He bends forward, dropping his head, and bracing his forearms on his knees. “This isn’t about sex.”
“Really,” I drawl, incredulous.
“Okay, yes, sex is… I want to be inside you. Desperately.” His eyes burn into mine. “But that’s not all.”
I cross my arms over my chest.
“I need to know, Danni.” Scraping a hand through his hair, he releases a breath. “If Cole was in this room right now, where would I fall? Would you shove me aside to get to him?”
“What kind of question is that?” Blood pumps hard and fast through my veins. “You wouldn’t be here, because I would’ve never left him.”
“But he left you, and I am here. What if we were both here? Who would you choose?”
“That’s not fair!” A chill sweeps over me as I pace through the room and power off the sound system. “Way to buzz kill my libido, by the way. You’re like your own cockblock.”
“Answer the question.” His glare doesn’t waver.
“There is no answer. Because one, Cole’s dead. And two…he’s fucking dead. Why are we even talking about this?”
“Am I your second choice?” His tone is angry and confrontational, but the creases around his eyes and the uncertainty in those blue depths halt my feet.
Is the right cup full?
If Cole were here, there wouldn’t be a choice. He’s my forever.
Was.
He was my forever.
Empty the cup.
“You’re not a choice.” I take a step toward Trace, and another, softening my expression. “You’re my second chance.”
“Not good enough.”
I suck in a sharp breath. “Too bad. I’m not making a choice that doesn’t exist.”
“It exists to me.” He stands and charges into the kitchen. “I won’t live in his shadow.”
“His shadow?” I chase after him, voice rising. “What are you talking about?”
He grabs a water bottle from the fridge and shoves it into my hand. “You can’t love me, because you’re trapped in another life with another man.”
Love him? Why did he go there? Why now? And I am not trapped!
“That’s not true!” I scream, slamming the water down on the counter. “I lost someone I loved. I miss him desperately, but I’m moving on. I am!” My breaths wheeze as I fight to rein in my temper. “What do you want from me?”
He reaches toward my face and slips his fingers beneath the hair hanging near my eyes. Without touching my skin, he slowly, tenderly, slides the strands back to expose my distressed expression.
“I need to know if you’re mine or his.” He lowers his hand, scrutinizing every twitch on my face.
What have I done to make him so fixated on Cole? Is it the shrine of photos in my bedroom? The motorcycle in the dining room? The ring I only just took off this morning?
They’re keepsakes. Memories. Fundamental pieces of my life. I would never be with someone who asks me to give that up.
Except… If I turned the tables, if I walked into his penthouse filled with physical reminders of another woman, I wouldn’t like it. My heart sinks. I’d lose my fucking mind.
I uncap the water bottle and drink, calming my sprinting pulse. “What about the woman on your lap two nights ago?”
“What about her?” He steps out of the kitchen and pauses in the hallway with his back to me.
“Were you thinking about how you can’t possibly want me more while you fucked her?”
Silence vibrates from his rigid posture.
Why is he just standing there? He can turn left toward the bedrooms. Or he can walk his sexy ass through the dining room and out the front door. Instead, he pivots right and grips the one doorknob in the house that I avoid.
“What’s behind this door, Danni?” He twists the glass knob, unable to open it.
I try to keep my voice casual, but it scratches. “The basement.”
He lifts his hand and tests the padlock I installed two years ago. “Where’s the key?”
My stomach knots. I pass that door countless times every day. I don’t look at it. Don’t think about it. I certainly don’t want to open it. Everything Cole left behind—his personal things, our wedding, the life we lost—is on the other side.
I retreat into the kitchen and chug the rest of the water.
“That’s what I thought,” he says quietly behind me.
Tremors grip my limbs, and my throat seals up. I feel myself crumbling, and I hate it.
Trace slides around me, and for a second, I think he might hug me. I hope, I want, I ache for his arms to hold me.
“I need to think.” His keys jingle as he removes them from his pocket.
He’s leaving.
“Don’t go.” I grit my teeth at the pleading sound of my voice.
“I’ll send my driver to pick you up for work.” His mask falls into place, vanishing all emotion into oblivion.
Turning, he calmly strides through the dance studio, toward the back door. Always walking away. Always so fucking remote.
Anger quivers through my body, curling my lip. “Are you sure you don’t want to look around some more? See if you can find a personality that doesn’t suck?”
His detached gaze connects with mine as he steps outside. I follow, flexing my hands with the need to strangle him. His direct eye contact only pisses me off more. He sees how upset I am, and he’s unmoved. Climbing into his car without a care in the world.
“Fine. Go.” I shove my hands on my hips. “I was saving myself anyway. For Mark the siding guy. Remember him? Turns out the foreveraloner has a foot-long boner. And he’s not afraid to use it!”
What a childish thing to say. But the fury reddening Trace’s face? Worth it!
He slams the door, throws the car in reverse, and burns rubber out of the neighborhood.
Choking on fumes of frustration, I trudge back inside and stand before the mirrors. What does he see when he looks at me? A defeated, trapped, eternally grief-stricken woman?
Blonde hair hangs in waves around my face and down my chest. My cheeks glow with a pink flush, my lips swollen and parted. And my gray eyes are bright, unblinking, and full of yearning.
I look like I’m in love.
Because I am.
I’m in love with Trace Savoy.
“You get off on your own pain, don’t you?” I ask my reflection. “Love could bring you more agony. Are you willing to risk that again?”
The woman in the mirror doesn’t have the answers, but as my temper cools, it becomes easier to break down my confrontation with Trace. For the next couple of hours, I lie on my bed with a framed photo of Cole and me in front of a Christmas tree. Our first and only Christmas together.
He was in and out of my life in ten months. An infinitesimal amount of time for such a lasting impact. His love branded me, left its mark beneath my skin, like swirling colors of ink. I don’t need pictures or an engagement ring to be reminded of the euphoria, the fuzzy whirling dream state that swallowed us in those ten months. I feel his absence in my blood, in my thoughts, every day.
Because love doesn’t end with death. It doesn’t shrivel and disintegrate with the ashes. It hovers, follows, haunts the living.