43. Cole
COLE
Clara’s been quiet since the festival. The kids fell asleep in the back of the truck on the way back from Amarillo, so neither of us said much so as not to wake them.
But even after getting back to the cabin, she’s been quiet.
I don’t think she’s mad, but she’s not talking much, and I don’t like it because I can’t help but think it’s got something to do with me.
The last thing I ever want is to be the reason she’s upset.
“You want a drink?” I ask when Clara comes out of the bedroom dressed in her sleep shorts and tank top.
She stops, looking between me and the beer in my hand, meeting my eyes and shaking her head. “No thanks. I have a headache.”
I close the distance between us, wrapping my arm around her, relieved when she cuddles into me instead of pulling away. I bury my face into her soft hair, breathing her in. “Wanna come sit with me?”
Lifting her chin, she looks up at me a moment, her eyes flitting between mine like she’s looking for something. Finally, she nods, and I take her hand, leading her outside and onto the porch.
Outside, the night is warm and still, not a whisker of a breeze, the sky up above filled with stars, but no sign of the moon.
I take a seat on the top step, my back cracking as I do, and I stifle a groan at the ache in my muscles. Today’s ride was a tough one, and my body’s paying the price.
Clara makes a move to sit next to me, but I ain’t having none of that, pulling her so her ass has nowhere else to settle but on my thigh, where it belongs. Then, when she’s seated, I cup her cheek, tilting her face to me, forcing her eyes to mine.
“Talk to me, baby.” I smooth my thumb over her cheek, searching her face for any hint into what might be bothering her.
She releases a heavy breath, her shoulders falling an inch or two, and I wait for her to talk.
“I thought I—” Stopping herself, she clamps her bottom lip between her teeth, looking away.
I tug on her chin, forcing her eyes back to me. “It’s me, darlin’,” I remind her. “You can tell me anythin’.”
Clara’s throat works with a hard swallow. “I… I thought I saw Cain.”
All the blood drains from my face. “Where?”
I realize by the way her eyes flare that I probably need to reel it in. She doesn’t know and I need to keep it that way.
Clearing my throat, I shift on the step. “I mean… Where did you think you saw him?”
“At the festival,” she says after a few seconds, looking down.
“I saw him in the crowd. He was… staring at me. And he had this… evil smile. I blinked because I knew it couldn’t be him.
But then when I looked again, he was still there.
” She shakes her head, meeting my eyes again.
“But then I turned away and when I looked back over, it… it wasn’t him. ”
I stare at her, searching her pretty blue eyes.
“I’m going crazy.” She scoffs derisively. “But what if he—”
“No,” I interject, placing a finger against her lips.
“But he’s out there, Cole,” Clara says against my finger. “He’s out there and I know what he’s like. He’s going to be looking for me. And he’s like a damn dog with a bone. I’m forever going to imagine I’m seeing him. In my dreams. In crowds. I’m never going to get rid of him.”
Her eyes brim with tears, and I cup her jaw.
“Hey now.” I stroke her skin, trailing the curve of her cheek bone.
I want to tell her that I’m gonna fix it.
That I’m not gonna give up until I know he can’t ever hurt her again.
That she will never have to look over her shoulder again.
But I can’t say any of that. So, as I look into her eyes, all I can do is steady her with a look of promise. “I’ve got you, remember?”
Clara places her hand over mine on her cheek, leaning into my touch and closing her eyes. “Today scared me.”
“It was probably just your eyes playin’ tricks on—”
“I’m not talking about that,” Clara says, interrupting me. “I’m talking about you. Your fall. It… it scared me.”
I flinch at her unexpected confession, spoken so softly the words are almost lost to the silence of the night.
I blink a few times, hard, trying to process what she’s just told me, shaking my head to myself.
“It was just… it was a dizzy spell. I-I fainted.” I add a shrug of my shoulder in the hope my fucking lie is concealed by the nonchalance. “It’s nothin’ baby… I told you that.”
Clara’s eyes bounce between mine. “I know. That’s what scared me.”
My eyebrows tug together, confused by her words.
“Because—” She swallows hard, stalling. But then, she continues, and her words almost knock me off center. “For the first time since knowing you… I-I don’t believe you.”
Silence stretches between us like it’s pushing us apart. I stare at her, taken aback by her words, my mind reeling. Dragging a hand down my face, I heave a sigh. “You don’t believe me,” I say more to myself, repeating her words.
Clara shakes her head. “Cole, that wasn’t a dizzy spell. It wasn’t… low blood sugar.” She scoffs. “I watched it happen. You… you changed. You weren’t you. And then you just collapsed—” She stops herself, shaking her head again.
I grit my teeth, fear clutching itself around my chest and squeezing the fuck out of it.
“Cole,” Clara continues, reaching up and raking her fingers through the hair that’s flopped down into my eyes. “Please don’t lie to me.”
She frowns, and the sadness in her eyes breaks my fucking heart because I put it there.
And I’m not blowing smoke when I say I never want to hurt her; the thought of hurting her tears me up inside.
And, knowing that this woman right here is the one person I know will support me and love me, no matter what, I heave a resigned sigh and meet her eyes, swallowing every last bit of trepidation.
“I did lie,” I admit, looking down and nodding just once.
Clara’s soft hand cups my jaw, and slowly, she tips my chin up, forcing my eyes back to hers and steadying me with a caring yet no-bullshit look. “Okay. Thank you.” Her gaze flits between mine a moment before she continues, “Now tell me the truth.”
“Concussion,” is all I say, pressing my lips together in a firm line.
Clara’s eyes go wide and her face falls, and the way she looks at me, I swear a slap wouldn’t hurt as much.
“You—you drove home,” she says the words so quietly, like she doesn’t mean for me to hear.
“My kids were in the back seat!” She looks at me like she doesn’t like what she sees, and if I’m being honest, that hurts more than any fucking slap to my face.
“You were drinking.” Her gaze flits down to the open can of Pabst sitting next to me and suddenly she grabs it and with all her might she pitches it across the yard, the anger in her eyes glaring when her gaze returns to me.
“You have a concussion and you—” She presses her lips together, not finishing whatever it was she was about to tell me.
When Clara moves to stand, I hold her where she is. I don’t want her to walk away from me. Not now. Not ever.
“Cole, I’m—” She covers her mouth with her hand looking away and the sound of her sob rips me apart. “I’m so angry at you right now.”
I close my eyes on an exhale, angry at myself because this is exactly what I never wanted to happen. “There’s more.”
Clara turns back to me, her glassy eyes meeting mine. “More?”
“Today’s not the first time I… collapsed after a ride.” I stare into her eyes, my hold around her tightening a touch because I can’t bear the thought of losing her. “It happened a little while ago. Bailey was there.”
“I knew it.” She sighs. “I saw the way she was looking at you today. She… She didn’t believe you either.”
“She made me go see a… a doctor,” I continue. “That’s where I’d been on the day that I met you at the Stop and Shop. Lubbock.”
“What did the doctor say?” Clara asks, her question firm, demanding.
My eyes bounce between hers, and I know I can’t lie to this woman. But man, the truth fuckin’ hurts, the threat of tears stinging like a motherfucker. “He said my brain can’t handle too many more concussions and that I should seriously consider quittin’.”
Clara rears back, looking at me like I’m a stranger, like I haven’t looked her in her eyes and told her I love her while buried deep inside of her.
And I’m forced to avert my gaze, looking down at the ground because the look of betrayal that flashes in her eyes makes me feel physically sick to my gut.
“Does… Bailey know?”
I shake my head. “I lied to her, too.”
Clara sucks in a shuddering breath. “Look at me.”
Reluctantly I lift my chin, meeting her eyes that are so full of fear, I can’t help but feel like a son of a bitch for putting it there.
“You need to quit,” she says, like I knew she would. Don’t mean her words shock me any less.
I shake my head, taking a few deep breaths and looking out over the darkness of nothing. “I can’t quit, Clara,” I snap a little harsher than intended, Clara flinching at my tone and fuck I hate myself in this moment.
Softening, I continue. “It’s all I know. All I’m good at.” I meet her eyes again. “All I’ve got.”
The second the words are out of my mouth, I regret them, the hurt I’ve just caused written all over her face.
“I didn’t—” I huff an exasperated breath. “I didn’t mean it like that, baby. I just… ridin’ is all—”
“You’re all I’ve got,” Clara interrupts me, and I shut my damn mouth. “But the difference is, Cole—” Her voice cracks, face crumpling with emotion. “You’re also all I want.”
I close my eyes on another sigh, and wetness hits my cheek.
Swiping at the tear, I sniff hard, swallowing my emotion while racking my brain with how to get back to what we were less than five fucking minutes ago.
But before I can say anything, Clara moves my arm from around her waist. And while I don’t want to let her go, I do.
“I’m going to bed.” She stands, and I look up at her, catching her gaze.
“I love you, Clara,” I gruff, my voice thick with emotion.
She nods. “I know. I love you, too.”
I want her to kiss me. To make it all feel like everythin’ is okay, even if only for tonight. But she doesn’t. She touches my face, traces the curve of my cheekbone with her thumb and then walks around me and inside the house.
And I want to go after her, but I don’t because I know right now, she doesn’t want me to.
And I made a promise to her that I would never do anything she doesn’t want me to do.
But now that she’s asking me not to do the only thing I’ve ever been good at, the only thing I’ve ever fuckin’ known, I don’t know if that’s a promise I can keep anymore.