Three is a War(65)

I have no doubt he’s my soul mate, the friend who will always touch me the deepest. But that doesn’t mean he’s the partner I’m supposed to spend my life with. That realization leaves an emptiness inside me that I don’t think will ever be filled by myself or anyone else.

Lifting my head from his shoulder, I cup his face and see his eyes in blurry shades of finality. His wipes away my tears as I dry his.

“No more crying tonight.” He touches his mouth to mine, achingly tender and unhurried.

We sedate each other with a hopeless kiss, a kiss that carries us into the bedroom. No words are spoken as we undress. No tears are shed as he enters my body and moves slowly inside me.

We’ve done this before. Good-bye sex. But this time is different. This time there isn’t a promise on his breath. There isn’t a vow that he’ll return. Through every long drugging stroke of his cock, he stares into my eyes and wordlessly says good-bye.

Good-bye forever.

After, I lie in his arms and memorize every feature on his face. Warm brown eyes, strong jaw, dark shadow of stubble—he’s painfully handsome. Deeply passionate. And no longer mine.

“I’m grateful I had you to myself for seven months.” He brushes my hair behind my ears.

“I’m grateful for every breath, every dance, every memory you gave me,” I whisper back.

He led me to Trace. I won’t remind him of that or ask about his phone call tonight. Whether or not Trace is single has no bearing on this moment. The fragile currents flowing between Cole and me are immediate and short on time. The future can wait.

We fall silent, joined by eye contact and separated by eventuality. I can already feel him pulling away. His gaze becomes duller, his body more rigid. I want to tell him again that I love him, but he knows. We said everything there is to say.

So I close my eyes and begin the grieving process.

The memory of his dimpled smile will be my secret indulgence when I’m sad. His deep breaths will be the soundtrack to the story of us. And his lips on my forehead will be the very last thing I feel before I fall asleep.

When I wake in the dark, I don’t have to reach behind me to confirm what I already know.

He’s gone.





I climb out of bed and plod through Cole’s house, hollow, numb, lost. Down the hall, through the kitchen, I peek in the garage. The sight of the empty space where his motorcycle once sat is the trigger that brings me to the floor, sobbing on my knees.

He means so much to me. He’s everything that’s supposed to be, and that’s what messes me up the most—letting go of the fantasy, starting over, without him.

I let myself grieve, let it all rush out in great heaves of sadness. It’s over. Finished. He’s gone, and I feel so utterly drained and empty. I’m falling down, but I refuse to shut down. I’m crying, but the tears are cleansing.

Our love came unannounced one fateful morning and maybe, a thousand mornings from now, it will fade. But even then, it will never slip away.

He was right. When I fall in love, I never fall out. And neither does he. I know with every anguished breath, he will always love me.

I sit in the doorway to the garage until the sun rises and spills light into the kitchen. Then I scrape myself off the floor and shove down the pain long enough to pack.

As I pass the kitchen island, a large white envelope catches my attention. Danni is scrawled across the front in Cole’s handwriting. I lift it with trembling hands and empty the contents on the counter.

A house key.

Documents.

Legal forms.

My eyes blur, and my pulse races.

It’s the deed to my house in St. Louis.

He bought my house.

The date of purchase is a month after I sold it to the young married couple. And the price… My jaw drops. He paid twice the market value.

More documents show the transfer of ownership to me. I only need to sign the pages and mail them to make it official.

Holy shit. I set down the papers and clutch my throat. Why did he do this and not tell me? Was it because he knew from the beginning it wouldn’t work out between us? Or was it because he bought the house when he kidnapped me and didn’t want to give me a reason to leave after that?

I guess I’ll never know. Nevertheless, I’m thankful. He knew how much the house meant to me. The memories in those walls will smother me alive, but at least I have somewhere familiar to go, somewhere to call home, until I find my way again.

After another perusal through the documents, I stack them with a shaky sigh. There’s no note. No heartbreaking words to cling to. Maybe it’s better this way.

I return the documents to the envelope and freeze. My hand. No ring. My right hand is ringless, too. He took the engagement band?