“Was it you?” I asked, turning, bringing our mouths painfully close.
“Fitting, don’t you think?”
The song was perfect if his intention was to slice me open.
“Tell me something, Natalie.” He let go of my hand, then settled his arm around my shoulder, cocooning me, caging me. “Do you miss me?”
A loaded question. “Cole, please. Don’t do this.”
Somewhere around us, applause, though the room stayed dark.
“Because I miss you. Every second of every goddamned day.” His chest rose and fell. “Do you know what it did to me, seeing you with that baby in your arms?” He pulled a strand of my hair through his fingers, toyed with the end. “Do you have any idea how you broke me, hearing you tell your mother that you loved me?”
Oh, God.
He cupped my face, his fingers trembling. “I needed those words from you, Natalie. You should have said them to me, not her.”
I managed to speak over the ferocious boom in my chest. “I couldn’t.”
“I know.” He dropped his forehead to mine. “You’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“Stay with me tonight,” he pleaded.
“That’s not a good idea.” He had my heart, he had my love, all of it. But what did I have other than a man torn apart, split down the middle, one half fueled by lust, the other drowning in grief?
His whole body vibrated. Heat and frustration and unbridled energy. “Stay with me tonight.”
“Cole.”
“I fucking need you, Natalie.” His voice broke. “Give me this one night.” His lips dusted mine, soft and unsure.
“Why?”
“You know why.”
I knew. Because whatever cruel twist of fate we’d befallen, he was cursed, the same as I. Our connection, the attraction, made no sense. The timing was always off. The pull, though, that was undeniable, otherworldly, and yes, at times sinful. But I knew, the same as Cole, that we were something, and our relationship, whether good or bad, friend or foe, hot or cold, was very extraordinary.
One more night would break my heart a thousand times over.
One more night might be all I’d ever get of Cole Adams.
I rose from my chair, took his hand, and led him to my car.
Cole slammed the SUV into park. Ran to my side, opened the door, and helped me out, his grip tight, as if afraid I would run.
I stared at the CFC painted on the window. “You’re staying in the gym?”
“I have an apartment above the gym.” Cole pushed open the door, waited for me to enter, then locked up behind us. “Can’t stand being in that house,” he mumbled before leading me upstairs, then past his office to a small apartment.
His living space was small but clean. Too sterile. Exposed brick and beams. A small, open kitchen was tucked in the corner. Large arch windows. One small couch and a large screen television. To my left, an open barn door exposed a small room, the unmade bed the only clue that someone lived there. No art, no life, only empty space full of potential.
Silence stretched, anticipation and hesitation crackling the air between us, my fingers itching to touch, my body primed. My heart guarded.
“Mona said on stage that you were a new, but dear, friend.”
“True.” He loosened his tie. Tugged the silk off his neck.
“When did that happen?” I stood still, waiting for his cue.
“When you left,” he said, dropping his tie, wetting his lips.
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t either.” He stepped close enough to kiss me. “All I know is that when I’m there, I feel closer to you.”
“Why can’t you go home?” I asked, lifting my face to study his sad expression.
“Too many memories.”
I nodded.
“Not just of her, but Martin, too. He helped me buy that house. We remodeled the kitchen together. Now, when I’m there, I want to take a bat to the place.”
“I get it.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t be here. God, you’re still grieving. I should’ve known better.”
A huff. “Don’t leave.”
“Cole, I—”
Warm hands cupped my cheeks. Cole stared down at me, heated and pleading. “No more. I don’t want them in my head when you’re here.”
He claimed my mouth in a kiss both punishing and desperate, his full body trembling against mine. Finally.
His fingers tangled in my hair. I gripped his shirt in tight fists, my body heating and softening, aching for his possession.
Fucking my mouth with his tongue, he lifted the hem of my skirt, grabbed my ass, and yanked me tighter against his erection.
I moaned.
Cole shivered.
My back hit the wall. He slapped a hand above my head and rolled his hips, grinding against me, adding fuel to the flame and, oh, God, I was lit. Fire in my belly. Skin fevered. Heart burned to ash.
“Jesus. Fuck,” he mumbled into my mouth.
A grunt, and he was on his knees. My panties were gone, and my skirt was bunched around my waist. Rushed kisses peppered my abdomen before he moved lower, digging fingers into my thighs and going straight for the kill, sucking my clit like his life depended on making me come. Like he didn’t have time for any other nonsense, his sole purpose to kneel at my feet and worship my body. He sucked and licked and sucked again before plunging a finger between my folds. I came hard, grinding against his face, my back scraping against the brick wall.
Before I could recover, he rushed me to the bed. A mad scramble to remove our clothes. A frantic rush to roll on a condom.
Too damn long before he filled me, hot, hard, perfect. Sweet Lord, the man was everything.
He moved, I moaned. He kissed, I cried. He pounded me into the mattress, and I clung tight, absorbing his anger, his pain, his grief, his feral energy.
He growled his release into my neck, then collapsed at my side, caging me with heavy limbs.
My body was spent. My heart demanded more, more, more.
We fucked again in the shower.
By the third time, my body ached and my heart bled. We hadn’t made love. Cole had purged while I had comforted.
Sad thing? I wasn’t upset. He needed release. I needed…him. Any broken, bloody part he offered.
Cole tucked a leg between mine and buried his face in my hair, his arm draping over my ribs, his cock thickening against my backside.
“Don’t leave, Natalie.”
“I’ll be back for Thanksgiving.”
“Tell me where you live.” He laced our fingers and squeezed. “I’ll visit on the weekends.”
“Cole. Listen.”
“Don’t.” He rolled to his back, leaving me cold. “Don’t give me the fucking speech.”
I stared at the empty brick wall, hating what came next. “You’re grieving. You’re unsettled. I’ve just started a new job in a different state.”
“I’ve lost you, haven’t I?” Such venom in his voice.
I rolled over but didn’t touch. I couldn’t touch and hold my ground. “I don’t want that. I don’t want us to be strangers, but I don’t see how we can be more than… God, I don’t even know what we are.”
“A hot fucking mess.” Cole shoved the sheet off his body and sat up, dropping his feet to the floor. “Doomed from day one.”
Our time had come to an end. I slid out of bed, hunted for my clothes. “I’ll be home for the holidays. Can I see you then?” Bra and panties. Check. Dress. Check.
“I hate that idea.” He stood, came toe to toe, then spun me around, closing my zipper. He kissed my shoulder. “That’s months away.”
“I know.”
And then he broke me, growling, “You’ll be fucking other men by then.”
I turned and slapped the sneer off his face. “That was cruel.”
He didn’t flinch.
He wanted me to hurt him. He wanted me to
hurt.
I snatched my shoes off the floor. Found my handbag by the front door.
Cole stood behind me, his heat no longer soothing. “The only good thing in my life is walking out the door, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.”
“You’re hurting and lashing out at me,” I said to the door, my hand on the knob. “For your information, you’ve ruined me for any other man. Once you’ve digested that fact, get some help. You need to work through your grief with a professional. At the very least, direct your anger elsewhere, but I won’t stay here and be your goddamned punching bag.”
I slipped out the door and dashed toward the stairs, biting my lip to keep the tears at bay.
Heavy footsteps came behind me.
“Don’t follow me.”
I hit the stairwell, Cole hot on my heels.
“I mean it. Don’t follow me,” I yelled, jogging down the cement steps.
I made it to the exit before he caged me against the heavy metal door. His chest heaved against my back. God, how I wanted to stay. Fall into his arms and promise my love and devotion for all eternity. But there were awful, unrelenting obstacles standing between us. His dead wife. My new job. His grief. My fear.
He reached around me, inserted a key into the lock. More angry than apologetic, he rasped, “For the record, you’ve ruined me, too.”
Cole
“What the hell, bro?” I peeled my face off the mat and rolled to my back, a furnace boiling just below my skin. I didn’t bother testing my left eye. The swelling would seal my lid shut in a matter of minutes anyway.
Ellis dropped to his knees and tossed his gloves. “You’re off your game.” Leaning over me, he inspected my face. “Sorry, dude. Shit.”
He poked. I swatted his hand away.
In the two and a half decades I’d known Ellis, he’d only landed one punch to my mug, and that was the night of Prom, eleven years and hundreds of fights ago, and only then because I’d been shitfaced and jumped naked into the wrong bed, with the wrong girlfriend, while Ellis had been showing her the wonders of oral.
Good times.
I rolled to a sitting position, and the room took on a life of its own, swirling and distorting. Yeah. Horizontal was the better option.
My head hit the mat. Ellis jumped to his feet, jogged out of sight, then came back with an ice pack and played doting mom while I breathed through the wave of nausea.
“I knew you were in no condition, man. What the fuck was I thinking?” He squatted next to me. “We should get you to the doc, get that eye checked out.”
“I’m fine.”
“Head injuries are nothing to—”
“Jesus, you didn’t hit me that hard!” I laughed. Couldn’t help myself. God, I loved this guy. “And what the hell do you mean I’m in no condition?”
With a huff, he dropped his head, roughed a hand through his sweaty hair, then lifted worried eyes. “You haven’t been yourself for a long time, dude. That’s all I’m saying.”
Truth. Couldn’t argue. So I didn’t.
“I miss him.” Ellis scratched his chin.
I hated him. “So do I.”
“We haven’t talked about the accident.”
And we never would because I hated lying to anyone, especially Ellis. Martin had betrayed me in the worst way, but that would remain between me and God. Ellis deserved to have nothing but good memories of our longtime best friend.
“Cole.” He blinked, shoulders slumped. “I love and respect the hell out of you, so I’m not gonna beat around the bush.”
Aw, fuck. I threw an arm over my throbbing face. I couldn’t take that look. I couldn’t take seeing him distraught. Not for me.
“He was our friend. Our brother. But he was a bastard eighty percent of the time. And if he and Vic were…” He cleared his throat. “If they were…”
Jesus. Fuck. He knew. “Yes! Yes! They were!” My guts coiled. I was not ready for this conversation. I rolled to hands and knees. Pushed to a stand. “I miss them. I really fucking miss them. But, God, I fucking hate them.” The ice pack hit the wall with a disappointing thud. “They were fucking behind my back. Now they’re dead. End of story.”
“Cole.”
I made for the locker room.
“Wait, goddammit!”
A heavy hand landed on my shoulder, and everything inside of me turned red hot, molten, boiling over. I twisted free of his grip. Turned. Landed one on his jaw.
My beast of a best friend barely flinched, and I hadn’t held back.
Eyes liquid and red, he growled, “Do it again.”
So I did. I gave him everything I had. A left jab. A straight right to the gut.
Ellis stumbled back but didn’t bow. “Again!”
“No!” Came an angry voice from behind. “Ellis Keaton Chambers. Go get yourself cleaned up right this second,” Lacey whisper-yelled, holding the baby tight to her chest.
The change was comical—beast to teddy bear in a blink.
Shaking his head, he shoved past me, grumbled, “You’re gonna have to talk to me eventually,” and disappeared.
“And you.” Lacey aimed a pointed finger my way. “Get your shit together. He’s given you time to grieve, but he’s hurting, too. He lost someone, too.” She stepped closer, smelling sweet but sounding bitter. “You still have each other, so help each other.”
The firecracker dropped a blue bag at my feet, mumbling under her breath. “Puta madre. Acting like stupid little boys.” Again with a finger in my face. “I’m late to pick up Natalie, and you’re in here fighting like scrapyard dogs.” More words in Spanish.
Slowly, I registered that she’d mentioned Natalie’s name. Like a scolded child, I stood absorbing her ire. Then, she shoved the chubby, bundled baby into my sweaty arms. “Linda is waiting for me in the car. I have to go. Tell Ellis I’ll be home in a couple of hours. There are bottles in the diaper bag.” She turned to leave, then turned back, kissed her son on the forehead. More Spanish. A glare. “If I come home and my husband’s face looks anything like yours does right now, I’m going to hurt you, Cole Adams.”
With that, she stormed out the front door.
Leon’s face scrunched, then he let out a mighty wail. I got busy with the hush, hush, rock, rock. When that didn’t work, I hollered for Ellis. He didn’t come. I remembered finding Natalie singing to him on the day of the baptism. She’d looked every bit the goddess, and a natural. I’d stood in the doorway, imagined her singing to our baby, and that thought had damn near killed me.
Leon continued to cry. When Ellis finally came out from the locker room, showered and dressed, he found me, ass to the floor, crying right along with his son.
There were no words for the loss we both suffered. Regardless, I confessed. “I’m so fucking tired of hating them.”
Ellis took his son. I couldn’t look him in the eye, but I clapped his shoulder and made my way upstairs.
Under the heavy spray of hot water, I cussed and screamed and yelled. Then, I fell to my knees and gave every vile, hateful thought to God because I wasn’t strong enough to hold them anymore.
“You’re coming by later, right?” Ellis asked, his voice hopeful but unsteady over the phone.
What Ellis asked seemed impossible, but I wanted nothing more than to get away from the barrage of condolences. How are you holding up, son? I’m sorry for your loss. Holidays are always the hardest.
I’d heard them all fucking day.
“I’m not sure.”
He released a breath. “Listen. Got a bottle of whiskey from Dad. Cards are ready.”
That was the kicker. Thanksgiving tradition dictated we ended our evenings with Cubans, whiskey, and a game of poker. Me, Ellis, and Martin. For the past six years.
I stuck my fork into my second slice of apple pie.
As if reading my mind, he said, “C’mon, man. Don’t make me do this alone.”
“Yeah. Right. Sorry. I’ll be there.”
I finished my dessert,
then made my way to the kitchen, kissed Mom on the cheek, and snatched the dirty platter from her fingers. “I’ll finish up here. Go join the others.”
“You wash, I’ll dry.” She moved away, shaking her head, and pulled a towel out of the drawer. “I can’t listen to another one of your uncle’s dirty holiday jokes. Who’re you hiding from?”
Everyone. “If I have to hear about Auntie Dot’s diverticulitis again, I might shoot myself.”
Mom bent over in laughter. “I know. I know. Bless her heart.”
God, that smile. Precious. After Cadence passed, Dad and I feared we’d never see her face light up again. We survived that death. I could survive another.
Sharing small talk, we finished the dishes. When the last of the holiday china was put away, she pulled me into a tight embrace. “You did good tonight.”
I hated every second. “I wash a mean pan.”
“Sweetie.” Mom pushed away but held my arms in a firm grip. “This is your first holiday after the accident. I know it has to be hard.”
Defenses up, I snapped, “You didn’t even like Victoria, Mom.”
Her eyes glistened, but she mirrored my glare. “I loved her because you loved her.”
“But you didn’t like her.”
“Honey.” Mom backed away and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “We don’t have to talk about this now.”
“I need to talk about it.” I needed Mom’s grace.
She nodded. Sniffed. Straightened her spine. “Your dad and I never thought she was the right fit. There isn’t much more to it than that.”
“Bullshit.”
“Okay, fine.” With a huff, she turned to ready the Keurig. “You doted over her. Gave her everything she wanted. You were always trying to please her, and that’s a wonderful quality, sweetheart. It is, but…” Silence. A deep inhale.
“But what?” I stood at her side, snagged two holiday mugs off the high shelf.
“Do you remember what you told me when you first met Victoria?”
“No.”
“You told me you’d tried to turn down her advances, let her down gently, but then she’d told you about her abuse. Do you remember?”
L.O.V.E. Page 17