Chapter 30
THIRTY
cole
At the closing, I got the keys to my new house, but I didn’t feel like celebrating.
I’d imagined the day so much differently—I’d pick up Mariah and Cheyenne and go straight to the house, and we’d walk through it together, knowing it was finally ours.
Instead, it was just like every other day had been since Cheyenne walked out—agony.
I couldn’t sleep. Had no appetite. Didn’t feel like working out. I was ignoring calls and texts from friends, evading my mother’s questions, and getting through work on autopilot.
Mariah was still so upset, she was hardly talking to me.
I hadn’t told her much—just that it had been Cheyenne’s decision to end the relationship, and I asked her to please respect Cheyenne’s privacy and not go running over there to ask her questions or beg her to come back.
I hadn’t wanted to ruin Mariah’s Christmas morning by telling her right away, but she was desperate to tell Cheyenne about all her new presents—and show her the photo of Buddy, a nine-year-old Terrier mix who’d been abandoned and was always passed over at the shelter because people wanted younger dogs.
I’d felt for the animal, who must have thought all his best days were behind him.
Mariah had taken one look at the photograph and burst into tears, grabbing onto me and refusing to let go, even though I was already going to be late for work.
“Is he really mine?” she sobbed.
“Yes, if you want him. We can pick him up tomorrow.”
“I want him,” she said. “Can I call Cheyenne and tell her?”
I hesitated. “You can, but there’s something I need to tell you first.”
I’d delivered the news, and she’d run up to her room and slammed the door.
My mother, who’d heard the exchange, gave me a sympathetic look. “Oh, Cole,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”
I struggled to keep my face impassive. “It’s fine.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. I’m late already.” But I glanced up the stairs—I felt horrible leaving with Mariah so upset, but how was I going to comfort her? I felt the same way she did.
“Go to work,” my mother said, heading up the steps. “I’ll deal with her. We can talk later.”
“Thanks.”
During my shift, I went over the argument with Cheyenne again and again. My chest ached every time I thought about her tears, but my jaw clenched up in stubborn refusal whenever I thought about what she was asking me to do.
If she loved me the way she said she did, shouldn’t she respect my decision to deal with my baggage my way?
After work, I sat down to a late supper at the kitchen table, and my mother sat across from me. Mariah, who’d already eaten, was up in her room.
“So it was Cheyenne’s decision?” my mother asked.
“Yes.” I poked at the food on my plate, unable to eat. My stomach had been in knots all day.
“Maybe she just needs some space.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, what was it specifically that made her want to break things off?” my mother pressed. “You two seemed so happy together.”
“Leave it, Mom. I don’t want to talk about it. She’s gone, and it was her choice.”
She lifted a cup of tea to her lips. “Was it a choice you forced her to make?”
I glared at her across the table. “I said leave it.”
A heavy sigh. “Mariah is very upset. You’ll need to talk to her. She thinks she did something wrong.”
Closing my eyes, I set down my fork and rubbed my face. “I’ll talk to her.”
But Mariah wouldn’t talk to me. No matter how much I coaxed and begged her to open her door, she said she didn’t want to talk, and I didn’t have it in me to fight.
After work the next night, I asked her if she wanted to go pick up Buddy with me, and she said yes. But in the car on the way to the shelter, she remained silent and sullen.
“Mariah,” I said, pulling into a parking spot. “What happened between Cheyenne and me isn’t your fault. Sometimes grown-ups just decide they want different things.”
“But she wanted the same things we did. She wanted us to be a family. I know it. So either you did something wrong, or I did.”
“It wasn’t you,” I said firmly. “I said something that made her upset.”
She finally looked at me. “What did you say?”
I stared out the windshield. “I told her a lie.”
“About what?”
I turned off the engine and sat for a moment in silence. “I told her that you’d been having nightmares, not me.”
“Why? Were you embarrassed?”
“Yes,” I answered, figuring that was the easiest way to explain it to a nine-year-old. “I was embarrassed.”
“You shouldn’t be,” Mariah said fiercely. “Cheyenne loves you. She would never make fun of you for having bad dreams.”
“I know she wouldn’t.”
“You told me a lie too.”
I met her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“You said you loved her the real way.”
“I do love her the real way,” I insisted.
She crossed her arms, pinning me with an accusing stare. “Then you wouldn’t have let her go.”
Mariah cheered up when she met Buddy, and we brought him home. While my mother wasn’t ecstatic about having an animal in the house, she was happy to see Mariah smiling again. With Buddy came a tentative peace and a fun distraction, and I was grateful to the dog for providing both.
But as the days crawled by, I continued to miss Cheyenne with an intensity that refused to let up. Not only that, but I mourned the life I’d imagined for us—and holding the keys to a house we were going to share brought only sadness and regret.
I picked up Mariah and Buddy, and we drove over to our new address, where my daughter and I watched our new dog run around the snow-covered yard and check out his own little abode.
“You think he likes it?” Mariah asked as he sniffed around the old doghouse.
“I think so. Look at his tail wagging.”
She laughed. “He’s so cute. I wish Cheyenne could see him.”
At the mention of her name, my chest caved in. It was unfathomable to me that I’d never hold her again, kiss her again, make her smile, make her laugh, hear her whisper my name while I moved inside her.
Was this really all my fault? Was Mariah right? Had I not loved her the right way? Had I not loved her enough? Had I not tried hard enough to show it?
I had no idea anymore. All I knew was that I was back at the bottom of the rut with no light above me and no way out, sinking in the muck. And it felt like I’d thrown myself there.
When Griffin texted and asked me to go out for a beer that night, I almost turned him down.
I was exhausted, I was behind on packing for the move, and I didn’t necessarily want to hear a lecture.
No doubt Cheyenne had told her family about the breakup.
Was he going to be angry with me for hurting her?
He understood that it had been her choice, right?
In the end, I decided to meet him, if only to get out of my bedroom. The walls were closing in on me.
We met at the pub and sat at the bar. McIntyre came over and poured us a couple beers. For a few minutes, we nursed them in silence. Since I’d sort of felt like a kid sitting in the principal’s office waiting to get in trouble, I was a little surprised that he wasn’t talking.
“How was your trip to Nashville?” I asked.
“It was good. Blair’s family is . . . something else.”
“You got along with them?”
“I did, but four days of Beaufort will last me a while.”
I almost laughed.
“So what’s going on with you?” he asked, casually sipping his beer. It was obvious he knew.
“I take it you’ve talked to Cheyenne.”
“Yes.”
“Is she . . . okay?”
“No, Cole. She isn’t.”
I felt like he’d punched me in the gut. “Fuck.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t even know.” I straightened up in my seat. “One minute things were fine, and the next she was crying.” I felt my lip begin to twitch.
“Really?”
I slumped over again. Elbows on the bar, head in my hands. “No.”
We sat in silence for a minute. Griffin nursed his beer. “Look, I don’t want you to be mad at this, but I also talked to Beckett and Moretti.”
“About me?” Sitting back, I glared at him. “What the fuck for?”
“Because we’re worried about you, Cole. You’re not okay.”
I stared at the surface of the bar, scuffed and nicked and beat-up from years of abuse. “No. I’m not.”
“So I’m going to ask you about some stuff, and don’t bother lying. You’re the fucking worst liar in the world, and we both know it.”
I grimaced. “Fine.”
“Who’s having the nightmares? You or Mariah?”
“Me,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Did you lie about that to my sister because you don’t trust her?”
I shook my head. “I lied because I was ashamed.”
“Okay. So far, so good. But this next one might be tough.” He fortified himself with another sip of his beer first. “Did you fuck shit up with Cheyenne so that you wouldn’t have to deal with your glass-half-empty attitude?”
I glared at him again. “It’s more than that and you know it.”
“You’re right. It’s more than that, which is why you need to be talking to someone who isn’t a mechanic right now. I can fix anything under the hood, because I can see it.” He reached over and rapped on my skull with his knuckles. “But whatever’s wrong under there needs somebody else.”
“I’m not fucking broken,” I said defensively, pushing his hand away. “Maybe this is just the way I am, and people around me need to deal with it.”
“Maybe,” he agreed with a shrug.
“See? This is why I was better off alone. I don’t know why no one believed me.”
He held up his hands. “Totally fine. If you wanted to be alone for the rest of your life, Cole, that would be A-OK with me. I’ll still be your friend. But that’s not what you want.”
I scowled, because he was right.
“Last question. Are you in love with her?”
“Yes.” That one was easy.
“Then I lied. I have another question. Do you remember what you said to me when I was being a dipshit about Blair? When I broke up with her and told her to leave because I never wanted to need someone?”
I tried to recall my exact words but couldn’t. “No.”
“Well, I do. You said losing someone you love hurts like hell. But there wasn’t one day with Trisha you’d take back, even knowing how it ended.”
“Oh.” I swallowed. “Now I remember.”
“You still feel that way?”
“Yes,” I admitted.
“So then why are you throwing away all the days you could have with Cheyenne, even if you knew exactly when the world was going to end?”
“But if I knew, I’d be prepared,” I snapped, angry that he was poking so close to the bone. “That’s the point.”
Griffin exhaled. “Okay. Last thing for real, and it’s not even a question. During that same conversation we had back then, you said that given how long we’d been friends, you’d expect me to tell you if you were fucking something up in a big way.”
I grimaced, knowing what was coming.
“And so, Cole, I say to you, as you did to me, you’re fucking something up in a big way. You also told me I was being a real asshole about it, but I’m going to be the bigger man and not call you names.”
“Thanks,” I said flatly.
At that point, we were interrupted by a few people who’d seen the news story about the baby, and I had to shake some hands and pose for a picture. When we were alone again, Griffin chuckled. “Guess this town really needed a hero.”
“I’m not a fucking hero,” I said for what felt like the hundredth time. “I was doing my job.”
“You saved a life either way, jackass. And maybe that little girl is going to grow up and cure cancer. Or be President. Or save the whales. You never know what good things can happen, Cole. But you have to believe they can.”
I frowned, although I fucking loved the idea of that tiny baby growing up to do great things. Nothing made me happier than imagining the good Mariah was going to do. I loved being a father. Watching my daughter grow up was the greatest gift that life had ever given me.
Suddenly I pictured her perfect-day collage, which was still hanging on my mother’s refrigerator. It was obvious from the photos she’d chosen what mattered to her—family, tradition, love. Those things mattered to her because I’d raised her that way—they mattered to me too.
I thought about my perfect day—it was summertime, and I was on the pitcher’s mound at the ball field, and Griff was over on first base, Moretti was at second, and Beckett was behind the plate.
The Mavs were down, and I had a no-hitter going.
I looked over to my right, and there was Mariah, playing by the fence with her friends, and in the stands, there was Cheyenne.
She was holding a baby on her hip and pointing at me with a smile on her face, and I knew she was saying, That’s your daddy right there.
It was so real I could feel the sun on my skin, smell the dirt and the sweat, feel the love in my heart.
I wanted it—and it wasn’t going to happen at the bottom of this rut.
Could I claw my way out? But how?
Cheyenne had said I had to fight—but when the enemy was something buried deep within you, how could you face it down?
“You think she would talk to me?” I asked Griffin.
“Now I’m going to call you an asshole. Of course she would. She loves you.” He pointed at me. “And even though I told you jerks never to touch my sister, I’m going to let this go.”
Finally, I managed to laugh. “Sorry about that.”
“You should be.” He finished his beer. “I will say this, though. Do not mess with her. She’s always been a pain-in-the-ass little punk sister, but she’s my pain-in-the-ass little punk sister. And no matter what she says, she still needs her big brother to look out for her.”
I nodded. “I hear you.”
“Good.” He clapped me on the back. “She’ll be at our place for New Year’s Eve. Show your face. Say nice things. Don’t be a dick.”
As if it were that simple.
But I would try.