by Pam Godwin
Cole’s savings and death benefits exceeded a hundred thousand dollars, and I never touched it. I couldn’t bring myself to even think about it.
“The money’s yours,” he says tightly. “I wanted you to have it.”
“No—”
“I’m going to find another job. A safe job that doesn’t require travel.” The muscles in his neck go drumhead tight. “I’ll never make as much as Trace, but I’ll provide for you and—”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” My chest fills with sand. “You think that’s why I’m with him?”
“He’s loaded. It makes things easier, doesn’t it?”
Easier? He thinks any of this has been easy?
“Don’t put your insecurities on me.” I shove off his lap and stand over him, my voice shrilling through the basement. “You know me, Cole. You know I don’t give a flying rat’s ass about money.”
“I’m not insecure—”
“Why bring it up then? Why even mention his money?”
“What are you doing with him, Danni? He treated you like shit. You deserve better.”
“Oh, I do? I deserve you, is that it?” The vein in my forehead throbs. “You think I deserve someone who leaves me and makes me believe for years that he’s dead?”
“Dammit.” He leaps to his feet, his dark hair falling over his brow as he jerks his head toward me. “Listen to me—”
“No, you listen to me. That man upstairs, the man you trusted with my life, deserves every ounce of my love. Yeah, he can be a real asshole, but he’s ferociously protective and generous and…and he’s here. Always here. That’s why you asked him to look after me, right? Because you knew he wouldn’t abandon me. Think about it, Cole. He agreed to babysit a woman he never met for an entire year. A year that turned into four and a half years. He didn’t have to do that. He didn’t know me. He did it for you. And he never left. He stayed here.” My voice tumbles into a whisper. “He never left me.”
Cole flinches and flattens a hand against his chest, his expression devastated. But I’m not finished.
“Even when I deliberately hurt him, when I hooked up with that guy at a bar, he didn’t leave me.” My breath rushes out, taking my anger with it and leaving me depleted, dizzy. “He slept in my driveway, because he couldn’t leave me.”
“I didn’t want to leave you.” With a hand still pressed to his chest, he holds his fist in front of him, punching it down as he spits each word. “Walking away from you that morning, getting into that cab and leaving you standing there, alone…” He licks his lips, his voice fractured and hoarse. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and believe me, Danni, I’ve done some really hard things in my life.”
He stares at me for a lifetime, his hands coming together against his sternum, as if holding himself away from me. Or holding in his heartache.
I think he’s waiting for me to say something, perhaps something that’ll take his pain away. But I don’t have answers. I’m shivering so badly I can’t even muster my voice.
His chest rises and falls, and his beautiful face contorts into a picture of tragedy as he looks away.
My trembling grows frenetic in the quiet that follows. I want to scream at the injustice of it. I want to throw myself on the floor and curse the cruelty of love. I want to throat-punch anyone who says the heart knows things the mind can’t explain, because my heart is a loser. It’s wired to wreak me. Not just once, but over and over. And I’m scared. So fucking afraid of how this will end.
“Goddammit,” he whispers achingly, clasping his fingers on his head as he paces. “I’m not giving up on us. I won’t.”
“Look at us, Cole.” My shoulders slump. “We’re miserable.”
“So what?” He whirls toward me. “Yeah, it’s going to suck. Big deal. We’ll work through it. We’ll fight and shout and say hurtful things, because that’s what people do when they care, and I care more than you’ll ever know.”
His hands fall to his hips, and his gaze drifts over my shoulder, hardening into a murderous glare.
I turn and find Trace standing at the bottom of the stairs. Fingers resting in the pockets of his jeans and chin angled down, he watches us from beneath a scowling brow.
“How long have you been here?” How did I not hear him?
“You said asshole, and I figured you were talking about me.” His scowl twitches, giving me a trace of a smile.
I face him fully and don’t smile back. “If you knew there was a chance Cole would return, why did you propose to me? No more bullshit, Trace. I want a straight answer.”
“I didn’t know he planned to retire.”
My mouth opens, closes, and I glance back at Cole. “Is that true?”
“I guess I never mentioned it.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s none of his business.”
“You told him about my pussy ring. I’m pretty sure that was none of his business. But quitting a job you shared with him, retiring from something you were born to do? That very much qualifies as something you would tell your best friend.”
Cole stares at me, complexion ashen. Dragging a hand across his mouth, he paces to the futon and perches on the edge. Bending over his lap with his hands laced together, he bounces a leg and scatters nervous energy through the room.
“When you asked me to watch over her…” Trace stands still, his tone accusing. “You said it could be an ongoing thing.”
I whip my head toward Cole. “You lied to me?” My heart beats against my chest so violently I have to cough a few times to get it back under control. “You said—”
“I know what I said.” His brown eyes thrash with unwavering adamancy. “It wasn’t an easy decision. The job was a part of me. I know you understand that. It would be like asking you to give up dancing.”
The air evacuates my lungs. “I couldn’t.”
“Exactly. But the night I told you I was leaving for a year, I knew it would be my last mission. My job endangered you. It separated me from you.” He drops his gaze to the floor and lowers his voice. “With all those miles and years between us, it became very clear just how easy it would be to give it up. And I did. I quit the moment I returned to the States.”
He lets me chew on that, watching me with yearning and desperation.
The only sounds in the basement are our heavy breaths and the tick of the analog clock on the wall. It’s only eight in the morning, and the constant strain of the past two hours is starting to wear on me. I should be in bed, with Trace, dreaming of wedding plans.
I press my thumb against the silver band on my finger. Trace knew there was a chance Cole would come back, but he thought Cole would just leave me again. And again and again. That realization spider-webs through my mind, weaving all of Trace’s actions, desires, and impulses into a sticky net of protectiveness.
“You didn’t want me to be alone anymore.” I peer up at Trace, hating the worry pulling at his scowl.
“I fell in love with you, Danni, and with that comes a responsibility. Your happiness and safety trumped my loyalty to Cole.” Sadness darkens his expression. “You’re all that I am, and the moment I accepted that, protecting you was no longer a favor or a job. It became a prerogative.”
“So you bound me to you.”
“No, I bound myself to you.” His eyes flash to Cole and return to me. “I’m sick over the position that puts you in. But I will never regret the way I feel about you.”
Cole jumps to his feet. “How about instead of proposing to her, you waited until I came home? Who she spends her life with is her choice, her decision to make after she has all the facts.”
“I gave her the choice.” Trace snaps his spine straight, voice booming. “She chose me.”
“Because she thought I was dead!” Cole bellows, making me wince. “I will never forgive you, you selfish son of a bitch. You took the choice away from her and—”
“We all have choices. Right here. Right now.” I step between them, heart racing. “Cole, you can
go back to your job. If it means that much to you, you should. It’ll hurt like hell, but if I can survive your death, I’ll pull through if you walk away.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Never again.” He plants his feet, hands on his hips, staring at me with equal measures of madness and determination.
Relief whispers through me. I can talk a big talk, but I just got him back. Losing him again would gut me.
I turn to Trace. “You knew he might show back up. What was your plan for that?”
“I didn’t have a plan.” Trace holds his hands behind him, shoulders back, a stalwart tower of formality and calm grace.
I appreciate his reserve now more than ever. Two hotheads in one room would’ve ended in bloodshed. But every man fights differently, and I won’t underestimate Trace. Whenever he strikes, I don’t see it coming.
Cole paces around me, blustering noisy breaths and stirring up the dust. “If you thought I would back down and let you—”
“I knew if you returned,” Trace says, “it wouldn’t be easy. Lines will be drawn. Rivalry will ensue. Because I’m not going anywhere, either.” He looks at me with that confident tilt of his head I adore so much. “I’m not leaving your side, Danni, until—” His voice loses strength, and he swallows. “Until there comes a point when I’m not the one you want. And even then, I’ll convince you to see the error in your decision.”
Mounting dread closes my throat. I feel so heavy, so weighed down with panic and helplessness. The ache behind my eyes returns, stabbing like a thousand needles. I suck my bottom lip between my teeth, biting down and shaking my head rapidly, but I can’t loosen the grip of my emotions.
“I need…” Time. Space. A solution that doesn’t exist. “I need to think.”
I swivel toward the stairs with thoughts of escape, in my bed, where I can cry myself to sleep.
But what if they leave? They said they wouldn’t, but the thought stops me on the bottom step.
“Are you going to work?” I ask Trace.
Thankfully, today’s my day off. I might find solace in dancing, but not at the casino, where I’d have to smile and entertain a room full of strangers.
“I just called in and rearranged my schedule.” Trace searches my face, frowning deeply at whatever he sees in my eyes. “I’ll be here.”
I shift my focus to Cole. “Where are you staying?”
He goes still, his voice stunned into a whisper. “This is my home.” His hand presses against his sternum. “You are my home.”
I turn my head toward the top of the stairs, trembling against the rise of tears. “How’s that going to work? Are we all going to share a bed?”
“Fuck, no.” Cole flexes his jaw. “I’m not sharing you.”
Trace shakes his head, expression tight.
“I guess that means we’ll all be nice and cozy and celibate for the indefinite future.” I swipe at the spill of tears on my cheek and meet Cole’s eyes. “All of your things are down here. You can sleep on the futon.” I motion toward it. “I spent the night there a couple months ago. It’s comfortable.”
Trace regards me with his lips pinned together and questions firing in his eyes.
“If you stay here,” I say to him, “you can sleep on the couch in the front room.”
Without waiting for his reaction, I force my heavy feet up the stairs.
Until running footsteps pound the steps behind me.
“Danni.”
The urgency in Cole’s voice freezes me in place, and I glance over my shoulder.
Standing a few steps below me, he grips the railing, his eye contact strong and steady. “It’s never too late to start over.”
My chest constricts. I did start over, and he’s standing behind Cole with enough love shining from his blue eyes to light up a whole city.
And that’s the problem.
They both love me.
We’re not broken.
We’re just…stuck.
Despite their deceptions and missteps, their intentions were neither malevolent nor selfish. Cole faked his death for me, and Trace kept Cole’s secrets to protect me.
I don’t condone their lies, but what they did is forgivable. Understandable. Which means there’s nothing to fix.
Maybe Cole’s right. Beginning again might be the only solution.
I just wish I knew what that meant.
The next five days pass in tedious stagnancy. As the shock of Cole’s reappearance wears off, I’m left in a fog of brooding, heart-searching, blame-storming rumination. I wish I could say I’m a meditating genius and discovered the path to enlightenment. But the truth is, I’m a fucking mess.
Cole and Trace are giving me space. By space, I mean they’re not breathing down my neck. They’re in my house, though, circling each other like mortal enemies and watching me with long hard looks.
And here I am, lying in bed and hiding like a damn coward. It’s after ten in the morning. I need to get up, go out there, and tell them what I want.
But what I want is the forest I can’t see for the trees. There’s too many what-the-fucks between what they’ve told me and what they’ve sworn to keep secret. I’m nowhere closer to figuring things out than I was the morning Cole emerged from the mist.
Trace goes to the casino when I do. I drive separately, and he keeps his disagreement about that zipped behind his scowl. Outside of work, his ass is planted on my couch. He took over the front room, running his million-dollar empire from his laptop.
Cole moved his motorcycle out of my dining room. When he’s not outside messing with it or looking for a job, he stays in the basement.
Neither of them have tried to corner me or get me alone. They haven’t made any moves on me whatsoever. But when our paths cross in the house, I read their thoughts as clearly as if spoken aloud.
They’re not going to back down, give up, or go away. They’re just biding time, waiting for me to tell them what comes next.
The question I keep coming back to is why me? I know hearts are involved, but at some point, wouldn’t one of them throw in the towel? Why aren’t they thinking, She’s not worth this. I love her, but she’s not the be-all-and-end-all gorgeoso of my dreams. There are plenty of other women out there, women who won’t make me sleep on the couch?
They were best friends, and they tossed that away. For me. It’s absolutely insane. I couldn’t imagine fighting over a guy. Except when I think about it, when I really dig deep, I know I’d do all sorts of crazy, irrational shit for either one of them. Letting them both stay here already classifies me as borderline nuts. It’s like pouring gasoline on a raging fire.
But I can’t kick them out. I don’t care if that makes me a pushover. In my worldview, a person can’t have too much compassion, and right now, they both need a little mercy. If they want to stay here, I won’t fight them on it. I’m not sure I could, because I want them here. Against my better judgment, I want them so badly I can’t breathe.
That said, our living situation isn’t sustainable. Something has to give, and soon.
“What am I going to do?” I ask the water-stained ceiling.
I should call my sister. Or my parents. I haven’t talked to anyone since my life went to hell. It won’t be long before Bree shows up unannounced. My sister doesn’t tolerate unanswered calls.
Cole said he has a cover story about his death. I guess I should find out what that is, because if I tell her what I know, it will only raise more questions. Questions I can’t answer.
Cole and Trace worked for some government entity that doesn’t exist. Talking about it is criminal. Telling me anything could put them in prison.
Then there’s the whole hiding-from-and-eliminating-enemies thing. What does that even mean? My imagination runs the gamut, from terrorists and international crime organizations to North Korea and missile testing. All my assumptions are wrong, because he was fighting wars no one will ever hear about.
My head starts to pound, demanding caffeine, so I drag myself out
of bed.
Twenty minutes later, I’m showered, dressed, and sipping coffee in my empty kitchen. I don’t hear Trace puttering around in the front room. In fact, the house is deafening in its silence. Are they outside?
I move to the kitchen window to scope out my driveway that runs alongside my house. Cole’s motorcycle is parked in front of my MG Midget, but that’s not what grabs my attention.
Virginia stands in her backyard, leaning against the fence between our houses, completely captivated by something I can’t see. Something in my backyard.
I swallow down the rest of my coffee, slip on a fleece jacket, and open the back door to the sound of grunting. Ice forms in the pit of my stomach as I follow the angry noises around the corner. And slam to a stop.
Two half-naked grown men are wrestling and punching and going fucking berserk on my lawn. I tremble against the cold, but it’s the brawl that paralyzes me in icy shock.
Cole lands atop Trace, his arms a blur of fury. But Trace is so damn fast and nimble, very few of Cole’s strikes actually hit him. In the next breath, Trace slips from beneath Cole and backhands him so hard I feel my own ears ringing.
“Stop it!” I snap out of it and charge toward them. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
They don’t look at me, don’t acknowledge me in any way. They’re too consumed by their rage, their need to maul and hurt and make each other bleed.
Grinding my teeth, I glance at the hose near the back door. I could spray them like dogs. Or just let them kill each other.
Grass and blood cover their shirtless torsos. It’s difficult to determine who’s winning, but the amount of red pooling in Cole’s bared teeth makes my stomach turn.
Virginia moves in my periphery, waving me over.
I inch toward her, walking backwards without taking my eyes off the fight. My stomach buckles with every strike, my entire body rigid with the need to intervene.
“They’ve been at it for a while.” Virginia hooks her cane on the metal fence and leans over my shoulder, smelling like sweet persimmon soap.
“Do you know who that is with Trace?” I ask cautiously.