I missed him. I felt the tears threatening to spill and blinked rapidly, brushing my hand over my eyes. They couldn’t spill. Not anymore. Not still.
I needed to get over him. He’d told me he killed Liam. I shouldn’t be feeling any of these emotions. I shouldn’t even be thinking of him. He should be dead to me, but my God—as I turned toward Taffy, I knew that wasn’t ever going to happen. I would keep trying, but I knew Cole would always be a part of me, no matter how wrong it would be to go to him.
An hour later, I was sweaty and covered in dirt and straw when Kirk stopped at the stall. He rested a hand on the opened door and looked inside. “I didn’t realize her stall was that messed up. John must not have mucked it out on Tuesday like he was scheduled to.”
“Nah.” I paused and wiped an arm over my forehead. “I took my time with Taffy before I came in. It’s fine.”
“Still.” He frowned, eyeing the corners. “It should probably be rinsed out.” He gestured outside. “Go ahead. I’ll finish up. Taffy can stay in the other stall for the night.”
“You sure?”
“Oh yeah. Besides, you got a visitor.”
“I do?”
There was no warning, no car parked outside, no giant-sized security guards at the entryway—none of that, but a tickle started in the bottom of my stomach. I didn’t need to ask who it was. As I stepped out from where Taffy was nudging my shoulder, I knew. The tickle grew. I walked through the barn, and it kept growing. Past the stalls, out to the cement stairs in front of the barn, and I felt him. He was right there, waiting for me, his hands in his pockets and his head turned away.
I drank in the sight of him. A buzzing started in my ears. I ignored it.
Sia was right. Cole looked thinner, and the bags under his eyes made me ache, but he looked so beautiful. A part of me hated that, a part of me loved it. I wanted to launch myself at him and feel his arms wrap around me, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Instead, I stood there, and my mouth watered. His dark hair looked like it had been recently cut short again, a crew cut, and he wore a snug-fitting shirt over jeans. He looked lean, dangerous, mysterious, and altogether too gorgeous.
Then, as if he felt me the way I’d felt him, his head turned to me. His eyes. God. I stifled a sigh. I had missed his dark eyes and those long eyelashes.
A shadow crossed over his face before he asked, “Can I be here?” His voice was low, raw-sounding.
My heart dipped, hearing the pain there. “What do you mean?”
“Can I be here? Is that okay? If it’s not…” He hesitated, his head lowering as he winced. “I can go, if you don’t want me here.”
I did want him. I do. I only said, “It’s fine.”
He gestured to an alley beside the barn. “Over there?”
The barn was tucked next to the wall surrounding the fairgrounds, so the alley was empty, except for two horses being primped farther down. They were tied to the wall, and their owners were combing them, but they were too far away to hear. They didn’t pay us any attention.
Cole didn’t say anything right away. Neither did I. My mind raced. He was here. He had come. I should’ve hated him on sight. I should be throwing up right now, or pulling out a knife to stab him. I did none of those things. I clasped my arms behind me because they wanted to touch him. Disgust filled me, but it was at myself, not him.
“Horses?” he asked.
“My mom volunteered me.” Because I kept walking down the road to watch our neighbor’s ranch. Because I took my dog for walks, and I never meant to end there, but I always did. Because when I looked at the horses, when I watched them, when I was around them, I felt like I was with Cole. It was all about him.
“I didn’t kill him,” Cole said.
Liam? My heart lurched, pressing against my chest.
“Dorian. I don’t know if you wondered, but I didn’t kill him. I handed him over to the Bertals, figured they’d deal with him on their own. They’ll execute him, because he’s the reason we broke into their whorehouse. I was going to kill him, for what he did to you, but then there’d be another war. One war took your husband already. So I handed him over.” He was almost whispering, “I did that for you.”
I couldn’t… I could only blink at him. “What?”
“Dor—” He started to say again.
I interrupted, “I don’t care about Dorian. Liam. I care about him.” I cared about the reason I couldn’t be with him, whether he really had killed him or not.
Sia’s words echoed in my head, filling me with so much hope, too much hope. “But…what if he lied?” I’d only asked him once. He’d only answered once. He could’ve…maybe guilt made him say those words? He’d felt bad that I was attacked and kidnapped? He’d said that word to push me away? Because he was in the mafia, and he wanted to keep me safe? Sudden and ridiculous hope overwhelmed me. Maybe, just maybe. Did I dare voices those questions?