After he stormed out earlier, the only communication we’ve had is a text from him, saying that he is going to get a drink and will be home before midnight.
This is just a rough patch, I know. But that doesn’t make it hurt any damn less.
He rolls his eyes and obnoxiously drops his phone and keys on the kitchen island. “I was out with the guys, celebrating our win. You’d know that if you’d been there.”
His comment cuts into my chest. He’d known for days that I wasn’t going tonight. He said it was fine. Clearly, he was lying.
“I watched it on the TV.” God, it can be discombobulating, arguing with Cole because he’s so good at smoothly avoiding it. I redirect the conversation to the topic Ireallywant to talk about. “I tried calling and texting a ton afterward.”
“Yeah, my phone died.”Lie. The texts were all showing as delivered, and the calls rang through to voicemail. “Look, I’m home now. Why do you want to fight?” His glossy eyes turn hungry, his lips tipping into a smirk. “Come on. Don’t do thisright now. We only have so many days left together before you abandon me.”
Cole’s words are daggers, and my eyes burn in response. “I’m not leaving you, baby—you know that. I love you. ”
Then why are you treating me like this?” Rounding the corner of the entryway, he saunters over to me with a dramatic pout on his lips. “Let’s just skip the fight and get to the part where we make up.”
His hands wrap around my hips, trailing up higher and hiking my shirt up as his fingers encircle my torso.
Stroking my sides, he murmurs, “I know you don’t want to fight.”
Guilt claws at my throat. I mean, he’s right. Maybe this was a bad time to bring it up. He deserves to celebrate a win, and Iamthe one leaving. I should be cherishing our time left together, not dreading the little things.
“I’m sorry.” I sigh, exhaling a heavy breath. “You’re right.”
His fingers move higher. “You’re sorry, huh?” He bites down on his bottom lip. “How about you show me how sorry you are, Lain?”
He flirts with me, and my mind instantly snaps into an acting mode. I might not feel sexual drive the same way I once did, but I’ve trained my body to adjust like I did with school. I’m a chameleon, adapting how I need to in order to survive.
Cole guides me to my knees, and my consciousness fades to the background, my body moving purely from muscle memory from the countless times we’ve hooked up before.
I don’t want Cole to know how truly fucked up I am, how I disappear inside of my mind every time we fool around and have sex. It’s not fair to him. When we first got together, I was insatiable, but after the attack, I became an entirely different person.
I don’t crave anyone’s touch, especially not at my core. But after forcing myself through it a few times, I found this pocket in my mind that wrapped me up like a warm hug while my body acted out his desires. I know it’s not right, but I think that’s the only way I can do it now. It’s the only thing that works to keep both of us happy.
Seconds or minutes pass by, and I slowly crawl out of my cozy cave, realizing I’m now on my back on the couch, my legs open and floating in the air.
My center is sore, and I can feel that he finished in me as he pushes off the sofa and strides into the kitchen, butt-ass naked. Good thing I’m regimented with my birth control.
He returns a second later with a paper towel and tosses it at me to get cleaned up. “Come on, babe. Let’s go to bed. I’m exhausted.”
After cleaning myself up, I stroll upstairs, change into pajamas, and crawl into bed beside Cole, who is already passed out and snoring. Something rolls down my cheek, and I wipe it away, having already anticipated its arrival.
I don’t think I’m sad. I think that’s just my body’s response to sex after what happened to me. This is just my new normal. I think everyone who’s been what I’ve been through experiences this.
A haunting sensation sweeps through me as a question flutters into my mind.
What if it’s not normal?
I fight the worrying question away, refusing to let it have another moment in the spotlight. No. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.
CHAPTER 6
JENSEN
Gearingup for a game always reminds me how lucky I am to play professional hockey for a living. I feel that gratefulness even more so as the ache in my knee throbs, my old injury haunting me every time I take a step.
Years ago, back when I played a short time in the American Hockey League, I tore my ACL and meniscus. After surgery and a long road to recovery, I was back on my skates like new. But recently, it’s felt different again … that throbbing, weakening pain returning.
I’m afraid I really tweaked it—or worse, that I’ll need surgery again. If it’s torn …
