8 COLE
My body feels wound tighter than a snake ready to strike.
I’m on edge, and it’s all her fault. I thought that tricking her into staying here would serve as a form of punishment for her.
I thought it was the least she could do after breaking my heart the way she did, but I didn’t know it would be punishment for me too.
Not only is she driving me crazy just by talking, but she’s also driving me crazy from walking around nearly naked.
In the ten years she’s been gone, I’ve been with a couple of women, but none of them more than once.
I was never trying to replace her. I was simply trying to give my body what it needed, a release.
But once I realized that none of those women could make up for losing her, and they'd never be who I wanted, I stopped altogether.
I couldn’t even begin to guess how long it’s been since I’ve had sex now, but I know seeing her in that lacy thong and then dripping wet and only wrapped in a towel isn’t helping with getting myself under control.
“This coffee is horrible. Ugh, I miss the city so much,” she whines, rolling her eyes. “I mean, how can you stand living here?”
I take a drink of my coffee. “My friends are here. My family is here. My whole life is here. Why would I want to leave all that behind?”
She shrugs and presses her lips together. “Don’t you wonder what else is out there? What else you could do? What else you could see or experience?”
“Nope,” I reply, picking up my cup and taking another sip.
“Okay, if you love your life here so much, why do you look so miserable?”
My brows lift as my eyes swing from the TV to her. “I look miserable?”
She nods. “You’re still in the same spot you were in ten years ago. The house, exactly the same.” She holds up one finger like she’s counting things off.
“It’s not. That lounge chair is new,” I argue, pointing at the chair in the living room.
She rolls her eyes. “Your job is the same.” She holds up another finger.
“No, I opened the sawmill,” I say, pointing at her.
She gives up on counting things off, and instead, she wraps her hands around her coffee cup as she leans in slightly. “I bet you still go to the bar every Thursday night for dollar beers with the guys, don’t ya?” She lifts one brow and smirks.
“No,” I lie.
She snorts. “Yeah, right.”
Anger boils inside me, and my heart races as my blood pressure rises.
“So, why haven’t you moved on, started up a new relationship?” she asks out of nowhere.
My eyes find hers. “What makes you think I haven’t?”
She sits back in her chair and looks around. “My ring in the soap dish for one.” She levels her eyes on me. “My pictures, books, and knick-knacks in the living room. My products are in the bathroom. What woman is okay coming into a man’s house when it’s taken up by another woman?”
I let out a long breath and shake my head. “Just because you left your shit here doesn’t mean that I don’t bring women home. I bring women home.” I’m angry, pointing at my chest now.
“Oh yeah? When was the last time you brought someone home?”
I shrug. “I go out when I feel like it and bring someone home when I want. Here lately, I’ve been working a lot. I haven’t even been going out.”
“What happened to Sarah?”
“Sarah?” I ask, brows lifting.
“Yeah, you know the blonde who was always trying to come between us. We’d go out, and every time I’d leave you alone, I’d come back to find her trying to flirt with you?”
“Ugh,” I mumble, lifting my cup to my lips and taking a sip.
Her brows pull together. “What? Is she still around?”
I nod as I pull my eyes from hers and go back to watching TV. “Yeah, she was. Is…It’s whatever. She doesn’t talk to me anymore.”
“Why?”
Fuck. Is she really going to make me say this? I look at her, and she’s sitting there, waiting for an answer. Yep, she’s going to make me say it.
“She got mad after I had sex with her and didn’t call her back.”
She bursts out laughing. “Are you serious? You actually hooked up with that whore? She’s slept with everyone in town.”
I shrug. “I was looking for a good time.” I shrug. “And I found it.”
“You brought her back here?”
I nod.
“And you slept with her in that bedroom?”
I nod.
“She slept in that bed, woke up looking at my pictures, my clothes in the closet, and had to use the bathroom that was full of my products, and she got upset that you didn’t want anything long-term?”
I can’t hold back the chuckle that escapes. “Yeah, I guess she wasn’t very smart either.”
Alice giggles. “Well, she was a bleach blond…I’d say all that bleach ate holes through her brain.”
I shake my head as I stand and take my cup to the coffee pot for a refill.
“So…seriously. Why didn’t you try moving on?”
I pour my coffee, refusing to look at her. “I like to think that I learned my lesson after you.”
I take my cup back to the table and have a seat. She’s quiet, and after saying what I did, I’m almost afraid to look at her.
“You don’t have to be mean about it,” she says, rolling her eyes and sitting back in her chair as she crosses her arms over her chest.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was the mean one. It’s not like I was the one who up and left without a goodbye, and for what? To make costumes?”
She sits up in her chair. Her brows are arched high, and her eyes are wide with anger. “Make costumes? That’s all you think I do?”
I shrug. “It is, isn’t it? You make costumes for the weirdos to run around and play pretend in?”
“I make entire wardrobes for Hollywood movies, and Broadway plays. And yes, I make costumes for anyone who needs them, but that doesn’t mean that what I do isn’t great. I work damn hard, and I own my own business. I’ve done amazingly well for some small-town girl. I got no help from anyone, Cole.
Everything I am is self-made. You’re only bitter about it because it took leaving you to grow. You’ve been hoping that I ran off and failed at everything, haven’t you? That I’m nothing without you. Seeing me doing so well for myself must really suck for you.”
Without another word, she pushes away from the table and stops down the hallway to the bedroom.
The door slams shut, making me jump. It’s just like the good old days.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
I feel like an asshole. I never should have talked shit about her business.
She’s absolutely right. I am proud of her.
She’s done amazing for herself, and I wish I could be a better man and tell her.
The truth is that even though she left me and I’ve been miserable, I never wished anything bad upon her.
I’ve always hoped that she went out and got exactly what she wanted.
I’d never admit it out loud, but it’s the truth. I want her happy, even if I’m not.
And now that I’ve pissed her off, I feel even worse about myself.
Why didn’t I just keep my damn mouth shut?
She kept asking me questions and pushing for answers, and I didn’t like it.
Not that I didn’t like the questions, but I didn’t like the answers I had to those questions.
I can’t tell her that I haven’t removed her stuff because I can’t move on.
I can’t tell her that I still love her. I can’t ask her to stay, and I sure as hell can’t pack up and go with her.
What was the point of this little experiment anyway?
How was I hoping for it to end? No good can come of this.
I signed her damn divorce papers, and the moment she can, she’s going to run out of here—probably in the middle of the night—and we’ll officially be over.
Nothing is holding her here now. And instead of trying to make her fall back in love with me, I’m too busy pushing her away as some form of punishment for hurting me.
Fuck, what is wrong with me? If I was smart, I’d be using every second of every day I have her here to make her fall in love with me again.
I stand and pour the rest of my coffee into the drain.
After I toss a couple of logs onto the fire and I sit in my chair as I turn my attention back to the TV.
I need something to keep my mind busy, so I flip through every channel available, but nothing keeps my attention.
The only thing that will keep my mind occupied right now is work.
I turn off the TV and head to the front door.
I stop and pull on all my winter gear and then go outside.
In the garage, I have several projects started that I haven’t finished yet because I’ve been too busy with work.
And the garage has a wood-burning stove, so it’s heated, and I won’t freeze my ass off.
I toss a few logs into the stove, pour some used motor oil over it, and then toss in a match.
The fire erupts and starts to burn instantly.
It won’t be long now, and the whole garage will be warm.
I gather the tools I’ll need to make the swing I’ve been working on, then I take off my winter gloves and get to work, praying the garage heats before my fingers get frostbite.