Out of Breath (Breathing, #3)(41)

13


Too Late


‘EMMA, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU? MEG called and said you took off yesterday, but no one knows where you went. I’m about to board a plane and you have me completely freaked out. I’d better have a voicemail from you waiting when I land or I’m going to lose it.’

Just thinking about what I should tell Sara made my chest hurt. Instead, I called and said, ‘I’m fine. I’m at the house. Hope you had a good flight and call me when you can.’ Simple. Factual. But avoiding the truth.

Feeling like my insides were filled with cement, I climbed out of the SUV and walked towards the house. I had been up all night and I was too tired to get my bags from the trunk. When I got closer, I found Cole waiting for me on the front step. Evidently he’d received my text letting him know he could pick up his SUV any time after eleven. I kept my eyes on the sidewalk, not wanting to face him until I had to.

Standing in front of the stairs, I slowly raised my head. His face was smooth and emotionless. His blue eyes scanned my limp face.

‘I owe you an oil change,’ I said flatly, holding out the keys and dropping them in his outstretched hand.

‘Where’d you go?’ he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

‘To try to fix things with a friend,’ I answered, focused on the fading paint on the bottom of the stoop.

‘Did you fix things?’

‘No,’ I whispered, swallowing the failure in the back of my throat. ‘I was too late.’ My lip quivered, and I closed my eyes to keep the tears from escaping. But they fell along my cheeks anyway. I could’ve blamed my emotional vulnerability on exhaustion, but that wasn’t true. I hurt, much deeper than the tears rolling down my face.

‘I’m sorry,’ Cole offered with sincerity. He rose from his perch and stepped towards me, wrapping me in his arms.

I could only nod, afraid to open my mouth because I didn’t want to let out all that was trapped behind it. My failure to find Jonathan, to stop him and to make things right before he disappeared, crushed me. He hadn’t responded to a single message I’d left, begging him to call me.

The final voicemail message I’d left at five o’clock this morning, before I drove back home, still echoed through my head. ‘It’s me again. This is my last message. I’ve been up all night driving, and thinking about what happened that night. And I wish I could take it back, every word I said. Because I was wrong. I wish I could’ve told you in person, but I don’t know where you are. Please don’t leave. Call me.’

Jonathan was gone. Staring into the window of his abandoned apartment, seeing that it had been completely cleared out, hit me harder than I was prepared for. I wanted to see him. I missed him.

I missed talking to him, missed the way he could make me laugh at the times I needed it most. I missed our late nights, both of us unable to sleep and making fun of infomercials in the early hours of the morning. Wanting more than anything to hear his voice one more time on the other end of the phone, waiting for me to call him … no matter what time or for what reason. Now he was no longer waiting.

I screwed up. I screwed up so bad. The acrid guilt ate at me with each mile I drove. But I was too late. I always realized the truth too late.

Cole stroked my hair as the tears continued to cascade down my cheeks, soaking into his shirt.

‘I’m sorry I left like that yesterday.’ My voice was muffled against his chest. ‘I was panicked, and I didn’t know how to explain …’

‘It’s okay,’ he murmured in my ear. ‘I’m sorry I got so angry. I just … I don’t want anything to happen to you. And you scared me when you jumped. You didn’t even think twice, you were just … gone.’

I lifted my head and peered up at him. His eyes were heavy with concern. I ran my hand along the coarse blond stubble lining his jaw.

Cole brushed the tears from my cheek with his thumb. ‘I don’t like seeing you so sad.’

His words tugged at my heart. Then he lowered his mouth to mine and kissed me ever so gently, the brush of his lips igniting the charge between us.

I gripped the back of his neck and pressed my lips against his so hard it almost hurt. I needed to feel him, to taste him, for his hands to touch me so I could release the ache – even if just for a little while.

Cole pulled me against him, answering my silent plea with a heavy breath of want, gripping me so tightly I could feel his heart beat. He clutched my hand and led me into the house and up the stairs without pause. Shutting the door behind us and securing the lock, he turned towards me and ran his fingers into my hair, overwhelming me with a kiss that shot through my entire system with a shocking jolt.

His muscles tightened along his back as I ran my hands up under his shirt, digging my fingers into his flesh. He pulled his shirt over his head and continued kissing me – my mouth, my neck, my shoulder after stripping off my shirt – like he could kiss away the pain, wanting to make me whole. I knew that even if he kissed me every second for the rest of my life, I would still be broken. But I didn’t want him to stop.

I devoured him as if he were a drug, desperate to push away the sadness. The taste of him, the cool scent of his skin, the heat of his flesh pressed against mine, fed the addiction and filled the void for the moment.

We lay on our stomachs under the covers, our faces pressed against the pillows, looking at each other. I leaned over and kissed his jaw.