“What happened? Even your parents seemed surprised.” He could be accused of using the never-fail strategy of changing the subject to keep the interrogator on their toes. In this case? It wasn’t to distract from his own truths. He had a few hundred questions for her right back. Like why she had moved back home.
She shrugged and mindlessly patted his leg through the blankets. “We tried the long distance thing, but it was tough. Football season was a lot for him, keeping up his grades, making new friends. I…” She slid her hand back to her lap, her posture loosening as she talked. “He was sort of drowning with all that going on at once. So, I ended it.”
“You cut him loose, huh?” Cole said it playfully, but he watched her expression in the low light.
She snorted a light laugh and shook her head.
“Is he still playing for San Francisco?”
“Blew out his knee at the Super Bowl.”
“Fuck. I saw that game, the highlights, anyway. Hell of a play. They had to drive him off the field.”
She never had enjoyed the game. Hilarious for someone who had been so hung up on a star player. “After a few surgeries, he couldn’t play pro again. His mom passed away, and it hit all the Halseth’s pretty hard. Anyway, he’s back in town and took over the bar at the pub.”
Cole sat all the way up and rested his elbow on his knees, wincing as he put too much pressure on one arm, on one ankle, and adjusted. “That’s why I’m home, Trace,” he said, needing to say her name again, a hundred times, having only said it in his head for so long. “I mean, maybe I’ll heal completely, maybe not, but it’s going to take months to be functional enough to work in the field again, and no fucking way am I doing the desk jockey thing. I’m done. I can’t go back, even if I wanted to. Time to start over.”
“I can’t picture you at a desk,” she said, folding her legs in and wrapping her arms around her knees at the foot of his bed, turning and resting her head on her hands. “How did you get hurt?”
No fucking way. With slow, controlled breathing, he looked out the window. “Can’t talk about it,” he finally answered, loving how she scowled at his vague answer.
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“Both.” He could tell her he’d gone deeper than he should have, because the paycheck had been golden, and he’d craved the challenge of it. He could tell her he’d botched it, then flipped the failure to his advantage. Had run his interrogation while they were beating the shit out of him.
But he wasn’t going to tell her how they’d broken him. Methodically. Purposefully. His fault. A few key words, and he’d have been freed or killed a hell of a lot faster.
At least he could be honest about why he was here. Mostly. “I came back because I had no place else to go. Because this is the only place I ever felt safe, and I can’t tell you how badly I need to feel safe right now.” Because he’d flown too low and wrecked his wings.
“Cole?” she asked, her tone distant, her deep blue eyes narrowed in on him, not missing anything.
“Yeah?” he answered, holding her gaze and knowing it would take more to break her than some of the toughest people he’d trained with.
“My parents love you.”
Fuck. He didn’t have the guts for this. Stomach rolling, water welling deep and coating his eyelashes, he nodded. “I don’t know why.”
“I do,” she answered softly as she rose to her feet and trailed her fingertips along his bed as she backed toward the door. “We’re all glad you’re home. Please, don’t break their hearts and take off again.”
3
You can’t judge a book by its cover
Thedaydraggedbypainfully slowly, and Trace had ditched the pop quiz she’d had planned. Because she wasn’t in the mood. Monday would be as good a day as any to torment her students.
She considered canceling on Haley, but she could pull it together and shine with a good mood like the best of them. It had been an odd week, that’s all. Not only was she predictable, but also boring, and ultimately it had painfully dawned on her, that she was a repressed frumpy horndog. She didn’t want to be a repressed frumpy horndog, it just sort of happened.
How did one break out of such a rut?
Kick-ass boots.
Standing in front of the tall mirror that hung on the back of her bedroom door, she turned, turned back, and nodded. Not bad. The dress hugged nicely in all the right places, and if it wasn’t for the slit, no one would get to see how badass her boots were.
Ha. Badass. When had she ever worn an outfit any might refer to as such? Haley had taken her shopping the morning after the failed date, and made Trace promise to wear the new dress out with her the following weekend.
The weekend was here, and Trace was doing it. Rocking the slinky, not-boring outfit.
Even her hair cooperated today, and that was a rarity. A splash of darker eyeliner and sparkly lids.
