Two is a Lie(19)

“Yes, they’re armed.” He scratches his jaw and drops his hand. “I have a skill set that over-qualifies me for any job in the private sector. The scope of my training applies to this much of the world.” He holds his finger and thumb a hairbreadth apart. “There aren’t a lot of options for guys like me.”

“But you could—”

“I had a career. That’s not what I want now.” He shoots me a meaningful look. “I just need steady pay, something that doesn’t require travel, with hours that match yours.”

“Please don’t do that for me. I’m not putting any demands on what you choose to do with your life.”

He stiffens. “Four years ago, you didn’t hesitate to tell me, no less than a hundred times, to quit my job.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t listen.”

“I was a dumbfuck, and my stupidity cost me everything.” His expression shatters, his voice a grief-stricken whisper. “I’m listening now. What do you want?”

“I want you to be happy,” I say on a tattered breath. “Both of you.”

His eyes close, and the sunlight from the window glances off the sharp lines of his cheekbones, highlighting the sunken hollows beneath. He lost too much weight, but he’s still criminally handsome. The stubborn lock of his jaw, the sexy shadow of whiskers, the swell of pouty lips—it’s a visage of danger and fortitude.

I always knew there was something roguish about him. Not just his temper, but something more, like a mysterious edge I couldn’t put my finger on. But as he lifts his dark lashes, I see it now—the troubling secrets in his eyes. He’s experienced things he won’t ever be able to share with me, and I hate that. It’s a wall between us, a part of his life I don’t have access to.

I reach for his chin, cupping the chiseled shape as I clean away the rest of the blood. “If you can’t tell anyone your work history, what did you put on the job application?”

“I didn’t fill one out.” A bitter smirk pulls at his lips. “Trace has connections at the stadium. He got me the job, no questions asked.”

“He did?” I widen my eyes.

“He didn’t do it out of the kindness of his heart. He’s motivated, Danni. He wants me working and moved out and far away from you.”

My chest constricts. “Don’t tell me you don’t want the same things from him.”

“You know what I want?” Eyes bright and searching, he slowly lifts a hand toward my face. “I want to be your lover, your husband, your home. I want to be your everything.”

I hold still, lost in the familiarity of his molten dark gaze. He gently touches my lips, and a teetering sensation trembles behind my breastbone, like my heart is slipping, readjusting, and settling with a contented sigh.

“I miss your smile. And the scent of your skin.” His fingers shake, gliding downward to caress my neck. “When I was away, I burned Nag Champa incense, trying to recreate your fragrance, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t you.”

“They say smell is strongly linked to emotion and memory.” I busy my hands with the first-aid supplies. “I used to sleep with your clothes, desperate to hang onto every memory I could.” Sadness creaks into my voice. “It was hard, Cole. Every fucking day was an endless crawl through hell.”

“I know, baby.” His face collapses, and he pulls me toward him. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I was angry.” I push against his shoulder and lock my arm, keeping space between us. “I cursed you. Blamed you. And some days, I hated you.” My words tremble from the ache in my chest. “I hated you for leaving me.”

“I deserve that.”

“No, you don’t. You had an obligation to your job, and our relationship was brand new. You did what you had to do, and I just…I didn’t know how to cope. When you died…” I lower my head to my hands. “It took me so long to let go of the past, and now here it is. You’re back, bringing all those painful feelings to the surface, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Do me a favor.” He bends his neck, tugging my arms down to see my eyes. “Imagine yourself in a place you want to be. Don’t think about it. Just let your heart take you there. Where are you?”

“Dancing on a stage with Beyoncé.”

“Right.” He shakes his head with a soft chuckle. “I knew that.” Swiping a hand over his mouth, he sobers. “Who’s in the audience? Who’s watching you dance?”

Since this is a fantasy, there’s no deliberation. I open my mouth to tell him he’s there, sitting in the front row and wearing his dimpled smile. Except he’s not alone. Trace reclines beside him, and they lean their heads together, sharing a private conversation before erupting in laughter. I close my eyes and try to erase one of them from the vision. But the attempt makes my chest collapse, and a sharp burn fires through my sinuses.