Session Thirteen
Vulnerable. Open. Hope.
Ever since Stacy put that stupid poker metaphor in my head, it followed me everywhere.
So much so, that the next time I saw Cole, I’d asked him to come over and play Texas Hold ‘Em.
I know, new for me. But it felt like a start. And Stacy was my winning fucking hand, so –
Don’t hate the player, hate the game.
But he laughed, and he said, “I don’t play poker.”
We’d been eating ice cream on a bench outside the office, and I’d almost licked the ball off my cone. “What do you mean you don’t play poker?”
“Is it… necessary?”
I burst out laughing. “No,” I shook my head. “No it’s not, just so uncanny.”
He quirked a brow. “Right,” and leaned his cone to my mouth. “Have a taste before yours melts.”
“I thought all guys played poker?” I asked, savoring the taste of mint chocolate chip on my tongue. “Yours is better than mine.”
“Well yeah,” he chuckled, wiping the side of my mouth with a napkin. “You got Superkid.”
I swatted at him. Gently, of course.
“Who the hell gets Superkid?” He teased, shoulders bobbing with laughter.
“Who the hell doesn’t play poker?”
“Okay, honeybee. Now tell me what this is about.”
Stacy’s my winning hand. Stacy’s my winning hand.
“Be vulnerable, Beatrice. Have hope. Not everyone is a shark in the ocean.”
‘I don’t go in the ocean.’
“That was not the analogy.”
‘You have plenty of those, Doc.’
Alright, alright, cut it the fuck out.
Vulnerable. Open. Hope.
Vulnerable. Open. Hope.
“We haven’t…” I paused. Fuck.
Okay. Vulnerable. Open. Hope.
Continue.
“We haven’t talked about exes, really. Mine, I guess.” I said, licking my Superkid. Avoiding eye contact.
I could feel his gaze. “Not really, no. Would you like to?”
“So,” I closed my mouth. “No.”
“Right,” he chuckled, turning me to face him. “Would you like me to ask, or should I just wait until you burst?”
I side-eyed him.
He stretched out his long legs, placing a hand on my thigh. Exhaling. “Beautiful day for a conversation, don’t you agree?”
I couldn’t hold it in, shaking my head with amusement. “You’re such an idiot.”
“An idiot that loves to listen, honeybee. Humor me.”
And in that moment, I felt a warmth flood my insides that I’d never known before.
Cole was a new addition to my life, but in those very first weeks it had felt like a dam ripped open in my heart and I wanted the water to spill out –
Every murky, algae covered detail.
Cole was a cleaner. A filter. A fucking –
“You’re my Brita, you know that?” I said, aloud like an idiot (which he is) but I’m (a bigger one).
“Brita?” He chuckled.
“Yeah, you detoxify and purify and all that good stuff that Britas do.”
He stared at me.
“You can’t say anything back, can you?” I winked, licking my cone.
“No, Beatrice, can’t say a woman has rendered me speechless in a while.”
“I am no ordinary woman,” I teased.
“Oh trust me,” he leaned in. “I’ve noticed.”
***
I managed to dodge the whole exes conversation for a few days, but after a week full of work and a belly full of wine I called him, demanded he come over because I was not an asker, and he was on my couch peppering me with questions, my GOD, the man –
“I asked you one,” he said, throwing his hands up in defense. “One question, on Monday.”
“One too many, Cole Ellerby.” I squinted, trying to appear flirty but probably looked like I had a sty.
He looked concerned. “Are you okay?”
I knew it.
“Alright!” I exhaled. “Let’s talk! Since you want to, soooo badly.”
“Don’t beg too much,” he smirked.
Fucking hell.
He was so much better at flirting than me.
“You know, I used to have severe game, Cole Ellerby.”
“Yeah? I believe it.” He sipped his Corona. “We’ve got to get you a new nickname for me, though. It’s only fair.”
“True,” I replied, thinking. “Colgate?”
He practically spit out his drink. “The toothpaste?”
I paused. “Yeah, maybe not. What about, Colton?”
“You want to give me a new name?”
“It wouldn’t hurt –” I teased, and he shook his head, smiling.
“Mom named me Cole after my uncle,” he explained, running his finger over the gold ring on his pointer. Right hand. I noticed the very first day.
Unlike me, he didn’t need a prompt to continue.
Cole couldn’t care less about sharks.
“My dad walked out on us pretty young. Just me and my sister, Carrie. Uncle Cole filled the gaps where Dad stood. Then, he got into an accident that paralyzed him from the waist down.”
“What?” I said, moving towards him. “What happened?”
He shrugged. “Construction accident. He was framing a house and fell from the second story.”
I held a hand over my mouth, every part of me resisting the urge to touch and hold him but I wanted to –
I want to –
I grabbed his hand. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
He squeezed back, and my heart stopped. “Thanks. Yeah, it’s rough. We uh…” he paused and I shifted closer.
“You don’t need to say anything.”
“No,” he shook his head. “I want to. I want to be open with you. Honest. This is what couples do.”
I didn’t correct him, it wasn’t the right time, nor did I care.
I wanted to be with Cole. Every fiber of my fucking being wanted to be with Cole.
Wanted to be more like Cole.
Vulnerable. Open. Hope.
Cole pinched the bridge of his nose, setting his wine aside. “He overdosed on pain meds in the hospital.”
I… “I –” I had no words. “When?”
“About three years ago, yeah. I’d already moved away, same with Carrie. Just, hard, you know? For Mom.” He took in a breath. “I call – we call, every day. She’s a short drive, but, yeah.” He looked to me, finally, eyes bloodshot.
And yet, he smiled.
“Maybe we should stick with Colgate?” He said, and I felt the tears come before I could blink them away, crashing into his side like a bullet train.
“How do you carry on?” I asked, buried in his chest. “With loss like that, you’re still strong.”
“Oh, honeybee,” he pulled me to face him, tucking strands of hair behind my ear. His kind, brown eyes searched my face. “I’m strong because of the loss.”
I stared at him, this man I’ve come to know – come to adore with the purest of intentions – and whispered without hesitation, “Teach me to be stronger.”
He pulled me in, the scent of pancakes and caramel wafting over me because he insisted on buying from local perfumers and he smelled nothing like a Dior commercial, or an Abercrombie model or –
Jace.
He smelled nothing like Jace.
“Why do you need to be strong?” He asked, so quietly I thought I’d imagined it.
I swallowed, shutting my eyes. “I don’t want to hurt this relationship. I don’t want to carry my baggage with me. I want” – Vulnerable. Open. Hope – “I want it to work this time.”
And before he could speak, I braved the admittance with my whole chest. “I’m not good at this sort of thing.”
He sighed, wiping a tear from my eye. “Promise me something?”
I nodded. Because for him, anything.
“When you feel like running away, Beatrice,” he whispered, “run towards me.”