Pocketful of Sand(63)

“Coat, young lady.”

She runs with a boot in one hand to get her coat from the hall closet and then runs back to finish putting it on. I fight back tears as I remind myself that Emmy and I have done just fine by ourselves these last two years. We’ll be just fine for the next two, as well. And the two after that, and the two after that.

That’s my mantra all the way to Ashbrook and all the way home three hours later.

????

I’ve been lying in bed, awake, in the dark, for hours. I didn’t want Cole to see lights on if he should happen to pass by. If he should happen to care.

I figure he does. He’ll feel guilty most likely. Try to explain so that I won’t hate him. That would bother him, I think. Of course, what the hell do I know? It seems that I know very little about the man after all. I keep getting revelation after revelation, very few of them good ones.

And yet, I still love him. I do. In fact, except for this last bomb, I think his brokenness may have made me love him even more. If there’s one thing I can relate to, it’s brokenness. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. I’ve lived it. It’s been my constant companion for as long as I can remember. And I didn’t think it could get any worse.

I was wrong.

I hold my breath when I hear the soft knock on the front door. I don’t move a muscle, as if he’d be able to sense it all the way outside. The minutes tick by like shotgun blasts, each one rattling my nerves. After a couple of minutes, I breathe more easily. Surely he’s gone. Surely he left when I didn’t answer the door.

But then I hear the scrape of metal on metal. A key, sliding into the lock. I roll over and curl up on my side, pulling the covers up close to my face, watching inconspicuously from mostly-closed lids. From my bedroom, I can see the edge of the front door. I see it swing open and then swing quickly closed. I hear the soft pad of shod feet moving almost silently through the living room. I see the shadow–Cole’s big, broad-shouldered shadow–move into the mouth of the hallway and head my way.

I make my breathing as slow and deep as I can, not an easy thing considering how my heart is galloping like a runaway horse. Through the slits of my vision, I see Cole stop in the doorway. He watches me for ninety-four long seconds, each of which I count as I inhale deeply and exhale slowly. With each breath, I can smell the unique scent of his skin–salt and soap. Like the sea and the man have become one. Both big enough to drown in. Both strong enough to carry me away. Both as turbulent as the eye of a hurricane.

“Eden?” he finally whispers in his sensual sandpaper voice. I let my lids drift all the way closed. Just my name on his lips, covered in pain, dripping in regret, is enough to undo me.

But I can’t be undone. Brooke is a game-changer. Cole is married. There’s nothing else to say.

I barely hear Cole cross to the bed. I hear the friction of material against skin as he kneels on the floor right beside me. I keep my eyes closed, my breathing even, and I wait.

“I hope you can hear me,” he whispers. If I were asleep, I’m not sure his low, deep voice would wake me. It’s more a rumble than anything. So much so that for a second, I feel it vibrate along my skin, tickling every tiny hair and tingling along every twitching nerve.

“She’s not my wife,” he begins. My heart trips over itself and my breath catches. Hope floods my soul, and I might’ve responded to him had he not continued on so quickly. “Not in any way other than legally.”

Oh. Is that all?

I will my chin not to tremble the disappointment is so great.

“I loved her the way a kid in high school might love his girlfriend. We were barely together after I went to college, but I was a typical guy. Stupid. Horny. Proud. When she kept coming around, who was I to tell her no? Then she got pregnant. I thought I was doing the right thing by marrying her. But I never loved her. Not the way I should’ve. Not the way I love you.”

Oh, God! My heart! I feel like it was made of glass and it just exploded inside me, shards sticking into the walls of my chest like shrapnel.

“There were other women. She knew it. She knew I was caught up in the world of fame and money and fans. She didn’t deserve any of what I did to her. And when Charity…after Charity, I knew it was time to set her free. She deserved better than me. Someone who would love her like she needed to be loved. Someone who could help her heal. Give her more children. Someone other than me.” He pauses and I want so badly to open my eyes. But I don’t. I know better than to look at him.