Three is a War(59)

I have to let him go.

And move on.

I’m not alone.

Flattening my hands on the stair, I breathe in, out, in, out. Then I rise to my feet and wipe the tear-soaked hair from my face.

The door closes behind me, and the squeak of Cole’s boots sounds his approach. He stops at my back, drops his jacket on the floor, and grasps my upper arms with cold, wet hands.

“Did he leave?” I whisper, staring down the dark hall.

“Yes.” He slides his touch along my arms and grips my hands. “How about a warm bath?”

I nod jerkily. “What did you say to him?”

“Danni…” He expels a breath. “You’re hurting. I know I can’t take that away, but I’m going to comfort you as much as I can.” He lifts me into his arms, cradling me against his chest. “Bath first.”

“Okay.” I rest my head on his shoulder, my mind broken into a thousand aching thoughts.

He carries me through the house and into the master bathroom. There, he draws the bath and strips our clothes. When we settle in the hot water, I curl up on his lap and absorb his warmth.

“I’m not questioning my decision.” I trace a finger across his collarbone. “But I’m going to need time.”

“I’d question your humanity if you didn’t grieve him, baby.”

I place a kiss on his jaw that asks for patience. He trails a caress along my spine that offers strength.

He won the war, but what if all I can give him is a body of broken parts? I’m not the woman he fell in love with five years ago. When he died, the life inside me burned so low it barely flickered. And now… I only see darkness.

It’s hard to be strong when I know Trace is out there, in the rain, driving away from me, hurting, and alone.

“What did you say to him?” I ask quietly.

“I told him to call me, to talk to me, that I would be whatever he needed me to be.”

“Friends?” Hope blooms in my chest.

“Yes. I reminded him of my promise to you. I’ll work on that friendship.”

“Thank you.” I kiss his shoulder, his neck, and cup his whiskered face. “What did you say right before you hugged him?”

“You little voyeur.” His soft exhale whispers across my lips. “I told him my biggest issue with him is that I care. I care about what happens to him.”

My chest feels a little lighter. He’ll be there for Trace. And I know, without question, he’ll do the same for me.

His arms will hold me until the fractures heal.

His dimpled smile will breathe new life in me.

His love will toughen the pain into scar tissue.

It won’t happen overnight, over a week, or even a month. But for the first time in a long time, we have forever.





Two weeks later, I lift my face to the sun and stretch out my legs along the bench seat in Cole’s boat. Sitting in the V of his thighs with my back against his chest, I absently play with the hem of his baggy swim shorts. The sadness hasn’t waned. It feels duller, maybe, but it takes up just as much space inside me as the day Trace left.

When Cole died, I only had to deal with my own loss. Somehow that was easier than…this. I like to tell myself Trace is moving on just fine. He’s stronger than me, after all. But I know better. He’s alone in St. Louis, stuck with our memories and no shoulder to lean on.

I need to stop this. Channeling any kind of energy, time, or thought into Trace feels like I’m emotionally cheating on Cole. So I push away images of blue eyes and blond hair.

Cole anchored the boat in a quiet cove, out of view of the active part of the lake. It’s just him and me and the sounds of lapping water.

I’m wearing bikini bottoms and a long sleeve shirt. It’s a warm April day, but when I dipped a toe in the water earlier, the chill went straight to my bones.

In lieu of swimming, we decided to sunbathe. Not that he needs more color. He spends so much time outside his golden skin glows as bright as the sun.

“Tell me eleven things I don’t already know.” I twist around on his lap, facing him with my bent knees bracketing his sides. “Eleven things about anything.”

“Eleven?”

“No more. No less.” It’s the same response I gave him the morning we met. If I can recreate that feeling, that playfulness that connected us so quickly, maybe it won’t hurt so much to breathe.

“Your eyes remind me of storm clouds. Deep and gray. Always swirling. Threatening. Like thunder and lightning. Torrential downpours and puddles. I hated the rain. Until I met you.”

My chest heaves with a hicupping inhale. “Cole…”

“I speak seven languages with excellent fluency. I once strangled a long-haired man with his ponytail. I won’t drink from a straw while driving because I’m afraid it’ll stab my throat on a sudden stop.”