I wake to the sound of rain pelting the windows. A dreary morning. Cold mattress. No Cole. No Trace. Only the sick weight of dread pressing down on my chest.
Shower, clothes, coffee—I move through the motions, wretchedly numb.
Trace is locked away in the office, working. Cole left a note, letting me know he’s fishing.
With a mug of creamy coffee in hand, I stand at the kitchen window and stare out at the freezing rain. Who goes fishing in this weather?
Someone who wants distance from an awkward situation.
It rains for the next three days.
Three.
It’s an impossible number.
A cruel number.
Three is an emotional war.
Cole and Trace go out of their way to avoid each other. They live under the same roof, share the same bed, but they don’t exchange a word or a glance. We don’t talk about what happened. Every time I try, I’m shut down. So much for open communication.
When they’re alone with me, however, they arrest me with their eyes and undress me with their words. Each man makes me feel loved in his own way. A tender touch, sultry suggestion, brush of lips… But the intimacy ends there.
I understand. The rules are wrecked, and the future is unclear. They want space to process or do whatever it is they need to do.
I’m giving them space, but they’re crazy if they think we can go another four months like this.
While they spend the rainy days in separate parts of the house, I’ve been holed up in the dance studio. Well, not exactly holed up. I leave the door open and blare the music. I’m here, ready to listen when they’re ready to talk.
I have some things of my own to say.
Gripping the ballet bar, I face the rain beyond the windows and sync my hips to the somber melody of You Don’t Know by Katelyn Tarver.
Cole and Trace make me insanely happy. A lifetime with either of them is a fairy tale come true. No matter how much I compare and separate and weigh their differences, there’s no wrong choice.
But Cole’s the one I found first.
He set my soul on fire with a look and kissed me with lips infused with forever. There’s a dance soldered to my bones choreographed for him and him alone.
Our chemistry is magnetic, undying, our history so deeply sown it can’t be uprooted. We’re soul mates, finding our way back together, over and over.
He has to be the choice, and the only way I’ll know for sure is if I make it.
When the song ends, I walk to the stereo and play it again, swaying and humming to the painful lyrics while thinking about Trace.
I dance in mourning for the hurt I inflicted on him. I dance in longing for the love I share with him. I dance in fear for the words that will rip him away.
With my back to the door and my emotions running amok, I don’t sense him approach. Not until his hand curls around my hip and his forehead rests against the back of my head.
Everything inside me starts to melt.
Don’t give in, Danni. You must do this.
Against all instinct, I force myself to go cold, emotionally, mentally, pushing him away.
His hand slides down my thigh, tracing the hem of my spandex shorts. I tense up, and he notices, removing his touch.
My stomach shrivels, but I keep my voice even. “Do you want to talk…about the other night?”
“No.” He prowls around me, hands behind his back, and ensnares me in his analyzing gaze.
Fitted black trousers and a crisp white button-up, his attire is as sophisticated as his composure. The way he scrutinizes me, the subtle sharpening of those incisive eyes, it’s as if he already knows.
My resolve weakens, and I consider waiting until tomorrow. Or the next day. But the longer I delay, the harder it will become. It’s now. Right now. Open your mouth, idiot.
Shifting to the stereo, I power off the music. Then I turn back, standing taller, and fix my expression into one of bravery. “I want to talk—”
“I want you to remove your clothes and whatever is putting that fake look on your face.”
Cold bones, hunched shoulders, hemorrhaging heart, I wither beneath his command. My brave mask gives way to rising tears, and I step back, clasping my throat and fighting down the anguish.
He glares at my trembling hand, my leaky eyes, and his entire demeanor changes. His arms fall slack at his sides. His scowl loses its intensity, and he shakes his head slowly, imperceptibly, as if in shock. Denial.
I wipe the wet misery from my cheeks and hug my waist. “Trace…”
He snaps straight, and his eyes bore into mine as his words echo in my mind.
If you know, we’ll all know. And that will be that.
“Say it.” Harsh and guttural, his voice cuts me to the quick.
My throat seals up, holding the confession captive.
I’m a heartless bitch if I choose Cole. I’m a heartless bitch if I choose Trace. I’m the queen of all bitches if I don’t choose at all.
I made a decision. It’s time to grow up. Declare it. Fight for it.
Pulling in a serrated breath, I release my lungs slowly. “I choose Cole.”
He goes chillingly still, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t blink, his stark eyes locked on mine. He wants to argue. It’s right there in the rigidness of his jaw. The impulse to demand a different answer is eating him up inside. But more than that, he wants what he cannot control.
I refuse to force your hand on this…I want your heart to beat for me and only me, not because I command it, but because we’re meant to be.
I know the moment he accepts my choice. His throat bobs. His chest heaves, and he stumbles back.
The look of total devastation on his face tears me apart. His pain is scarring, like the sharp edge of a knife leaving its marks inside me.
He glances around the room like he’s unsure where to go or what to do. Stunned, lost, he’s beautiful, fractured perfection.
“Trace…” I approach him, dying a thousand deaths. “Say something.”
He stabs a hand in his hair and spins toward the door. Then he walks out.
I run after him, chasing him down the hall and through the bedroom. I scan the rooms for Cole, but the house is quiet. He must still be down at the dock.
“Please, talk to me.” I follow Trace into his closet.
He shrugs on a suit jacket, buttoning away his emotions behind expensive threads. His hands shake as he yanks random clothes off the hangers and shoves them into a leather bag.
“You’re leaving?” My heart crashes into my shoes.
Of course, he’s leaving. What else is he supposed to do?
He doesn’t answer me, doesn’t look my way as he continues to pack. I gulp down a sob, refusing to give it life. I’m hurting him irreparably. I don’t deserve to cry.
“It can’t end like this.” I reach for his arm and think better of it. “We have to talk about it.”
“It must end this way. A clean cut.” He slides past me, bag in hand, and strides out of the bedroom.
I follow him into the living room. He grabs his keys from the kitchen island and heads toward the front door. His car is parked in the driveway, a twenty-second walk away. Twenty seconds is all we have left.
“Trace, stop!” The shrill in my voice announces my desperation. “Please. Wait.”
The slowing of his gait lets me know he’s considering. The pause of his feet at the door tells me he’s analyzing the risks of hearing what I have to say.
He enters the code in the keypad, grips the door handle, and drops his arm. Then he turns and faces me.
My breath catches at the agony tightening his face. He stands twenty feet away, his eyes wet and drowning in heartache.
Tears lurk at the backs of my own eyes, but I hold them at bay.
Putting one foot in front of the other, I approach slowly and pause a few paces away. Then I let him read my expression, let him delve deep into my eyes as I tell him without words everything I need to say.
I will always, always love you, and I will never forget. I won’t forget the taste of your scowl, the way it curved against my mouth when we kissed, our lips rough with passion. I won’t forget how you watched over me and saved my life, how you gave me your love when I didn’t believe in second chances. I won’t forget the stage you erected for me, the heat of your eyes on my body in the beam of light, and the adoration in your voice when you talked about my dancing. I won’t forget your bed in the penthouse, our bodies tumbled together, your hand, my throat, your jawline, my fingers, the caress of your brush through my hair, your orderliness, your control, your un-creamy coffee, the scent of scotch on your breath, the infinity pools of your eyes, and the depths of you, who showed me how to smile again.
A tear escapes, and I brush it off my cheek. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, Danni Angelo.” His timbre is quiet, shaky. “I gave you my heart. It was always yours to break.”
I shake my head rapidly, battling an impending meltdown. “I didn’t want to—”
“Shhh.” He looks down, squeezes his eyes shut. “It was always going to come down to a choice. I knew that, and I don’t regret a single second.”
The back door opens, and Cole walks in, yanking a beanie off his head, his leather jacket soaked from the rain. He glances up and spots us standing by the front entrance. Then his gaze zeroes in on the bag in Trace’s hand.
He freezes, mouth parting before he lurches forward, headed this way.
Trace opens the door and turns to leave. Then he stops, spins back, and closes the distance between us. With a heavy hand on my neck, he pulls me against him and rests his lips against my forehead. I hear the shallow sound of his breaths, feel the thunder of his heart, and watch the pain shake through the length of his body.
He’s not the first man I loved or the first love I lost. But his is the love that cuts the deepest and does the most damage. The loss is immeasurable. I’m bleeding internally and sobbing wretchedly, unable to silence the gasps.
Without a word, he releases me, strides out the door, and into the rain.
This is the moment, the one I dreaded since the day Cole returned. It hurts more than I could’ve ever imagined, like I’m hacking away vital parts of myself, breath by mangled breath.
Cole chases Trace outside and hovers behind him as he opens the door to the Maserati and tosses in the bag. Cole says something, his voice indiscernible in the pouring rain. Trace turns and faces him, expressionless, blinking away the heavy drops.
Cole’s mouth moves faster, and his hands swipe through his hair, sweeping off the rain. More words. More blank stares from Trace. Then Cole drops his arms, lowers his head, and stares at the ground.
There’s nothing he can say to alleviate the pain. I wish I could find comfort in knowing a broken heart can’t break again. But it does. It breaks and breaks, and no matter how much destruction is done, it puts itself back together so it can break some more.
Cole speaks again, and whatever he says causes Trace’s shoulders to hitch. Then Cole moves, wraps his arms around Trace and embraces him in a strong, heart-wrenching hug.
As Trace hugs him back, I fall apart. My legs buckle. My vision blurs, and a horrible keening sound rips from deep inside me. I stumble away from the door, doubling over and zigzagging toward the stairs.
My knees hit the first step, and I cry, gasping, shoulders shaking, nauseous, and inconsolable. Then I picture myself—my ugly, shattered reflection in the broken mirror at my old house. I can’t go there again.
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.