Cole doesn’t say much. He just listens to me go on and on about everything that’s happened in the past six years. Of course, I leave out how hard it was at first—knowing he wasn’t around anymore, dealing with the first real heartbreak of my life.

He seems to cling to every word like he truly cares and doesn’t want to miss a second of what I’m willing to share with him.

When he first arrived I wanted to shut down. I didn’t want to see him or deal with him. I just wanted him to disappear again so that I wouldn’t be forced to face the one thing I’ve carried with me for six years—the fact that I’ve never gotten over him.

But then when I saw him standing by Michael’s grave, the way his broad shoulders slouched forward in sorrow, and I just couldn’t do it. Cole was my best friend before he was anything else. If I can somehow find a way to get us back to that point then maybe I can find a way to fix the rift that runs so deep between us.

“So you live in Cleveland now?” I question, dying to ask him about this the moment he mentioned it.

“Yep. Moved there right out of college. Almost two years now.”

It was one thing when it was New York, but Cleveland? He’s lived only an hour and half from me for two years and never came to see me? The knowledge twists my insides, but I push it down, knowing that giving in to the way that makes me feel won’t change anything.

He’s here now.

“Any reason Cleveland specifically?” I ask.

“I got a job offer at Craft Perish, one of the top architectural firms in the country.”

“You’re an architect?” I question, finding it hard to believe that he’s been here for a while now and we’ve yet to stumble into this conversation. This is more starting ground rather than something you discuss halfway through the evening.

I shouldn’t be surprised though. Becoming an architect was always Cole’s dream. He designed our entire tree fort in the woods when were only twelve-years-old, and it was amazing.

“I am. I interned there my first year out of school, and I must have done something right because they hired me on full time at the end of my internship.”

“Of course they did. You’re a natural. The way you see things—your creativity, your ability to envision something others wouldn’t dream of—that’s always been your specialty.” He watches me intently, not commenting on my sudden slew of compliments, so I quickly add, “Was it everything you thought it would be?”

“It is.” He nods. “I love it. I love the company, and I have worked with some amazing clientele. More than anything I love the challenge. I’m always trying to outdo myself. Make things bigger, better, flashier.”

“I’m really happy for you,” I say, meaning it to the depths of my soul.

I can hold on to the hurt I harbor, or I can embrace that the person I cared for more than anyone else is happy. That’s all you can really want for the people you love.

Of course, I ignore the pang of jealousy that he did everything he said he would—attend NYU, live in a big city, work as an architect—and I wasn’t there for any of it.

“What about you?” He turns it on me, gesturing around the room at some of my photography on the walls. “Who knew running around taking pictures on that crappy, little, pink camera of yours would actually turn into a career.”

“My little, pink camera was not crappy.” I fake offense. “She is the reason I have pictures of almost everything we did as kids.”

“Okay, I definitely need to inspect said pictures.”

“They’re all up in the attic right now. I’ll have to pull them down one day, and we can go through them.” I don’t tell him the reason they’re up there is that I haven’t been able to look through them since he left.

“It’s a date.” He winks.

A date? As in he’s planning on spending more time with me? As in he’s not going to disappear back to Cleveland and I’ll never see him again? I try not to get too excited by the idea, but I’d be lying if I said it wouldn’t make me the happiest girl ever.

“When do you have to go back home?” I brave the question, knowing I’ll only drive myself crazy if I don’t just go ahead and ask.

“I’ll need to head back by Friday. Why? Ready to get rid of me already?” he teases.

“Maybe I am.” I laugh when he grabs his chest like I’ve just wounded him.

Friday, that means I have only three days until he leaves. I have very mixed emotions about the whole thing.

“I can’t believe David and John are out there on their own, like real adults.” Cole snags the framed picture of my two younger brothers off the end table next to him, clearly just seeing it for the first time. “God, I still feel like they should be the little kids who used to follow us around like lost pups.” He shakes his head before draining the remainder of his third beer.

“Yeah, I mean, they still kind of are lost pups. Well, John anyway. Though, I’m fairly sure he will never settle down.” I laugh, feeling more relaxed with each beer. “You want another?” I snag Cole’s empty beer bottle as I stand.

“Yeah, I could do another.” He gives me a lazy smile, his eyes following me as I disappear into the kitchen.

Dropping the bottles in the trash, I snag two more out of the fridge before spotting the tequila bottle setting on top. I’m not typically a big drinker. I almost always have beer in the house for when I have company, but hard liquor very seldom crosses the threshold of this house.

Setting the beers on the counter, I push up onto my tiptoes and grab the bottle from the top of the refrigerator. I bought this the day I found out Michael died. All I wanted to do was drink it all away.

And with that, I get a very bad idea. One I can’t seem to talk myself out of once it’s taken root.

Tucking the beer bottles in the crook of my arm, I grab two little plastic cups I used to make Jell-O shots for last New Year’s party at Nate’s, and the bottle of tequila before returning to Cole. He looks up and smiles the instant he sees the tequila in my hand.

I try to ignore that he’s slipped out of the shirt and tie he wore to Michael’s funeral. Sitting now in only a fitted white undershirt, I swear I can see every ripple of muscle. And his arms—oh his arms

“Planning on getting drunk are we?” He gives me teasing grin, snapping me out of my haze.

“In the movies they always do shots for a fallen friend,” I explain, setting the bottles and tiny plastic cups on the coffee table before reclaiming my seat just a couple feet from Cole. I try to focus on anything but on his body, even though his face is just as sexy. “I thought maybe we should, too. I think Michael would have liked that.” I smile, oddly proud of myself for concocting such an amazing plan even if it’s clearly a very bad idea given my current company.

Good idea, Mel. Get drunk around the boy you’ve secretly loved for over half your life. Yep, that sounds like a good plan.

I shake off the nagging voice and refocus.

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re onto something.” This time I get a full smile, one that shows his dimples despite the facial hair that makes them harder to see.

I pull the cap off the tequila while Cole opens our beer bottles. Somehow he knows I’m gonna need a chaser without me saying a word. Setting my beer in front of me, he takes a pull of his own before setting his down, too.

He watches me in silence as I pour two shots and then pick them up, handing one to him.

“So,” I pause, now feeling a little silly.

“To Michael,” Cole takes over, “the best soldier and best friend that anyone could ask for.”

“To Michael.” I raise my cup, tapping it against Cole’s before pouring the liquid down my throat.

It burns like wild fire but quickly subsides when I take a long drink of my cold beer.

“Wow.” Cole shakes his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t think I have drank tequila since high school.” He laughs, setting the plastic cup on the table. “Now I remember why.”

“I didn’t really know what to buy,” I explain. “I’m not really much of a hard liquor drinker.”

“Then why’d you buy it?” He settles back into the couch, his long fingers wrapped around his beer bottle, the other resting on his knee.

“Because I wanted to get shit-faced drunk.” I laugh, shaking my head at how stupid that sounds. “I always see people in movies and on television drinking tequila, so that’s what I went for.”

“Whiskey,” he interjects. “That’s the stuff right there.”

“Eww.” I curl my nose up in disgust.

I’ve only tried whiskey once in my life and that was the bottle that Michael stole out of his mom’s liquor cabinet and brought out to the creek one summer night. We couldn’t have been more than fourteen.

As if Cole’s remembering the same thing, he eyeballs me and then we both start laughing.

“Fuck I almost forgot about the whiskey incident.” He shakes his head, his dark eyes holding a bit of sparkle I haven’t seen since he was much younger. “You spit that shit right in Michael’s face the first time you tried it.” He holds his stomach as laughter rumbles through him.

“It’s not like I meant to.” I move to defend myself. “He was just in the line of fire.”

“I still remember the look he gave you. He was horrified.” His laughter is contagious, and I can’t help but let it pull me under, too.

Before long we are retelling stories and laughing so hard I swear at one point I almost pee my pants.

I had forgotten about this Cole. The funny, carefree boy who at one time knew me better than anyone else or anyone has since.

By ten thirty we’ve managed to drink through a full twelve pack and the additional four beers that were in the fridge. He was responsible for most of those, but I like to think I held my ground. Six beers is a lot for me.

Neither of us touched the tequila again; the beer was more than enough for me. Not being much of a drinker, to say I’ve reached drunk status would be a very accurate statement.

When the laughter dies and silence settles over us, we live in that moment—lying on the couch, both looking at the ceiling, my legs draped over Cole’s. I revel in the way the alcohol seems to have calmed my soul, and Cole, well, he seems to be lost in something himself as well.

“Mel?” Cole finally speaks after several minutes, surprised to find me still awake.

“Yeah?” I respond, making no attempt to move from my comfortable position.

“What do you think would have happened if I had stayed?” His voice is low and gruff.

“What you mean?” I ask, my heart taking off in a full gallop, suddenly beating so hard against my ribs I feel like I might be sick.

“With us. Things kind of got twisted during high school, but I always thought we’d find our way back to the way things were before.”

“You’re here now.” I hate how weak my voice sounds.

“Mel?” He says my name again after at least a full two minute pause.

“Yeah?”

“I’m really fucking sorry. You know, for leaving the way I did.”

“I’m sorry for pushing you away after you and Dawn started dating.” If we’re apologizing for things I figure I might as well own up to the mistakes I made as well.

“I’m sorry for dating Dawn in the first place.” I feel like the statement is said jokingly, but his voice is dead serious.

“I’m sorry for letting my jealously build such a wall between us.” I almost regret saying it, but if I’m being honest with myself, that’s exactly what I did.

Instead of appreciating that I had him in my life, I pushed him away because I couldn’t have him the way I wanted. I should have treated him better, maybe things would have been so very different if I had.

“When were you ever jealous?” he finally asks.

“When was I not?” I retort back.

“You were always my number one, Melanie.”

“You were always mine.” My voice is so soft I almost wonder if he even hears me. “I just wasn’t very good at sharing.”

“You never had to share me. Maybe my body, but never my heart.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I can read into it twenty different ways. Is he saying because he loved me so much as a friend? Or is he saying something more?

The scene with Dawn in the bathroom a few days ago flashes through my mind. She said he felt a certain way about me but believed I didn’t feel the same about him. I had discarded her comments at the time, chalked it up to Dawn being Dawn. But now I wonder if there isn’t some truth to the things she said.

I want it to be true. More than anything. But we’re not the same kids we used to be. Even if it is true, there’s nothing we can do about it now. He lives in Cleveland and has a girlfriend.

I’m here, and while Nate and I have our issues, I do love him.

I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the thought.

If I’m being honest with myself, Nate doesn’t stand a chance against Cole. I know that to the deepest depths of my soul. Cole and I share something I’ve never shared with anyone. A level of intimacy most friends never reach without crossing the line. And sure, for years we did teeter between the lines of being friends and something more, but neither of us ever acted on it.

Then I remember how he left, and suddenly the reality hits me like a smack in the face.

Sure, Cole can sit here and say all the things I’ve always wanted to hear, but even if he wanted to and I was willing, I don’t think I could cross that line with him. Not knowing what I know.

I can’t open my heart to him again, especially knowing in a couple of days he will be gone and that will be it.

“Cole?” I say out loud, not expecting an answer so I’m not surprised I don’t get one.

He’s been silent for several minutes, his breathing slow and even.

It takes everything in me to peel myself off the couch, careful not to wake him as I slide my legs off him and over the edge.

When I sit up completely and look at him, he’s sound asleep—one arm behind his head, the other laying across his stomach. I watch him for a long moment, studying how peaceful he looks in slumber. I can’t stop my eyes from taking in the rest of him as well. His thick, muscled arms, his tight, broad chest, and the tiny glimpse of a six pack that peaks out from under his white fitted t-shirt.

My god this man...

Just like that, inspiration strikes.

I push to my feet and quickly tiptoe toward my bedroom, ducking inside to grab my camera. When I step back into the living room, Cole hasn’t moved. The light on the end table above is head is on, casting his entire body in a soft yellow glow.

Positioning myself at his feet, I hunch down and snap a shot. He doesn’t stir so I hover over him and snap another shot. Next I zoom in, focusing the camera on his thick bicep as his arm lays curled behind his head. Snapping the picture, I stand, flipping through the photos on the digital screen.

Even without any editing or retouches, the photos look perfect. He’s perfect. The one of his arm behind his head caught part of his profile in the shot. His hair-covered jaw and full lips make the perfect backdrop for his incredible arm and side of his chest.

I set the camera down on the table and take a few more seconds to appreciate a sleeping Cole. Even though I’m rocking quite a buzz from the beer, when I look at him I feel stone sober. I can feel every single nerve ending in my body tingle just watching his chest rise and fall with each breath he takes.

I have the overwhelming urge to rest my head against his chest and listen to his heart beating. And while I quickly decide against it, not wanting to wake him, it’s in this moment that I can see past the masculine, hardened man to the sweet boy I’ve always loved.

He’s still my Cole. No matter how much he’s changed. I think a part of him will always belong to me.

He showed me tonight how easily we could slip back into our old friendship. Even though I’ve always harbored feelings more than friendship for him, I think I could do it. I think we could do it.

Isn’t it better to have him in my life as a friend than not at all? Then again, I don’t know if I could ever let go of that part of me that wants more of him than he’s willing to give me.

Heading into the kitchen, I pop a couple Tylenol, feeling the start of a headache forming behind my eyes. I drink it down with a glass of water before heading to the linen closet across from my bedroom.

Grabbing a couple blankets I always keep at the top for guests, I drop one on the loveseat that’s angled in an L-shape next to the couch. Taking the other one, I fan it before gently spreading it across Cole’s sleeping body.

Dropping down on the loveseat, I curl my legs up and pull the blanket up to my chin. It’s not long before sleep begins to pull me under, watching Cole’s chest rise and fall the last thing I remember.