Chapter 26
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
NATALIE
“God, he’s in love with you,” my mom laughs from the front seat, pulling away from the airport. “Just like your father was when we met. You remember, don’t you Gary? How overwhelming that soulmate bond was for you before I accepted it?”
“Fucking unbearable. Can’t say I envy the kid.” My dad laughs.
“What…what are you guys talking about?” I ask.
“The soulmate bond? You haven’t felt it yet, sweetheart?
You know, the one I used to tell you about that runs through the Leighwell side of the family.
It seems like it’s been torturing Cole for a while with the way he looks at you.
It got more intense during the holidays, with the magic falling all around for your father before I gave in, too. ”
I shift in the back seat. My mother is spouting nonsense that would be in my best interest to ignore. Even if it tracks with so much of what Cole and I have experienced in the past few days.
“I thought that was just a story you told me when I was younger… you know, like Santa Claus or something.”
“Not all stories are truly fictitious, baby. You know magic is real, don’t you?” My mom’s eyebrows squish together.
I shouldn’t. Right? Magic is for fairytales. But as we creep further and further away from Cole, that tug, tug, tug, tortures me more and more.
I try to breathe through it. If he’s my soulmate, then everything will be okay when I get back to school. We live in the same apartment building. I’ll see him. Everything will be okay.
“I just hope the connection doesn’t snap before you two see each other again. Happened to Aunt Siobhan, poor thing. Never worked up the courage to tell her beloved how she felt and her poor heart wilted.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, now I know you’re messing with me. You don’t have an Aunt Siobhan.”
“Whatever you say, dear,” my mom says in such a calm yet menacing tone that I’m almost forced to believe her.
But I won’t. Soulmate bonds belong in fictional worlds, not in the real world.
“Couldn’t be because she abandoned the family and lives in England, writing instruction manuals for assembling Swedish furniture. ”
My mind continues to remind my heart of the implausibility of soulmates. But the further we travel away from the airport and back to Wellsport, the more it seems we’ve left my heart behind.
There are times for rational thought, and then there are times to believe in holiday magic and soulmate bonds.
When you’re barreling down the interstate, with your third—or is it the fourth?
I don’t know, I’ve lost count—coffee in hand, Christmas tunes blaring that all seem to echo the same message about this being a time when the world falls in love, that’s the time to believe in the magic of love, and also of caffeine, because what is even in it that makes me feel like I can smell colors?
Green—woodsy, pine, cedar.
Purple—lilac, easy.
Brown—easy to go with wet fart, but I’m thinking like maybe more of a campfire smoke vibe?
It may have been five coffees—but I’ve needed them not just to stay awake, but to keep my heart alive, which settled quickly into a slow, melancholy thump the minute we got home without Cole.
I couldn’t sleep last night. I tossed and turned in my bed, unlocking my phone and staring at the unsaved phone number that texted me twice a few hours earlier.
I wanted to say something before I left. But I didn’t. Can I call you later?
Sure. I’d love to hear his voice. But also no, because I will blurt out an “I love you” and an “I miss you” the minute I hear his rasp.
Got in safe. Hope the car ride home wasn’t too awkward.
Oh no, it was. On account of my mom deciding to drop a Cole’s your soulmate and you might ruin everything bomb on me.
Could I have ignored her like a sane person would and continue with my life?
Why, yes. I could have done that.
But seeing as I’m now ten hours into this twelve-hour drive, that was obviously not the path I took—choosing instead at three a.m. to wake my parents up and loudly declare, “I’m driving back to campus to kidnap Cole, or something, I don’t know. I’ll see you next week.”
I was met with a groggy “Okay” from my dad and a “There’s a ball gag in my closet if you need it” by my mother.
Which is reason seven hundred and twenty-two why I should add “go to therapy” to my New Year’s resolutions.
I’m not sure what I’m going to do when I get to our apartments, beyond changing out of my pajamas and brushing my hair before I try to go see him. But I guess that’s something that coffee number six can figure out.
It takes several knocks on Cole’s apartment door before I hear footstep gathering closer on the other side.
Goosebumps rise on my bare legs in the chill December air, even though this hallway is fully closed to the elements and partially heated.
I stand there, feeling a cosmic pull towards something beyond the door—towards him.
For a heart that was pumping so slow last night, now it’s hammering in my chest. Yes because I had copious amounts of coffee, but it also feels like it’s beating back to life—the relentless tug in my abdomen even softens, like the tension in the thread is being relieved.
The door swings open and Cole, wide-eyed and dangerous, stares back at me.
He’s soaking wet. Water droplets fall from his dark hair, down his sharp-angled jaw, past his collarbones, and over his bare chest, his lower half covered with a towel. “Natalie?” he rasps. “What—what are you doing here?”
Coming home, my heart whispers, as if it’s having a conversation with his.
“So quick question—” I push past him, not waiting for him to welcome me in.
I try to work up the courage to enact a plan that one hour ago seemed genius, but now that we’re here, I’m losing steam.
I plant myself near the breakfast bar I’ve leaned on countless of times and turn to him, undoing the belt of my trench coat.
“Do you think this will be appropriate to wear to your hockey tournament?” I open my coat, revealing a Pine Valley sweater that I bought at the local Endgame, the store that has literally everything, including local collegiate wear.
Props to me, I only left with this sweater, iron-on letters, and two scented candles I didn’t know I needed.
His jaw tightens. His eyes slowly rake down the entire length of my body. Inch by torturous inch. The lower he directs his stare, the more hunger and something I can’t quite name darken his gaze.
“Because I don’t want you mad about my outfit choice when I go to your game this time.
” I give a little half-spin, peeking over my shoulder where I ironed “Sinclair” onto the back and flash him a cheeky smile.
“What do you think? I’m worried I might be too cold with these out. ” I flash him my bare legs.
“Too hot,” he rasps. His voice is dry, like a man who hasn’t talked in years. “You’re too hot.”
“Really? I don’t feel too hot.” I fan myself and do my best sexy girl impression. Right now, I don’t feel like I’m faking it though—because Cole, still in his towel, is looking at me like I really am the moon.
“Trust me—you’re—you’re—” he stutters. “Fuck. Me.”
He sweeps a hand through his wet hair. “Natalie, I can’t,” he whispers, like he’s in pain.
The connection between us pulls too tight. I feel faint whispers of it torturing him. Too tense. Too strong.
“I love you.” The words tumble out before I can stop them.
“Cole—I’m…” I exhale, steadying myself. This isn’t just a crush or a confession.
It’s me admitting that I believe in the magic of soulmates when the only evidence I have is the way Cole looks at me and the stories my mom whispered to me at my bedside.
“I’m quite possibly, and rather hopelessly, yours,” I finally manage.
A sudden raw and relentless feeling tears through me, setting my nerves on fire. I can’t breathe. My thoughts fracture. For one dizzying moment, I feel him, Cole—his heartbeat, the ache of his longing, the years he’s carried this alone—and it’s unbearable.
The connection between us pulls and twists, two threads knotted together, smooth out to become one. Then, everything goes still. No magic. No chaos. Just his eyes on mine, bright and knowing.
Suddenly, he’s all I can think about. How much I need him. How much I want him. How it’s physically painful that we’re not touching. It’s sensory overload and way too freaking intense.
A slow smile rakes across Cole’s face. He knows how much this is killing me. He has to. “Fucking finally,” he exhales. Like he’s been holding his breath for years.
Before I can blink, he’s on me. His hands seize my waist and pull me flush against his chest. His mouth crashes onto mine with a hunger that borders on feral.
“Are you shaking?” He smiles against my mouth.
My breath hitches as his knee nudges between my legs, parting them just enough to tease me. “No.” I lie.
“You are.” His lips brush my ear. His breath falls hot against my neck. “You’re trembling. It’s intense, isn’t it?” He trails his lips along my jaw.
“Yes.”
“Good.” He grips my chin and tilts my head back to expose my neck.
“Do you know how many nights I imagined this?” he murmurs against my skin. “You on this counter like this?”
Magic hums beneath my skin like the gentle glow of twinkling Christmas lights, drawn to his every movement. His touch. His lips. It doesn’t matter. Wherever our bodies meet, shivers, want, and need follow.
“Cole…” My voice breaks on his name.
He chuckles. The sound vibrates through his chest into mine. His lips continue teasing me, never giving me the pressure I want. “God, you sound perfect when you say my name like that.”
“It’s not funny.” I whine “Where’s the sweet boy I fell in love with?”
“He’s here.” He finally kisses my lips with a brutal sweep of his tongue that steals my breath. “He just really likes hearing that sound and knowing he was right.”
“About what?” I ask against his lips.
I can feel the smile that spreads wide across his face. “That you’d be mine by the end of this.”
“I am okay with losing this one. Don’t make me regret it, though.”
I promise, you’ll win every day with me. Bonus points if you wear this.”
With every kiss, I grow less and less content with the fraction of air between us. I need my body pressed against his. I need to feel if the heart in his chest is matching the erratic beat of mine.
With a desperate urgency, I pull him tighter into me, putting my hand on the towel wrapped around his waist, but he pushes away. The sudden loss of contact leaves me breathless and wanting more.
I whimper. He laughs into my mouth before touching his forehead with mine. “We can’t, not yet. Trust me, I want to.”
Somewhere in the back of my mind I vaguely remember that I’m having my period. “I could take care of you though,” I say, but it comes out like a pout.
“Like hell you will when I can’t do the same back.” He cups my face and kisses me again.
Each pass of his mouth over mine has me handing the last bits of myself, the ugly parts I’ve always kept to myself, the loud parts, the anxious parts, the annoying joke parts, over to him, knowing he gave me every ounce of him so long ago. We’re finally just evening the score.
His. I am his. And he is mine. It feels so right, so natural now. Flashes of that first day, the one where he walked me to the shower in his towel, play in the projector in my mind.
Silly girl, didn’t you know that’s the way it’s always been?