Three is a War(62)

The man grabbed his box of food and left without a backward glance.

“Are you tired?” Cole follows me into the kitchen.

“Nope.”

“How about a naked swim in the lake?”

A grin pulls at my lips. Skinny-dipping with Cole has become one of my favorite activities.

“I’ll get the beer.” I turn toward the fridge.

As I pull out a six-pack, his phone buzzes. He removes it from his pocket and stares at the screen. And continues to stare.

“Who is it?” I approach him, craning my neck to see the caller ID.

Trace.

The enormous crack inside me stirs to life, quaking and bleeding with a vengeance. The strongest, steadiest hand can’t sew it back together. The loss is too big, the ache too strong.

But I try. I stand terribly still and will my deepest longings back into the fissure.

Cole watches me closely, and the phone buzzes again.

“Don’t ignore him,” I whisper.

I tremble between what used to be and what needs to be. If distress shows on my face, it’s because I’m not masking it. I refuse to hide from Cole.

He studies me through another burst of buzzes before lifting the phone to his ear.

“Hey.” He listens, eyes fixed on mine. “She’s…she’s doing good.”

My chest collapses. Trace’s concerned about me, still thinking of me. It’s a torment so unbearable it’s a physical pain inside.

“How are you?” Cole braces an arm on the kitchen island, scrutinizing my features. Then his head tilts at Trace’s answer. “Really? That’s great.” He laughs. “No, I mean it. I told you it would all work out for the best. I’m happy for you.”

My pulse hammers, and my mind swims. Trace is doing okay. Maybe even better than okay. Is his good news about the casino? A woman?

Another woman.

Something vile and nasty pinches in my stomach, but I don’t let it take hold. I want him to move on. He must for the sake of his happiness. And I need to back away from this one-sided conversation for the sake of my sanity.

I hold up the six-pack of beer, snagging Cole’s attention and pointing at the back door. At his nod, I head down to the dock. Every step into the dark isolation of the cove takes me closer to my thoughts. Blue-eyed, scowly, suit-clad thoughts.

I know from experience a broken heart doesn’t mend in four months.

It doesn’t mend until a cure comes along. Like new love.

Goddammit, I love him, and because of that, every cell in my body feels lighter at the prospect of his happiness. If I’m the only one hurting, I can live with that. It’s so much easier knowing he’s not in pain.

At the end of the dock, I remove the phone from my pocket and strip down to my panties. Then I guzzle half of a beer and select a song that fits my mood.

As Honest by The Chainsmokers strums through the silence, I slip into the warm inky water and swim. Kicking my legs, stroking my arms, I beg the water to wash Trace away.

But it doesn’t work. He’s with me, wired into my heart and declaring it home.

If I’m so in love with him, why didn’t I choose him?

What if I had chosen him? Would I be sitting in St. Louis pining for Cole?

What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can’t I be a normal woman who falls in love with a man and has a beautiful wedding and lots of babies and spends the rest of her life avoiding carbs and binging on TV shows? The end.

Never mind. That doesn’t sound like my thing at all.

After a few laps in the cove, I swim to the dock, lift out of the water, and sit on the edge. The warm air kisses my nude flesh, and across the cove, a fish disturbs the motionless surface of the lake. It’s so quiet here. The song ended a while ago, leaving thoughtful silence.

Until the sound of bare feet pads across the wooden decking behind me, growing louder, coming closer.

Cole pauses at my side, shirtless, dark hair tousled from his raking fingers, and frayed jeans unbuttoned and low on his waist. He’s pure sex appeal from head to toe, and he doesn’t even have to try.

“What are you thinking about?” He crouches beside me.

I consider asking him about Trace, but do I really want to know about another woman? It’s enough just knowing he’s happy.

“Why am I so bad at love?” I ask.

“Why would you think that?” His eyebrows pull together. “If anything, you’re very, very good at it.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I. People fall in and out of love every day. You don’t. You fall in and no matter what is thrown at you—death, lies, fighting, uptight assholes…” His mouth twitches. “You never fall out of love. Once you’re in, you’re in for life.”

“That’s…” My chest shudders with an intake of nourishing air. “That’s such an understanding way to look at it. Thank you.”