Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
COLE
I s it any wonder I sleep like shit since the vision of Hannah Grace walking away from my admission haunts me every time I close my eyes?
My dick was absolutely on board with sex, no matter what stipulations she wanted to add.
But my heart was too locked up with her to not have emotion involved.
Wasn’t hers ?
I snort and flop to my other side, punching the pillow under my head several times for good measure.
Apparently not.
Light is beginning to filter in around the blinds and I sigh, tossing the covers back and giving up on any semblance of sleep. Frustration has my body wound into knots, and my normal release—running until I’m too exhausted to see straight—isn’t feasible given that Hannah Grace is in danger. Early or not, I’m not putting her in jeopardy.
Instead I change into a tank and athletic shorts and drop to the floor, doing push-ups until my biceps burn and sweat rolls down my temple, pooling at the tip of my nose, before dripping onto the floor beneath me.
I keep my rhythm, pushing long past the burn until my arms grow numb, until thoughts of Hannah Grace don’t cause my dick to stir because my entire being is too focused on the limp noodles that shake with every move.
Only then do I flip onto my back, rolling to tuck my feet under the bed, and start the same punishing pace with sit-ups, pouring the mix of emotions that have plagued me all night into every contraction.
Regret that I put a stop to kissing Hannah Grace.
Disappointment that she didn’t want to respond to my declaration.
Sadness that she obviously isn’t interested in my heart…just my body.
That’s a bad thing ?
Yes, that’s a fucking bad thing. If I can’t have her—all of her—I won’t settle for anything less. Even if just the reminder of her pressed between me and the door has my dick stirring in my shorts.
Fuck, this isn’t working. Normally, I can run to clear my head, a combination of endorphins and fresh air helping me work shit out. But this? This is punishment. This is torture.
This isn’t fucking working.
Grunting, I flip back onto my hands and knees, jumping up before immediately crouching into a squat. My arms still shake, my abs are as sensitive as if I’ve taken multiple punches to them, and now my legs are calling me seven kinds of motherfucker as I fold as low as I can and hold it until it takes all my concentration to lift back up.
The physical exhaustion doesn’t stop my mind from its endless pursuit of answers when it comes to how to get through to Hannah Grace. Maybe caffeine will help.
The coffee maker is already sounding off in the kitchen, cluing me in that the object of my thoughts is awake, and I swallow the lump that now sits on my vocal cords like a damn boulder. Clearing my throat, I step all the way into the kitchen and pray for sanity.
The black yoga pants cup her ass the way my hands itch to, the turquoise tank top drawing my attention to the strip of skin between the skintight pants and the soft top. She leans against the counter in front of the machine.
“Good morning,” I say, giving her a wide berth to grab my own cup.
She stiffens.
“Good would have involved an orgasm that wasn’t self-delivered,” she mutters.
I almost swallow my tongue.
“What?”
She rounds on me as the coffee sputters to a stop, the kind of fire I’m not hoping to see dancing in those deep-blue eyes.
“You heard me. And I wanted you to.”
“You…”
The image of her with her legs spread, hand between her thighs, takes away any ability to speak.
Holy fuck.
“It wasn’t the first time. It won’t be the last. At least your hot and cold behavior is good for something.”
Barb thrown, she spins back around, adding creamer to her coffee before slamming the bottle back into the refrigerator.
Leaning against the counter, I study her, her movements a mix of grace of the beauty queen she was and physical frustration I just tried to torture out of my body. I struggle with whether to be amused or not, but the corners of my lips twitch at how obvious it is that she’s pissed at me. I open my mouth to say something—anything—but she beats me to the punch.
“You know, Cole, I had higher expectations of you. Guess my fantasies were better than reality.”
Oh, no, she fucking didn’t.
Closing the distance, I grab the cup from her fingers and crowd her against the counter. She always knew exactly which combination of buttons to hit to drive me crazy. Maybe I need to return the favor.
“What’s the matter, Honey Girl? What are you more mad about? That I left your sweet pussy aching for me or that I won’t just use your body like it doesn’t mean something to me…like you don’t mean everything to me.”
Her breathing comes in shallow pants between her kissable lips, the fire morphing to a mix of anger and a desire so strong it’s nuclear. My free hand rests against her hip, the heat practically singeing me through the material, and all I want is to say fuck it. To claim what’s mine. What has always been mine.
“You’re forgetting something,” she says, swiping her cup back from my fingers and taking a drink.
“What’s that?”
“I may have wanted you last night, Cole. But that was last night. Your present declarations don’t match your past actions. Which you already proved to me when you promised me forever. Funny how that changed to a Dear Jane letter after I slept with you, you fucking coward.”
“You seem to be forgetting there were several years between us sleeping together and me sending you that letter. I?—”
She pushes against my chest and I release her. Another push and she’s outside my reach.
“What’s worse than anything though? The fact that I loved you so much that I made myself sick worrying about you every goddamn day you were gone. I ate up every single one of those letters you sent, every phone call where I could hear your voice for the few minutes we got, for what? To be dumped in a letter like I meant nothing to you. Like what we had meant less than zero.”
“I broke up with you because I loved you. Because I thought you deserved better than me,” I argue.
“Well, there, I’ll agree with you. I do deserve better.”
The sting of her comment is a direct hit to my chest and makes it hard to breathe. I want to apologize. I want to be sorry. For everything. But I still think I made the right choice—both four years ago and last night. Even if she doesn’t agree.
The one thing I need to do now is clear this awkwardness between us. Her safety is going to depend on her trusting me. And right now, that’s the last emotion between her and me.
“Hannah Grace?” Even her name doesn’t roll as smoothly off my tongue.
She pauses in the doorway and turns so slowly, I almost don’t think she’s going to look at me.
Because all the walls I thought I had ripped down are stacked and reinforced.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“What?” She cocks a hip to the side and drums her fingers along her thigh.
“We need to talk about last night.” I have to force my voice not to crack, and I’m grateful for the little bit of control over my body I still have.
She takes a sip of her coffee, and I try not to stare at the way her lips wrap around the edge of the mug or the way the sheen of coffee begs me to close the distance.
Yeah, because that worked well last night .
“There’s nothing left to say.”
“Bullshit.”
What the fuck?
She shrugs and takes another drink of her coffee.
“We kissed. You caught me in the shower and started?—”
“I don’t need the replay.” She slings her mug wide and her coffee comes close to going everywhere.
“We need to talk about that kiss,” I argue.
“There’s nothing to talk about. What we had to say we said last night.”
To hell with this.
I take two steps toward her.
“We’re having a conversation about the past, so wrap your head around it now if you need to, but it’s happening,” I promise.
She retreats and holds her coffee cup in front of her like a shield.
“You can’t make me talk to you.”
“Maybe you’ll want to when you hear what I have to say.”
“There’s nothing you can say that’s going to change my mind. The only thing between us is our past, Cole. There’s no future.”
“What about last night?”
“Last night was a momentary lapse in judgment. A weakness. It won’t happen again.”
Fuck, I hate that I can’t pull her in for a hug based on the forlorn note to her voice. She’s not alone in this swirl of emotions. Even if she doesn’t want to hear it.
“I can accept that. But we do need to talk about everything, Hannah Grace. It’s time to clear the air. I’ll let you decide when. You just need to say the word.”
Her entire body relaxes as relief takes over her features. Is she really that willing to avoid the conversation four years in the making?
“But I’ll only wait so long. My patience only goes so far.”
She doesn’t say anything else, but turns for the living room and curls up in the overstuffed armchair by the window. The way the sun filters through the window and creates a halo of gold in her hair, I wish this tension between us was gone. I wish everything could be different.
Turning back to the coffee, I make a promise to the both of us.
I will fix this. No amount of walls she can throw between us will stop it from happening.
???
Two days later, my patience is wearing thin. She’s made it a point to invite Zach over every day and the two of them hang out all day. Making cookies and a pie for Zach’s family Thanksgiving or watching Christmas movies on TV. And not just any Christmas movies. A mix of lovey-dovey Hallmark Christmas movies and nostalgic movies from when we grew up.
That’s okay, Honey Girl, throw up whatever obstacle you think is going to keep us from this conversation. It won’t work .
The two of them stay sprawled on the couch with a giant bowl of popcorn between them most of every day and leave the chair for me. But there are only so many conversations they can have that I have no idea what they’re talking about before I’ve had enough.
Time for reinforcements.
I fucked up.
SYDNEY
Surprised it took you this long.
SAWYER
What do you mean you fucked up?
My fingers hesitate on the screen.
This is worse than telling Dad about the time that I accidentally hit the back of his brand-new car with my old pickup pulling into the driveway.
And I’m not sure how much I actually want to admit to.
SAWYER
Cole.
Fuck, time’s up.
I pissed off Hannah Grace again.
SYDNEY
Who didn’t see that coming?
SAWYER
Sydney.
Why do I always feel like I’m the parent talking to two bickering children?
I thought you guys were getting along.
We were.
SAWYER
So how did you manage to piss her off again?
SYDNEY
I bet the list on what he didn’t do to piss her off is shorter.
Sorry, I’ll stop.
But I had to take that one.
We went bowling Friday night.
SAWYER
It’s Monday.
I was hoping she’d get over it.
SAWYER
Over what?
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I admitted I still had feelings for her.
There’s multiple dots from Sydney and Sawyer, but nothing pops up on the screen so I keep typing.
She doesn’t want to go down that path again.
SYDNEY
When did you admit you still had feelings for her?
Why does that matter?
SYDNEY
You’re such a guy.
It matters.
SAWYER
We don’t need to know that.
What I’m concerned about is your ability to still keep things professional. I’ll ask again, do you want someone else to come replace you?
What was my first response to that?
SAWYER
You asked what I would do if it were Evie.
And?
SAWYER
I’m trusting you to tell me when you hit that point.
You won’t do you or Hannah Grace any favors if you get too involved.
I know.
SAWYER
Also, it sounds like you have a big apology you’re going to have to make.
To who?
SYDNEY
Now I feel like that parent.
To Hannah Grace, dumbass.
Why do I need to apologize? I didn’t do anything wrong.
It wasn’t wrong to kiss Hannah Grace. It was everything right. It was the universe coming back into alignment for the first time in years.
SYDNEY
::facepalm emoji::
Sawyer, help.
SAWYER
Without knowing the details, you told her you have feelings for her at a time when she didn’t believe you.
I don’t think that’s the issue.
She believes me.
SYDNEY
So maybe she doesn’t return your feelings.
SAWYER
Have you talked to her about why you broke up with her before?
SYDNEY
Why did you break up with her?
No.
I tried, but she didn’t want to hear it.
SAWYER
You’re going to have to figure it out.
She needs to know.
SYDNEY
I want to know!
Let’s just say I was an idiot.
SYDNEY
Not hard for you.
SAWYER
Apologize. Talk to her about before.
What if she doesn’t want to listen?
SAWYER
Then that’s her decision.
That’s what I’m afraid of.
That her decision will be to not listen.
But even worse, what if she listens before walking away again?
Pocketing my phone, I leave the guest room to find Zach on the couch, Hannah Grace next to him on the phone.
“No, Mama, it’s okay. Mm-hmm.”
I pass through the living room into the kitchen and grab a bottle of water before sitting on the open chair.
“If Laura Leigh wants y’all to come to the Thanksgiving at her sorority house I think that’ll be fun. I can grab something. There are restaurants open in Nashville for the holiday.” She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Yes, someday I’ll need to learn how to make the turkey. But why would I make a whole turkey for myself? No, Zach is going to visit his family for Thanksgiving. No, I’m not going to invite myself to his family celebration.”
Zach sits up, his expression lighting up as if he just figured out he could invite her to Thanksgiving dinner.
Nice try, pal, but where she goes, I go.
And I doubt he wants to explain my presence to his family.
There’s a long pause and Hannah Grace sighs again.
“Yes, ma’am. Okay. Mama, I can hear Daddy telling you it’s time for you guys to go. Why don’t you call me later?” She mouths something that I don’t quite catch. “Love you too. Okay. Bye.”
She tosses her phone on the couch and grabs for the soda on the table to take a long drink.
“Mama Beth?” Zach asks.
I bristle. Who is this jackass to refer to Hannah Grace’s mom that way? Even growing up in the same town and seeing her through my childhood, she was still Mrs. Whittaker or Mrs. Claus, depending on where she was and what time of year it was.
But she doesn’t react. Are they that close? Has he met her parents and sister? Has he walked our town? Did she take him to our spot? The questions are still spinning when she nods.
“Yeah. Laura Leigh invited them to the Thanksgiving they’re hosting at the Beta Lambda Mu house and they want to go. It’s an event that she planned so they want to support her.”
“So no Mistletoe Creek for Thanksgiving?” Zach asks.
How would we have handled that? I wasn’t going to let her out of my sight in a different town and the three-hour drive it took to get there. Probably a good thing it wasn’t happening.
“Nope. Which means I get to lie around on the couch in my pjs and watch the Thanksgiving Day parade and football I want to instead of being locked in the kitchen with my mom.”
“She’s adamant about you learning how to do the whole meal, huh?” he asks her.
She shoots me a look and I focus on my phone, pretending to read through something that means I’m more focused on that than on the edge of my seat eating up every word she says. I must be pretty convincing since she turns back to Zach, turning in her seat to face him head-on.
“I would have thought she would have learned after last year when I nearly dropped the turkey on the floor. I’m a sous chef only. I don’t want all that responsibility.”
He laughs and I have to suck my lips into my mouth to avoid showing a reaction. I can picture her in her parents’ kitchen in one of her mama’s aprons and bobbling the turkey.
“You can watch football with me. Come for Thanksgiving. I’m leaving tomorrow evening and coming back Saturday. You can come to a Nolan family Thanksgiving in Ohio.”
Another blue-eyed glance my direction coupled with a sigh.
“I don’t want to crash your Thanksgiving plans.”
Her look my direction says something else—she would have said yes if I wasn’t here.
“You wouldn’t. I’m inviting you. Mom and Dave won’t care. They’ve heard enough about you, so they’d finally have the chance to meet you.”
Why does it give me a sense of satisfaction that while he’s familiar with her family, she’s never met his?
“Next time,” she promises.
The little bit of relief deflates faster than a popped balloon.
Because there will be a next time. He’s a permanent fixture in her life, and I’m only here temporarily. With no sign of anything since I put the cameras up, I’m beginning to think that was enough to scare that person away.
So why am I still here?
“I’m going to hold you to that,” he says and reaches over, holding out a pinky.
She hooks hers through his.
“Promise.”
“Good, now what movie are we watching next?” He settles back against the couch and hands her the remote.
“ Die Hard ?”
“Thank you for agreeing with me that it’s a Christmas movie,” he tells her.
The only reason she thinks it’s a Christmas movie is because I convinced her in high school that it was .
I keep that comment to myself and push harder on my phone screen to scroll the page I’m pretending to read.
“It’s one of my favorites.”
Mine too , Honey Girl .
“Ready?”
“Let’s do it.”
I take another drink from my water bottle and try not to grind my teeth together.
Apologize. Explain.
Only I can’t do that while Lover Boy is still in my way.