One is a Promise(61)
I cross my arms over my chest.
“I need to know, Danni.” Scraping a hand through his hair, he releases a breath. “If Cole was in this room right now, where would I fall? Would you shove me aside to get to him?”
“What kind of question is that?” Blood pumps hard and fast through my veins. “You wouldn’t be here, because I would’ve never left him.”
“But he left you, and I am here. What if we were both here? Who would you choose?”
“That’s not fair!” A chill sweeps over me as I pace through the room and power off the sound system. “Way to buzz kill my libido, by the way. You’re like your own cockblock.”
“Answer the question.” His glare doesn’t waver.
“There is no answer. Because one, Cole’s dead. And two…he’s fucking dead. Why are we even talking about this?”
“Am I your second choice?” His tone is angry and confrontational, but the creases around his eyes and the uncertainty in those blue depths halt my feet.
Is the right cup full?
If Cole were here, there wouldn’t be a choice. He’s my forever.
Was.
He was my forever.
Empty the cup.
“You’re not a choice.” I take a step toward Trace, and another, softening my expression. “You’re my second chance.”
“Not good enough.”
I suck in a sharp breath. “Too bad. I’m not making a choice that doesn’t exist.”
“It exists to me.” He stands and charges into the kitchen. “I won’t live in his shadow.”
“His shadow?” I chase after him, voice rising. “What are you talking about?”
He grabs a water bottle from fridge and shoves it into my hand. “You can’t love me, because you’re trapped in another life with another man.”
Love him? Why did he go there? Why now? And I am not trapped!
“That’s not true!” I scream, slamming the water down on the counter. “I lost someone I loved. I miss him desperately, but I’m moving on. I am!” My breaths wheeze as I fight to rein in my temper. “What do you want from me?”
He reaches toward my face and slips his fingers beneath the hair hanging near my eyes. Without touching my skin, he slowly, tenderly, slides the strands back to expose my distressed expression.
“I need to know if you’re mine or his.” He lowers his hand, scrutinizing every twitch on my face.
What have I done to make him so fixated on Cole? Is it the shrine of photos in my bedroom? The motorcycle in the dining room? The ring I only just took off this morning?
They’re keepsakes. Memories. Fundamental pieces of my life. I would never be with someone who asks me to give that up.
Except… If I turned the tables, if I walked into his penthouse filled with physical reminders of another woman, I wouldn’t like it. My heart sinks. I’d lose my fucking mind.
I uncap the water bottle and drink, calming my sprinting pulse. “What about the woman on your lap two nights ago?”
“What about her?” He steps out of the kitchen and pauses in the hallway with his back to me.
“Were you thinking about how you can’t possibly want me more while you fucked her?”
Silence vibrates from his rigid posture.
Why is he just standing there? He can turn left toward the bedrooms. Or he can walk his sexy ass through the dining room and out the front door. Instead, he pivots right and grips the one doorknob in the house that I avoid.
“What’s behind this door, Danni?” He twists the glass knob, unable to open it.
I try to keep my voice casual, but it scratches. “The basement.”
He lifts his hand and tests the padlock I installed two years ago. “Where’s the key?”
My stomach knots. I pass that door countless times every day. I don’t look at. Don’t think about it. I certainly don’t want to open it. Everything Cole left behind—his personal things, our wedding, the life we lost—is on the other side.
I retreat into the kitchen and chug the rest of the water.
“That’s what I thought,” he says quietly behind me.
Tremors grip my limbs, and my throat seals up. I feel myself crumbling, and I hate it.
Trace slides around me, and for a second, I think he might hug me. I hope, I want, I ache for his arms to hold me.
“I need to think.” His keys jingle as he removes them from his pocket.
He’s leaving.
“Don’t go.” I grit my teeth at the pleading sound of my voice.
“I’ll send my driver to pick you up for work.” His mask falls into place, vanishing all emotion into oblivion.
Turning, he calmly strides through the dance studio, toward the back door. Always walking away. Always so fucking remote.