CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Dublin
The house is quiet when I hear the door open.
I glance at the clock. It’s definitely later than I expected him, but he probably got hung up at the facility.
I’m in my room—my playroom, as Cole started calling it once he realized I’d claimed the space as mine. Papers spread out, laptop open, notes I’m pretending I can still do something with even though everything about this case is slipping through my fingers.
I hear his keys hit the bowl.
There’s no “hey” called down the hallway to see where I am. No curse under his breath because he probably forgot his wallet in his console again. Just silence.
Something’s wrong.
I’m already on my feet when he appears in the doorway, and whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t this.
He looks wrecked. And not in the bone-tired way he has after a hard game. This is worse, like something inside him just got torn out and he’s trying to act like it didn’t.
“Hey,” I say softly, concern in my voice.
His eyes find mine and . . . God, the agony in them steals the rest of my words.
He doesn’t say anything or even try. Instead, he crosses the room in three strides, grabs me, and pulls me into him almost as if he needs to make sure I’m real.
Air rushes out of my lungs as I wrap my arms around him and hold on.
“I need you, Dub,” he says into my hair.
Not want.
Need.
Acute need that sounds jagged around the edges with an unfiltered desperation.
My heart twists and head races over what could possibly be wrong, but I don’t ask. I simply run my hands up his back and pull him in tighter. “I’m here. Take what you need. I’m all yours.”
He exhales. It’s drawn out and shaky as he presses his face into my neck like he’s trying to disappear into me.
Questions race through my head, fast and relentless, but I don’t ask them.
Whatever this is, it’s bigger than answers, so I just hold him and let him take what he needs.
He slides his hands up my back, then down again, restless like he doesn’t quite know where to put them. Like he doesn’t know what to do with whatever is warring inside him.
I lean back, run my hands down both his cheeks and meet the absolute ruin in his eyes. “I love you, Cole,” I say as I brush my lips against his. “I’m yours.”
He turns his face into my palm, eyes fluttering closed, before he nods.
With his hand in mine, I lead him down the hall, past the kitchen, up the stairs, and into the bedroom. He follows without hesitation, like I’m the only thing tethering him right now.
When we enter the bedroom, I turn back to find him already watching me with eyes dark. Yearning.
I pull my pajama tank over my head and toss it to the side as the chilled air moves over my breasts. I push down my shorts and step out of them so I’m standing here as exposed as he is, just in a different way.
His eyes drink me in.
“Cole?”
And that’s all it takes. He closes the distance, discarding his shirt as he goes. He cups my face and then his mouth finds mine in a kiss that’s nothing like we’ve ever shared before.
It’s not urgent or frantic . . . it’s searching. Like he’s trying to remember how to breathe. Like he’s trying to fix whatever seems to be broken in him.
I kiss him back the same way—slow, steady—letting him set the pace. Letting him take control or give it up, I don’t care which.
He presses his forehead to mine, breath ragged.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he whispers. “Tell me what you need.”
Tears well in my eyes at the broken desperation in his voice.
“Nothing but you.” I kiss him again, our tongues twining and bodies melding into one another’s. “Just you.”
We move together without thinking. His pants coming off slowly as we make our way to the bed. There’s no rush. It’s like we agree to stay in this moment until everything else falls away.
When he lowers me to the bed, he’s gentle. Like he’s afraid if he moves too fast, this will disappear too.
I brush my fingers along his jawline. “I’m right here,” I whisper.
His eyes meet mine for a second, like he needs to see me when he pushes into me.
I gasp at the sensation and fight the urge to close my eyes while I absorb the pleasure he brings me.
His lips meet mine again, his tongue matching the slow languorous thrusting of his hips.
There is nothing hurried. Nothing urgent. It’s just Cole. It’s just me. Just us moving together as one in the soft moonlight.
His forehead falls to mine as a ragged breath leaves him, and I feel how hard he’s holding himself back. He’s trying not to need this too much, trying not to need me too much and failing miserably.
His hand slides beneath my back to pull me closer.
His mouth keeps finding mine between breaths.
He looks at me as if I’m the only solid thing left in his world.
“Cole,” I whisper, my fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck.
There is so much in his eyes as he looks at me—exhaustion, relief, love. His expression softens like he’s stopped fighting whatever war has been raging in his head so he can simply feel this. Feel me.
“I love you,” he murmurs against my lips, making my chest ache with love.
His eyes stay locked on mine as we move together slowly, reverently. This isn’t just about pleasure anymore. This is grounding. This is survival.
“I love you,” he repeats, rougher this time. And then again, over and over like he needs me to hear it. Like he needs himself to say it. Like after all the doubt and noise surrounding him, this is the one thing he knows is true.
I hold his face in my hands. “I’m here,” I whisper back. “I’m not going anywhere.”
A broken sound falls from his lips and then his mouth crashes against mine as his body finally lets go.
There’s no distance between us when he falls apart. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever felt closer to him.
There’s just warmth. Just labored breaths. Just his heart pounding wildly against mine while he buries his face in my neck. It’s as if that’s where he wants to hide from the world. A safe space where he can finally rest.
And as I hold him there in the wash of moonlight, I realize I’ve found that in him too. A safe space where vulnerability isn’t a weakness and words aren’t weapons.
We lie there for a while after. Tangled together with his leg draped over mine, and his fingers tracing idle patterns along my skin.
“You want to talk about it?” I ask.
His hand stills. His body tenses. “I will,” he says quietly. “When I can, I will.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“I just . . .” He presses a kiss to my neck. “I need to figure some things out first.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “Take your time.”
His arm tightens around me, pulling me closer. “It has nothing to do with you and me,” he says.
“I know.”
And I do know.
Because whatever this is, it’s bigger than us.
He didn’t come here for answers. He came here because he needed somewhere to land.
And somehow, that place is me.