They say when someone appears in your dreams, it’s because they miss you.
Well, they don’t know shit.
The dream I just woke from starred a man who can’t miss me. It isn’t physically possible. Not anymore.
I don’t remember much of the dream, but I recall his dark brown eyes and deep dimples so clearly it’s as if he were in my bed, smiling down at me.
I lie on my back and press a hand against the ache in my chest, blinking away the fog of sleep.
Trace proposed two weeks ago, and since that night, Cole’s been less and less in my thoughts. But he’s never far from my heart. If there’s an afterlife, I hope he’s not missing me. I only ever wanted him to be happy.
As happy as I am now.
I roll toward the man responsible for my newfound peace and rest my smile against the curve of his bicep.
Face down in my bed and hugging a pillow beneath his cheek, Trace wears a gentle scowl, even in sleep. His blond hair falls rebelliously over his brow. Thick dark lashes fan toward sharp cheekbones and the scruff of day-old whiskers.
He’s deliciously nude, the line of his spine cutting a groove between toned shoulders and a trim waist. I feather my fingers down that valley and follow the curved rise of his muscled ass.
Sweet lord in heaven, he has a great ass. Hard and round, it sits high and clenches tight, forming deep cleavage I love to play with. I consider slipping a finger into that shadowed dip, but he needs his rest. It’s only six in the morning, and we didn’t fall asleep until a couple of hours ago, thanks to my late shift at Bissara and his insatiable appetite afterward.
His breathing stumbles out of rhythm, and he cracks open an eye.
“You’re awake?” His timbre rasps with groggy surprise.
I’m as shocked as he is. I never wake before him.
“Shh.” I trail kisses over his shoulder. “Go back to sleep.”
His lips bounce between a smile and a frown, and he creeps a hand toward my face, sliding his fingers across my cheek. A moment later, his eyes close and his touch falls slack.
I watch him sleep for a while, intent on drifting off with him. But that doesn’t happen. I’m wide awake and restless with the urge to drink coffee with the sunrise.
Slipping quietly out of bed, I pull on yoga pants, fuzzy slippers, and an oversized hoodie. After a pit stop at the bathroom, I make coffee and carry a steaming mug to the sitting area in the backyard.
St. Louis weather in October is unpredictable. The ground is warm from yesterday’s heat wave. But this morning, the air is cold and cloudy, creating a ghost-gray fog low to the ground. So much for watching the sunrise.
I settle on the outdoor loveseat, relishing the ambiance of the mist crawling in around me. I feel like I’m enrobed in a cloud of mystery, in some faraway land, waiting for my Viking to lumber out and steal a kiss. And spank me.
A chuckle rises up, and I shake my head. Oh man, I have it bad.
I spin the engagement band on my finger. If he had it his way, we would’ve married immediately, but he respects my desire for a big wedding.
No, not a big wedding.
An over-the-top first dance.
Now that I’ve seen his hotter-than-Johnny-Castle dance moves, I can’t not choreograph a routine that will put us in the history books of best-ever wedding receptions. But choreography takes time. So does all the practice I’ll be putting him through. I’m thinking a Spring wedding.
Until then, we need to figure out living arrangements. He wants me to move into the penthouse, and I refuse to sell my house.
I still officially run a dance company, even if I’m not teaching anymore. Who knows? I might go back to that someday.
He says he’ll buy me a new studio anywhere I want, and therein lies my hesitation. I have a studio, built with the bare hands of a man who loved me with his dying breath. I can’t let it go.
Trace isn’t thrilled with the idea of moving into my tiny bungalow with its green claustrophobic tub. But he’s here every night without a single complaint. Maybe I’ll just let my house sit empty and move into the penthouse. That’s what I should do.
With a decided breath, I finish off the coffee and wade through the murky mist toward the back door. As I reach the driveway, the hum of an idling car engine slows my steps. It sounds close. Really close. Weird.
I turn my feet in the direction of the street—a street I can’t see because visibility is shit in this fog.
Walking toward the side of the house, I pass the Midget. Trace’s driver dropped us off after work early this morning, so there shouldn’t be any other cars in the driveway. Except I’m certain I see a yellow one parked at the end. A taxi cab?
My head tips, and the muscles in my neck strain as I squint through the haze. Why is a taxi in my driveway?
The car door slams shut, and a dark figure emerges from the mist with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. The silhouette walks like a man, the outline of shoulders and biceps unquestionably masculine. And familiar.
My heart pounds in my ears, and my palms grow damp.
He looks like Cole. Thinner. Slightly longer hair. His gait a little more cautious.
It’s a mirage. The density of the fog is playing tricks on me.
But his eyes… Dark, warm, unforgettable Cole eyes.
The tremble begins in my chin and ripples inward, railroading me. I’m seeing things. It’s the only explanation for the sudden need to empty my stomach.
Ten feet away, he drops his bag and stares at me out of a gaunt Cole face. “Danni.”
The mug falls from my hand and shatters on the driveway. I’m shaking, swaying, panting sandpaper breaths from a chest too tight to heave. I can’t rationalize this. It isn’t real. It can’t be real.
I reach for him, and my legs don’t work right, lurching me forward and throwing me off balance as a low keening sound claws from my throat.
His arms come around me. Strong arms. Intimate arms. I know the shape, the golden skin tone, the dusting of dark hair.
Except there are no tattoos.
I drag my gaze to his neck, to the pristine skin above the collar of the t-shirt. No snake. No ink anywhere.
“You’re not him.” I push against his chest, my heart rate careening out of control.
“I know I look different.” He grips my head with both hands and puts his eyes inches from mine. “Take a deep breath and really look. It’s me, baby.”
My face crumples as I stare into the liquid brown eyes that never stopped haunting me. Tears gather at the corners, clinging to his dark lashes, and the sight of his agonized expression sucks all the oxygen from the atmosphere.
“How?” A sob escapes, but I fight back the next one. Everything inside me goes cold and still, my voice a scratchy whisper. “How is this possible?”
“I have a lot of explaining to do, but there are things I can’t… I just need to hold you for a minute.” He cups the back of my head and pulls my cheek to his chest. “Christ, I missed you so much.” The heavy tempo of his heart pounds in my ears. “You have no idea how much I love you.”
My body melts against him for a fraction of a second before my brain fires.
“No!” I twist out of his embrace and stumble back, my hands shaking violently. “Where have you been? It’s been four and a half years! How could you do this to me?”
“Shhh. Baby…” He reaches for me, his eyes burning with desperation. “I’m here now.”
“I buried you!” I swat him away as painful memories flash behind my eyes. “The ashes…the funeral… I mourned you. Goddammit, I cried myself to sleep every night for years. Why didn’t you call me? Message me?” My voice tumbles into an anguished cry. “Why didn’t you come home?”
“I’m so sorry,” he chokes. “It kills me to see you hurting. Please don’t cry.”
“Tell me!” My muscles cramp against the relentless pain.
I can’t stop staring at him, devouring the sharp angles of his too-thin face, reacquainting myself with his fierce mannerisms, the confidence in his movements, and the compulsive way he looks at me. I never thought I’d see him again, and my brain struggles to make sense of what is standing right in front me. How is he here? Whose ashes did I bury? Why isn’t he explaining his absence?
“It’s complicated.” The despair in his eyes hardens. “Trust me, I would’ve been here if I could.”
“No, that’s not good enough. You ruined us, and I need to understand why!”
His jaw flexes, and his brows dig in. I know that determined look. He wants to touch me, comfort me with his body, and he’ll hold me down if he has to. I brace for a struggle.
He steps toward me, shoulders squared, and halts at the sound of the back door opening behind me.
Trace.
Sharp pain stabs through my chest, stopping my heart. The world around me stands still, holding its breath. This is happening, and I can’t stop it.
My past and my future.
My first love and my second chance.
Two hearts from two separate lives colliding helplessly, cruelly together.
Cole’s furious gaze snaps over my shoulder. “What the fuck?”
His face turns red-hot, eyes wide and agonized, expressing all the nuances of shock as he watches a man step out of my house at six in the morning.
I turn my neck as Trace disperses the fog with his slow approach. Shirtless, clad in pajama pants, he stares at Cole with an unreadable expression.
My stomach feels rock-hard, my throat strangling in a fist of dread. I inch backward, reaching a hand toward Trace.
“You’re with him?” Cole thrusts a shaking finger at Trace, teeth gnashing. “Are you fucking him?”
“You died.” My whisper is tormented, torn from the darkest hours of my life. “You weren’t here.”
Trace stiffens beside me, and I rethink my answer. I’m with Trace. I’m sleeping with him because I love him.
I open my mouth to explain, but Trace speaks first.
“You’re late.”
Three and half years late. I can’t breathe beneath the debilitating shock.
Cole’s alive.
He’s been alive all this time.
And he didn’t come home.
Trace laces his fingers through mine, squeezing painfully hard. “You told me to take care of her.”
A chill slithers up my spine, and my blood turns to ice. “What did you say?”
Cole stands a few feet away, biceps bunching as he scrapes his hands over his head repeatedly. “You weren’t supposed to make contact.” His expression contorts between devastation and rage. “I told you to watch over her, not fuck her.”
They know each other. Trace fucking knows Cole and never thought to mention it?
I yank my hand from his and wrap my arms around my shaking body. “How do you know each other?”
“We used to work together,” Trace says in a hollow voice.
“Auditing for the government?” I gape at him, silently begging him to tell me this is all some kind of joke. “You own a casino. I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me you knew him?”
He and Cole share a look, communicating something that’s beyond my realm of understanding. Or rather, beyond my security clearance.
The deployment in Iraq. The silence at the government building. The fake funeral. The removal of tattoos.
“You’re not an auditor, are you?” I ask Cole on a thin breath, shaking from head to toe.
“I can’t say, Danni.” Cole doesn’t remove his glare from Trace.
“You lied to me.” My skin tingles, and disorientation sweeps through me as I turn to Trace. “You lied, too. You knew Cole and never told me.”
More tears fall, and I bury my face in my hands. I need to step back. I need to think.
“What is that?” Cole rushes forward and grabs my wrist, his eyes zeroed in on the engagement ring. “No.” His whisper crashes into a pained guttural noise. “No, no, no!”
He yanks his arm back and stumbles. Every visible muscle in his body goes taut as he spins away and paces like a caged animal, shoulders heaving, hands stabbing through his hair. The tortured sounds coming from him threaten to bring me to my knees.
When he whirls back, he looks absolutely destroyed. “You missed me so much you fucked my best friend? And now you’re what? Getting married?”
Best friend.
How deep does the deceit go?
My shoulders curl forward, wracked by an onslaught of grief and betrayal.
“I didn’t mean that.” Cole rushes toward me and frames my face with shaky hands. “I’m not upset with you. I put you in a terrible position and kept things from you. I had no right to expect you to wait around for a dead man.”
The ache in his voice crushes me, and I feel his terrified pain as if it were my own. Because I never stopped loving him.
None of this is my fault, and he knows that. He’s raging and losing his shit for one reason. The woman he loves is engaged to someone else.
“How long, Trace?” He lowers his hands and claps his gaze on the silent, brooding man at my side. “How long did you wait before you preyed on her?”
“He didn’t prey on me!” I stand taller. “I worked at his casino for four months before we got together.”
“Three years.” Trace shifts beside me, his tone calm and steady. “I was in love with her for three years before I made contact.”
Three years? The ground spins beneath my feet.
“She started dating,” Trace says. “I did exactly what you wanted me to do. I kept the men out of her bed.” His voice hardens. “Which I would’ve done anyway because I love her.”
Anger boils through my veins. I could easily direct it at both of them, but I bare my teeth at Cole. “You disappeared for over four years. You died! And you didn’t want me to find happiness again?”
Cole turns away, a hand splayed over his mouth. His posture coils tightly, and he releases a low growl, full of warning.
Before I can blink, he spins around and slams a fist into Trace’s face.
Trace falls back but remains on his feet. As blood trickles from his lip, he doesn’t move to wipe it away. With his arms at his sides and his expression blank, he shows no signs of fighting back.
Cole, on the other hand, rears back his arm again.
“Stop!” I ram a shoulder into his rigid body, causing his strike to hit air. “You were dead! You had no claim on me!”
“You thought I was dead,” Cole seethes, flexing his fists at his sides. “But Trace knew.”
My mind spins as the last six months tumble into a new light.
What would your fiancé think about the dipshit you were with tonight?
I’m not going to fuck you.
It’s just not in the cards for us, sweetheart.
If Cole was in this room right now, where would I fall? Would you shove me aside to get to him?
Trace chased away every man who came near me. He purchased the restaurant I danced at. Set my schedule so I never had a weekend off to date. Refused to date me himself. Pushed, pushed, pushed me away, all while being overly-fixated on my attachment to Cole.
Because he was watching me for Cole. And at some point—long before I met him—he fell in love with me.
Under the malicious waves of comprehension, it dawns on me. The set up with Marlo wasn’t to hurt me. It was a last-ditch attempt to stop himself from stealing his best friend’s girl.
Only it didn’t drive me away. None of it did. Because I love him, too.
My heart sinks beneath an impossible realization.
I love two men, and they’re both here, staring at me with the kind of desperation that destroys a person.
“You knew Cole was alive?” I whisper and lift my gaze to Trace.
Heartache drains the light from his beautiful blue eyes. “I knew there was a chance.”