What's Left of Me

by Kimberly Lewis

  “Loosen the death grip, Nancy, the boy’s turning blue.”

  I glance up and see my father’s smiling face as my mother leans away from me slightly—her arms stay locked around me.

  “It’s good to have you home again, son,” my father says, laying his palm on my shoulder and shaking my hand.

  The next forty-five minutes go by in a blur. I’m passed from person to person, shaking hands, receiving hugs and well-wishes, and ‘bout-time-you-finally-came-home’s. Everything’s going great, and even though I’m suffocating in kind gestures, I’m good. Until I get the first “Thank you for your service to our country,” and comments about the good men we lost.

  We didn’t lose anyone. I lost someone. Jenna, George, and Nina … they lost someone. Anger quickly builds and spreads throughout my body, but I contain it and work to push it deep down within me. These people, with their innocent words and good intentions, have no clue how much their niceness hurts.

  I politely excuse myself, accept a few more gracious handshakes, and go in search of Jenna. I haven’t seen her all night. And right now, I need her.

  12

  jenna

  “Could I have an iced tea, please?” I stand at the bar, resting my arms on the smooth stone surface as I wait for the bartender. The party’s been going on for at least an hour now, and I’ve yet to see or hear from Cole. I know he’s here, though. Everyone knows he’s here. His homecoming is the hot topic of the evening, and I don’t think I’ve run into a single person who hasn’t mentioned it in one form or another. This outpouring of warm welcomes fills my heart with an indescribable amount of joy. I just hope Cole feels that way about all of this and isn’t too overwhelmed. He seemed so uneasy right before we left the house, and it took every bit of willpower I had to leave him in that state.

  After receiving my drink from the bartender, I turn and make my way across the brick patio as I take a small sip from my glass. I pause at the top of the steps and glance around the property, trying to find Cole in the sea of dark suits with no such luck.

  “Now what’s a pretty girl like you,” he says from behind me, and I take my bottom lip between my teeth as I smile, “doing up here all alone and not on the dance floor?”

  “Probably because no one’s asked me to join them,” I reply and turn as he steps up next to me. Just the sight of him makes my insides spring to life.

  “Well let’s change that, shall we?” Cole grins, sexy yet sweet, and extends his arm.

  Resting my hand in the crook of his arm, I set my drink down on a random table as we walk across the lawn to the dance floor and follow in step with the other couples. Cole takes my hand in his as he turns me to face him and rests his other hand against my side. I shoot him a smirk and raise my eyebrow at his choice of hand placement.

  “Just trying to keep things PG while we’re in public.” His expression morphs into that sly grin he uses when he’s up to no good. “Later, when we’re not in public, it’ll be a whole other story.”

  My eyes widen and dart around the immediate surrounding area, because he did not say that discretely. At all. “Cole,” I chide with a harsh whisper.

  “Relax, baby,” he tells me as we continue to sway with the soft melody. “No one is paying any attention to us right now.”

  I glance around again, shrinking against the ridiculous number of people that keep looking our way, before meeting his gaze. “Cole, everyone is paying attention to us.”

  “Let ‘em. They’re probably just wondering how I got lucky enough to dance with the most beautiful woman here.”

  Amusement tickles the corners of my mouth at his flattery. “Are you trying to butter me up for something?”

  “Now why would I do that?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. It’s such an innocent move and—dare I say?—cute. I keep that comment to myself, because if I know Cole he’d immediately deny his cuteness and demand a more masculine description.

  “Oh I don’t know,” I say on a sigh, my voice light and teasing. “One would think your sweet talking would strengthen your chance of sleeping with me, but I might remind you that that’s already happened. A lot.”

  Cole releases a deep chuckle. “No need to remind me. My memory is quite good.” On the next slow turn, he pulls my body to his and lowers his voice to a sexy rumble. “Every moan. Every gasp. Every quiver and tremble. I’ve got it all memorized, baby, along with what prompted them.”

  My jaw falls slack as my pulse spikes. Heat rushes throughout my body, and I feel my insides tighten as his words penetrate my core.

  “Stay with me, Jenna,” Cole urges, and I realize I’ve stopped dancing.

  Forcing my feet to move, I follow his lead and pick back up with the slow tune. Being in his arms is the only place I want to be. But after that last little statement of his, I’m having a hard time not jumping him right in front of everyone just to see how right he was about memorizing me. I crave his touch, more than just his hand in my hand and his palm against my dress. Goodness, I need to calm down. Think of something else. Change the subject.

  “Are you enjoying the party?” Safe question. There’s no way he can spin that one.

  “It’s okay.” He grins. “I can think of other things I’d rather be doing, though.”

  Well then. “Cole,” I sigh. “I’m being serious. There are a lot of people here, and I’m worried about you. You didn’t seem too confident before we left the house earlier, and I’m scared this playfulness is just a front. Are you doing all right?”

  “I’m surviving,” he tells me, and his expression turns somber. “Everyone’s being overly friendly and telling me how great it is that I’m back. In all honesty, I wish they’d stop.”

  “They’re just trying to be nice,” I tell him softly.

  “I know,” Cole says. “But they don’t realize how much it hurts to hear it. It’s not their fault, though.” He smiles, barely, and it’s forced. “Like you said, they’re just trying to be nice.” His hand tightens on my waist as he pulls me closer to him. “Let’s just dance for a bit and not talk, okay?”

  I nod, understanding and willing to just let him hold me as we slowly sway to the music. As one song fades another begins, and Cole and I are moving in sync to “Unchained Melody.” My heart aches as the lyrics seep into my soul—loneliness, need, time, love, wait, and coming home. It speaks to me on such a deep level that I’m almost brought to tears. I’ve waited for so long to feel the way I feel about Cole and to have someone return that affection. And he does, every day and every night. When the song intensifies, Cole’s hand slides around to my lower back and presses me further into his embrace. I’m overcome with emotion and fight hard against the warmth of tears gathering in my eyes. His silent request for the comfort of my body nearly does me in.

  We slow our movements as the song comes to an end, and I lift my face to look at him. There’s so much going on behind his eyes, and I want to ask him, to urge him to talk to me so I can help. But he brings our interlocked hands down by our sides and uses his free hand to trace the outline of my face with a feather light touch.

  “Jenna.” His voice is hushed as he tucks my hair behind my ear and holds my gaze.

  There are at least a hundred people around us, all of whom can look over and see us in this very intimate moment, but I don’t care.

  “Yes?”

  A soft grin lifts the corner of his mouth. “I—”

  “Jenna!”

  I jump and turn around to look behind me at the sound of my mother’s voice to see her and my father walking toward us. “Mom. Dad,” I say, a little caught off guard as I take a step away from Cole. “You guys made it.”

  “Your mother couldn’t decide on which dress to wear,” my dad quips and laughs when my mother smacks his arm.

  “You will not put all of the blame on me for our lateness, Mr. I-can’t-find-my-cufflinks.”

  Amused at my parents’ bickering, I smile, but it falters as I glance over to Cole. All of the color has drai
ned from his face, and he looks extremely uncomfortable.

  “Jenna, sweetie, that dress is quite becoming on you,” my mother says, taking my hand as she guides me to spin to see the whole thing. “I love that color.” My skirt swishes around my thighs as I come to a stop and shoot another glance at Cole. “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie,” my mother says when notices the shift in my eyes. “We didn’t mean to interrupt you and your—” She looks from me to Cole and her whole body stiffens.

  “Cole,” my father says with a chuckle and reaches for Cole’s hand, giving him a firm handshake. “When the hell did you get back in town?”

  “A few days ago, sir,” Cole answers, formal and polite.

  My father laughs again. “What is this ‘sir’ mess? I’m still the same old George I was years ago.” He places his palm against Cole’s shoulder, squeezing before giving him a few pats.

  A smile twitches Cole’s lips. “Okay, George,” he says with a nod to my father, and then, almost reluctantly, he turns to my mother. “Nina.” His voice is softer this time, and I hold my breath as I wait for what seems like forever for her to reply.

  “Oh, son,” she cries and throws her arms around him. “We’ve missed you.” Her voice is strained as she squeezes him tight before loosening her hold and swatting his arm.

  Shock crosses his face. Mine too. I can’t believe my mother just hit him.

  “You’ve been in town for days. Why haven’t you come by the house?” she chides, and my father steps in to place his arm around her shoulders.

  “I was only laying low so I could surprise my mother on her birthday,” Cole explains, and his smile is a little easier this time. “No one knew I was back until about an hour ago.”

  “Well, it’s a great surprise, son,” my father says.

  “A very nice surprise,” my mother agrees. “And now that your secret is out I expect you to come by as soon as you can. You can stay for dinner, and we can catch up on what you’ve been up to.” She smiles, and it reaches her eyes. “I’ll even make your favorite—meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and roasted Brussels sprouts.”

  “How can I say no to that?” Cole replies, and everyone chuckles. He looks much more relaxed now as my parents turn their questions to me, wondering how I’m fairing out at the lake house, how the work on my apartment is going, do I think I’ll be back in my own home before the school year starts, etcetera, etcetera.

  Somewhere during this, Cole politely excuses himself from our conversation and strolls away—but not before I catch the look on his face. There’s shift in the air, and it’s as if I can sense the turmoil building within him.

  I answer my parents’ questions, keeping my answers fairly short but still trying to be courteous, as I keep glancing to Cole. He jogs up the steps and crosses the patio into the house. Something’s not right, I can feel it.

  “I’m sorry, Mom and Dad, but could you excuse me for just a moment,” I say as nicely as I can and turn to follow behind Cole.

  13

  jenna

  The house is fairly quiet, minus the kitchen where the catering staff is bustling around and the few guests who’ve filtered inside for the restrooms. I make my way through the spacious rooms of the first floor, not bothering with any of the open areas. If Cole’s in here somewhere, he’s going to be where no one can bother him—that means a place away from all the commotion and preferably a room with a door that locks. The guest suite is immediately crossed off my list since there’s a restroom right next to it. That only leaves one other room on the first floor that would provide him with the ultimate solitude: his father’s study. Making my way through the grand foyer, I stop just outside the double doors and lift my hand to knock. For a moment I contemplate if I should even be doing this. He left the party for a reason, to get away from people, and here I am barging in on his privacy. To my own horror, I knock anyway. So much for giving him some space.

  “Cole?” I softly say as I lean toward the door. “It’s me, Jenna.”

  I stand there for what feels like an eternity, curious as to whether he’s even in there, and just as I’m about to leave to check the second floor, the door slowly cracks open a few inches. Tentatively, I push it farther and enter the study.

  “Close the door and lock it, please,” Cole says with his back turned to me as he crosses the room.

  I do as he requests and stand with my back pressed against the door as I take in the space. I’ve only been in here a few times and never on good terms. Emma and I often referred to it in our teenage years as the “lecture room”—which is pretty self-explanatory.

  Cole takes a seat behind his father’s massive desk, placing his face in his hands and his elbows on his knees. It’s a sight that breaks my heart. I can’t imagine what’s going through his head right now, and even though I want to know, I don’t ask.

  With slow and easy steps, I make my way over to him, pausing to retrieve his suit jacket from the floor and neatly lay it over the edge of the desk.

  “You don’t have to do that,” he mumbles through his hands.

  I smile, even though he’s not looking at me. “I don’t have to do a lot of things.” Moving closer, I stand in front of him and rest my hand on his shoulder, while my other gently brushes through his hair. We stay like that for a while, not speaking, not moving, as I attempt to comfort him.

  “I’m so fucked up, Jen,” Cole says, finally breaking the silence. “I should be happy and enjoying the welcome I’ve received, yet here I am hiding out in my parents’ house because I … I don’t feel like I deserve it.”

  Tears prick my eyes at the agony in his voice. “Cole,” I say in sympathy.

  He reaches for me then, placing his hands on my hips and pulling me to him as he rests his forehead against my stomach. “Why am I like this?”

  My throat is thick as I reply, “You’re holding on to a lot of guilt for something that wasn’t your fault. No one blames you for what happened.”

  Cole releases a short, sardonic laugh.

  Finding his response odd, I place my fingers beneath his chin and tip his face up to look at mine. My question dissolves, though, as I gaze into his wounded eyes. There’s so much we need to talk about, but for the life of me I can’t bring myself to ask him anything. It scares me, the answers I may get, but I’m mostly scared of causing him more unnecessary pain. I stroke my fingers along his face, through his hair, and the short stubble along his jaw. “I want to help you, Cole,” I say. “I just need you to tell me how.”

  Taking hold of my hand, Cole turns into my wrist and presses his lips to my skin. “Just be with me.”

  My chest aches and burns as I try to hold it together. “I’m here. For as long as you want me to be.”

  “Do you mean that?” he asks, and cups my jaw in his palm.

  “Of course,” I say, and my eyelashes flutter as his thumb strokes my cheek.

  His hand slides around to the back of my neck, and our lips meet as he pulls me in. There’s no rush. No hurry. He kisses me with leisure, just sweet, feather-light movements of his lips against mine. It makes me feel cherished. Worshiped even. And I wonder how it’s even possible for him to make me feel these things and forget about the rest of the world when he’s fighting his own inner battle.

  Guilt creeps into my bones, and it’s me now who feels undeserving. Here is this broken shell of a man making me feel cherished. Making me feel worshiped. All while I stand there and graciously accept what he offers.

  The need to make him feel what I feel consumes me. Tilting my head to the side, I attempt to deepen the kiss—dipping my tongue out to test the waters. Without missing a beat, Cole’s tongue glides against mine as he grips handfuls of my skirt at my hips to pull me closer. I straddle his thighs and continue to kiss him, making my intentions known, as the leather chair rocks backward with a soft creak from the sudden movement.

  This I can give him. Because I know for a fact that when I give myself to him, there isn’t another thought in his mind. It’s just me and h
im, and the rest of the world and all of our problems just disappear.

  Cole breaks our kiss long enough to brush my hair from my face and ask, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  I nod and try to slow my breathing. There’s no way I’m backing out of this now. I’m so worked up just from kissing him that if we stop I may combust. Taking his hand in mine, I kiss the tips of his fingers one by one then lock my eyes on his as I move his hand down my body over my dress—dragging his palm down my neck, across my collarbone, my breast, my stomach, and finally pushing him between my legs.

  His eyes darken as a low rumble emanates from his chest. The next second I’m flat on my back on top of his father’s desk with Cole hovering over me, devouring my mouth with a brutal assault of his lips against mine. I reach for his shirt, ripping it free from his pants as my fingers slip beneath the white material to drag my nails along his strong back. Cole groans into my mouth, and the vibration sends a jolt of lust to my core. His hand slides up my thigh, drawing my dress with it, and grips my bottom as he grinds against me. I moan and tug on my bottom lip as his lips move down my neck, the short stubble on his jaw leaving a satisfying burn as he marks me.

  My hands work quickly to undo his pants and shove them down his hips, and then I help free him from his boxers. Sliding my panties to the side, Cole aligns himself with my opening and thrusts deep into me. We both groan with sheer satisfaction as he slides almost fully out of me and thrusts deep again. I bite my lip to keep from crying out as I thread my fingers in his hair and smash my mouth to his.

  “Wrap your legs around me,” Cole demands, breaking away from our kiss to nip at my chin.

  I gasp and do as I’m told, locking my ankles around his waist as he grips my bottom and lifts me from the desk. My back is against the wall of books as Cole’s fingers dig into my skin, his lips press against my neck as he licks and sucks, all while slamming into me over and over again.