls, teasing lightly. She shivered. He leaned forward so that his face was close to hers. (He could have kissed her, but he hadn’t yet.) Both hands slid under her top, fingers moving against her skin.
“You can look at what I wrote, you know,” he said quietly.
He leaned in to drop his lips against her mouth. His thumbs reached the underside of her breasts, fondling her through the lace of her bra.
“What are…?” Ava gasped, her eyes closed against the tender caresses, “What are you writing?”
Cole’s hands moved higher. He found the edge of the bra and pulled it down so that his roughened fingertips could reach her nipples. She shivered, the pink peaks hardening.
“It’s homework,” Cole admitted, his face a hands-breadth away from hers. “Things I remember from when I was a kid…” his tongue flicked out to the shell of her ear, “things about my family and my emotions. Stuff like that.”
“Oh...” Ava said weakly. “Well, that’s good then.”
His teeth grazed her ear lobe, nibbling gently, and she shuddered, but Cole wasn’t done.
“Yes, it is good...” he murmured, tasting the hollow under her ear.
Cole’s mouth was nipping and licking her neck. Ava couldn’t think any further. His hands had grown impatient in their wanderings,. With a groan, Cole pulled his mouth away from her, hands dropping from her breasts to her waist. He pulled her to straddle his lap where he sat against the headboard of the bed. Her lashes fluttered open. He was watching her, face grave.
“I was teasing, you know,” he said. “There’s no reason to be jealous, Ava. I wouldn’t do that to you… Ever.”
She smiled at his words, the way he hadn’t made light of her feelings.
“Thanks,” she said, cheeks warming under his unwavering gaze.
He pulled her closer, grinding her down against his hips. The look in his eyes was shifting again, seriousness and intensity drawn into something needier.
“The writing’s a good thing,” he added, voice husky with desire. His hands eased the tank top over her head. “It’s not fun, exactly, but good to do.”
Ava nodded, twisting her arm backward to undo her bra. Cole pulled it slowly down her shoulders, his eyes half-lidded as he talked.
“Although Dad and I aren’t really talking to each other yet...”
The curves of her breasts were exposed and she shrugged the bra off. Cole’s mouth moved in hungrily to capture one of her nipples in his mouth, Ava’s hands tightening in his hair. He paused, lifting his face to look at her, fingers taking the place of his mouth.
“It’s still progress...” Cole said, “even if we’re just answering questions in the same room.”
Ava made a soft mewling sound and he laughed quietly.
“But it’s still a start...” she panted.
Then Cole leaned toward her, his mouth slanting hard against her lips, the book of stories forgotten on the bed.
Chapter 11: First Volley
Ava waited in her truck, glancing at her watch. Frank and Cole were seventeen minutes late. That had never happened before. She
watched the door, a wrinkle of concern etched between her eyebrows.
‘C’mon guys...’ her mind repeated. ‘Get out of there...’
Something bad must had happened. Ava was sure of it.
With a bang, the door of the office building swung open, the glass panels shuddering from the impact. Frank Thomas stormed onto the sidewalk. His face was purple with rage, hands balled at his side, stance wide and angry as he stomped toward his vehicle. Ava considered calling out to him; one look at his scowl changed her mind.
Ava waited until he climbed into his SUV, driving away with a screech of tires before she stepped out of her own truck. She headed through the door of the therapist’s office, pausing for a moment on the nameplate: Dr. M. Langden, LCSW. A grey-haired secretary sat inside at a desk, typing away at a computer keyboard. There was no one else in the waiting room, but she could hear shouting at a distance.
Ava felt a nervous twinge. The sound bothered her.
‘Cole...?’
Stepping to the desk, Ava waited until the woman stopped typing, her grandmotherly face breaking into a patient smile.
“Hullo, dear. What can I do for you?” the woman asked cheerily.
“Uh... hi. I’m Cole Thomas’s girlfriend,” she answered apprehensively. “Has he left yet?”
Ava glanced at the clock on the wall. Cole was now twenty minutes late. The woman smiled benignly, motioning Ava to take a seat.
“I’m sure he’ll be along shortly,” the woman replied. “He’s still in his session, far’s I know.”
Ava shifted from foot to foot.
“But he’s supposed to be done already,” she said. “Like twenty minutes ago.”
The woman paused her typing for a moment and looked back up at Ava.
“Yes,” she said patiently. “Tha’s right.”
“But he’s not.”
“No, dear. Not today.”
Somewhere, Ava heard another shout. This time she was sure it was Cole. ‘Shit!’ Peeking into the hallway, Ava took half a step forward. The elderly secretary rose to her feet.
“Oh I don’t think so,” the woman said. She was calm but there was steel under the velvet.
“Look,” Ava argued. “I really just need—”
“You will sit yourself down, dearie, and WAIT!” the woman ordered, pointing again to the chairs.
Shaking her head, Ava headed back to her truck, swearing under her breath.
: : : : : : : : : :
Cole didn’t come out for another twenty-three minutes, by which time Ava had chewed her thumbnail down to the quick. Her heart was in her throat as the door of the building opened and Cole stumbled out. He was pale and sweaty, hair dishevelled, his coat unbuttoned. Ava blanched; he looked years older than when he’d gone in. The change shocked her. She watched him wend his way to her truck, face haggard. He wrenched open the door, slumping as he sat.
“Oh my god,” she said, “are you okay?”
Cole shook his head.
“No,” he choked.
She put her hand against his arm.
“I’m so sorry, Cole.”
Cole laughed sadly, his hand coming up to lay overtop hers.
“It’s okay,” he muttered, eyes closing. “Just give me a sec.”
Ava nodded, watching him struggle for control.
“Cole, I came into the office when your Dad left,” Ava said quietly. “I, uh... I heard you.”
He released a whistling breath, fingers tightening around hers.
“Yeah.” His lips twisted in disgust. “Today Marta wanted me to, um… not just answer questions, but… participate with Dad. Insisted I tell him when I didn’t agree with what he’d said.”
Ava swallowed with a dry throat.
“He didn’t take that well?”
Cole laughed, angry and bitter.
“Let’s just say that his version of events didn’t match mine in the least. He, uh… got right down to business today. Told me I was dead wrong,” Cole sneered. “That didn’t go over well.”
Ava slid across the bench seat, her hand staying atop his, unwilling to break the contact. She put her face against his cheek.
“Want to talk about it?”
There was a pause before he answered.
“Yeah, sometime, Ava.” He took a slow breath. “I do... and I will... but not yet, okay?” When he turned to look at her, he was smiling, but it was hard-won, his eyes dark and stormy. “I just... I can’t right now.”
She nodded, letting go so that she could wrap her arms around his chest tightly, the bits and pieces of Cole’s story starting to pick away at her own self-control. For a moment she flashed to Frank’s expression as he left the office, face mottled. Ava’s heart pounded furiously, temper rising.
Cole deserved to be treated better than that.
: : : : : : : : : :
When they reached the driveway, Cole stepped out of the truck, pulling up the zipper of his coat and heading away from the house.
“Cole…?” Ava called.
He hadn’t spoken on the drive back and that worried her. He hadn’t pulled away like this in weeks; tonight he was somewhere else entirely. She shoved her keys into her pocket, slamming the door and following him.
“I’ve got to blow off some steam,” he muttered, heading out into the wind. “I’m just going down to the beach to walk for a bit.”
Ava jogged to his side, hand going to his arm.
“Can I come?”
He shook his head, his lips grim. His eyes were on the horizon as if watching for a storm.
“Please, just let me go, Ava.”
His tone was sharp and angry, and she stepped back, giving him space.
“Oh… okay.”
He gave her a weak smile, raising his hand.
“I’ll be back soon, alright? Wait up for me.” He took a single step, then turned around. “I will come back,” he repeated. “Promise.”
Ava nodded silently, watching him walk down to the beach, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Her jaw clenched as she headed into the house. Frank Thomas was going to get a piece of her mind.
: : : : : : : : : :
He was in the den, a glass of whiskey in hand, static coming from the television. Ava paused in the doorway, her father’s voice warning her to let herself calm down before she went in. But she didn’t care anymore.
‘Cole’s trying...’ a voice inside her roared, ‘it’s Frank who’s being an asshole about this...’
She stormed in without knocking, throwing herself down into the chair opposite him, waiting until he looked at her. He was no longer angry; his face was despondent and distant. Ava didn’t care. She was pissed, and he was going to know it.
“You hear it?” he asked, lifting the tumbler to his lips. His eyes were half-closed, alcohol mixing with melancholy.
“No, I don’t,” she snarled, words cold.
His expression changed at her answer. She, of course, knew exactly what he was listening for. Those children were long gone... both of them... and his grown son had been forgotten in return.
Frank sat up, frowning.
“What’re you doing here, Ava?” he grumbled.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
He scowled, gesturing to the television.
“You know what I’m doing...” he muttered, his lips a hard line. “Listening.”
Ava shook her head angrily.
“No,” she snapped, “you’re not. You’re sitting here, hidden in this…” she nodded to the room, “…this goddamn tomb while your son is outside, hurting!” She glared at him, aiming her words to cut. “Cole’s alive, Frank. He deserves your time, not her!”
There were a few seconds of silence before he pointed to the door.
“Get out!”
It was the sound of a man used to giving orders and being obeyed. Ava crossed her arms, leaning forward.
“No!” she snapped. Across from her, Frank’s eyebrows rose in shock. “You really have no idea what
it’s like for him, do you?” she continued.
He recoiled as if he’d been slapped.
“Don’t you talk to me about my son!” he growled, banging the glass down on the table, amber liquid sloshing over the edge. “You know NOTHING about this family!”
Ava laughed bitterly, voice rising to match his.
“I know a hell of a lot more than you give me credit for.”
“Out!” he ordered again, but Ava just laid into him, her words fast and furious.
“You really have no idea what it was like to grow up with Hanna as a perfect fucking ideal that Cole could never, EVER live up to!”
“Don’t you DARE!” Frank bellowed, rising from the chair like a shark from the depths, enraged and ready to attack. Ava stood at the same time. He loomed over her, but she wouldn’t step back.
“I will dare,” she hissed. “Cole is doing this because he wants to fix things with you. He WANTS to get to know you. Can you honestly say you want the same thing?!”
She could see him breathing hard, fighting to control himself.
“So tell me, Frank,” she said, voice lowering slightly, “what are you bringing to the table other than your grief?”
Cole’s father said nothing, just stared at her. After a moment, he spun on his heel and walked out, leaving Ava alone with the sound of pouring rain and the ghostly echoes of children.
Chapter 12: Legacy
Nina was reading in bed when she heard Frank walking up the wide wooden stairs. There was something about the slow progress and heavy thud of his footsteps that peaked her concern. They’d been married almost a decade now. Little hints like the heaviness of his tread warned her that not everything had gone well this evening.
She’d known this would happen eventually.
With a sigh, she set down the copy of Gloriana’s Torch on the bedside table, her fingers tucking a small copper bookmark into its heart, careful as always not to bend the pages. She had read this book more than once, but it soothed her, the epic descriptions of common people drawn into events beyond their control. Dreams and visions of the future guiding the grand events of the Spanish armada.
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