Chapter 27
She’s love me...not
Cole
I have to walk away. She has to want this, she has to say she wants me.
I’ve told her. Isn’t saying “stay” enough?
Isn’t “I want you to stay” basically me saying…
I’m not going to say it. Not until she does.
My boots crunch hard on the dry grass, each step kicking up dust that sticks to my jeans and the sun still hot on my neck.
The hammer’s still in my hand, heavy, warm from use and I can feel the phantom heat of her body against mine, the way her breath hitched when I gripped her neck. My dick’s still half-hard, pulse throbbing in my ears, but I keep moving toward the barn like distance will cool the fire she just lit.
“Cole!” She yells, stomping behind me, her voice sharp, cracking with frustration, boots slapping the ground faster than mine.
I won't stop. Not yet.
“I’ve had just about enough of this,” she grunts, closer now, breath coming quickly.
We are walking past ranch hands as I walk into the barn, they’re all giving me the look like I’m in trouble with my woman.
A woman that’s not mine, at least not yet.
Tools clank as they pretend to work, eyes sliding sideways, smirks hidden behind hats.
The barn smells like hay and leather and old wood, it’s cooler in here, shadowed, the scent of motor oil from the tractor lingering in the corners.
“Enough of what?” I ask her, still not turning around. That’s when she grabs my arm, fingers tight around my bicep, nails digging in just enough to sting.
“Stop walking away from me,” she spits, voice low, furious, trembling at the edges.
I finally turn. Look at her straight in the eyes, those big brown eyes glassy, cheeks flushed red, braid messy from the wind. Come on, Layla. Say it.
“What are you tired of?” I ask, voice rough, low.
“You and me. Whatever game it is you’re playing.
I’m done with it. You toy me around constantly, kissing me then not.
Acting like you want me then walking away.
What is this? Are we children? What are you doing!
? Do you want this or not!? Because Cole…
” she stops. Not finishing her sentence.
Her chest rises and falls fast, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes.
“I told you I wanted you to stay,” I say low so nobody can hear, trying to get her to stop yelling, voice barely above a whisper, gravelly from the dust and the ache in my throat.
“But what does that mean for us—”
“Ah hell, Layla.” I shout, louder than I mean to, the sound bouncing off the barn rafters. Her eyes get big, startled, but she doesn’t back down.
“You’re not as dumb as you play to be. You know what it means. You think I would just build a pool, bring you breakfast, listen to hours of rambling in bed, bring you books, hell, what more do you want from me? What more is it going to take to get you to understand that I–”
“I thought you liked doing that stuff for me,” she says, almost pitiful, taken aback, voice small now.
“I do. That’s the whole point, Layla. Jesus Christ.” I twist my body, turning away from her, hands flexing, chest tight, fist clenched so hard my knuckles are white.
“Say something other than you want me to stay.” she says—voice cracking, stepping closer.
“You know what I want,” I say back, rough, low, not looking at her.
“Say it,” she says.
“Layla.”
“Say it,” she demands, voice rising again, desperate.
“I want you to stay, Layla.”
“Not that, anything but that. I need more than just those words from you.” she says.
“Lay—”
“I love you,” she interrupts, sharp, raw, tears spilling over now. “God damnit, Cole. I love you. Can’t you see? And you just keep pushing me away.”
Tears running down her face. I’m in shock. She loves me? I haven’t heard that from a woman since Abby. The words hit like a punch, hard, deep in the chest, stealing my air. She’s standing there waiting for me to say something. Anything. Eyes wide, pleading, mascara streaking black down her cheeks.
“Layla, I—”
I’m frozen. I don’t know what to say. My throat’s locked up, heart slamming against my ribs so hard it hurts. Tears streaming down her face. Slowly. She’s shaking, small, vulnerable, waiting.
“Again. You’re going quiet on me, again. Fine, Cole.” She storms off, boots stomping, braid swinging, the barn door banging open behind her.
“Layla, wait.” I run for her, grab her arm, gentle, but firm.
“No, Cole. Stop it. Let go of me.” She cries, voice breaking, wrenching her arm free, running out of the barn. I won't stop her. I just stand there like an idiot, ranch hands staring, tools forgotten in their hands, the air thick with hay dust and silence.
She doesn’t love me. Abby told me she loved me and she left in a time where I needed her most. That wasn’t love.
Layla doesn’t love me. She loves the thought of me, maybe the thought of us but she doesn’t love me.
The real me. The quiet, broken, scared-to-say-it me.
The one who builds things instead of saying words.
The one who freezes when it matters most. I do love her but knowing she’s going to leave, I can never admit that. It would destroy me.
My chest feels hollow. I lean against the post, forehead to the rough wood, breathing hard. I fucked it up. Again.