aroma of dinner preparations blends with the sound of laughter and chatter. Susan is more than a guest, and I can see by the ease with which she’s moving around the kitchen that she’s been here for some time.
“So, you’re really taking that medieval poetry class?” she asks, chopping vegetables. “I took it in college too. It was fascinating.”
I nod, stirring the sauce simmering on the stove. “Yeah, I am. And I got a position assisting Professor Marlowe with some of his smaller research. It’s a big opportunity for me, though. Apparently, they rarely offer that to first-year students.”
Susan looks up, her eyes shining with genuine happiness. “That’s fantastic! You never cease to amaze me. I’m not surprised, though. In my fifteen years of teaching, you’ve always stood out as one of the best students.”
I can’t help but smile, touched by her praise. “Thanks. That means a lot, especially coming from you.”
As we work side by side, I can’t shake the strangeness of having another woman in this kitchen, a space that once belonged to my mother. It’s different, but there’s a comfort in Susan’s presence that eases the transition.
I find myself relieved, too, about the absence of nightmares last night. After the emotional roller coaster of the previous day, I had braced myself for a restless sleep, but surprisingly, I woke up well rested. There were no messages from Cole, which was both a relief and a mystery. Instead, I found a few apologetic texts from Max, expressing regret for revealing things that weren’t his to share. He even offered to decline my prior invitation for tonight’s dinner, but I couldn’t stay annoyed at him for long. He’s been my savior in so many ways.
Me: It’s fine, Max. I’ll see you at dinner.
Susan, always the observant one, raises an eyebrow as I put down my phone. “So what’s the story with Max?” she asks, a playful tone in her voice.
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re not very smooth,” I tease, playfully nudging her arm. “Is this curiosity for your benefit or my dad’s?”
She shrugs, placing the almost perfectly cooked turkey back in the oven. “A little of both,” she admits with a grin.
“Despite what my father thinks—no, believes—Max and I, we’re not an item. Never will be. I—” I look down at my hand and the scar. My heart squeezes at the memory of Cole’s anguish yesterday. “My dad must have told you about the accident.”
She nods, and I appreciate that she doesn’t lie.
Sighing, I decide to give her part of the truth. “I was totally lost without my violin. It was my everything. But Max? His gym, those self-defense classes—they helped. A lot.” I shrug. “I see him as my big brother.”
“That’s good. You know, when I first started teaching, I faced many doubters. But every challenge taught me more about my strength than success ever did. You remind me of that time.” She leans back on the counter. “You dealt well. I can’t wait to meet your friend tonight.”
“What you will find hilarious is how my dad tries to be amicable even when he glares.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “I’ll talk to him.”
As if on cue, the front door opens, and I can hear my dad’s voice.
“Do you think he’s done with his car?” I ask Susan, but anything else I want to add dies in my throat as my father walks into the kitchen, closely followed by Cole.
As he enters the room, a subtle yet undeniable shift occurs in the room. My heart involuntarily quickens its pace, an instinctive reaction to his presence that I can neither control nor fully understand. Despite my resolve, my body betrays a lingering connection to him.
His eyes find mine, and for a fleeting moment, the world stands still. There’s a familiar pull, a magnetic force that once drew us inseparably together. I feel a warmth creeping up my neck, my cheeks flushing despite my efforts to remain composed. It’s as if his mere presence ignites a cascade of memories and emotions, some tender, others tinged with pain.
“Look who came to say hello to his old coach. I have not seen you since the summer.” There’s an edge in my father’s voice that takes me a little by surprise.
Cole’s whole face softens when he sees me, but then his eyes widen with surprise when he sees Susan beside me.
“Oh, Mrs. Harper, what a pleasure to see you too,” he says, recovering quickly.
“Is that true, Mr. Westbrook?” She raises an eyebrow, and a sly smile plays on her lips. “I wouldn’t think so since you made skipping your English classes an Olympic sport.”
He gives her a sheepish grin, and I can’t help but laugh. Yep, I’m even more of a Susan fan now.
My laughter dies, though, as Cole looks at me with so much tenderness that I feel my walls crumble a little bit more.
Turning back toward my sauce, my father clears his throat. “Do you want something to drink?”
“A beer?”
My father scoffs. “You’re not twenty-one. You’ll get a can of Coke.”
“It was worth a try.”
A smile comes naturally, and as I turn to the side, I meet his blue eyes. “Ang— Evangeline, how are you doing?”
Wiping my hands on my apron, I turn around completely.
“I’m doing well. How are you?”
“You’re both at Silverbrook. Do you run into each other often?” my father asks with suspicion in his voice.
“It’s a huge campus,” I reply, deflating.
Susan’s eyes dart between us, her perceptive gaze lingering a moment too long, reading an unspoken story in the air.
“Mark, can you help me get the desserts and plates from the garage?”
I was grateful for her perceptiveness.
My father grunts and follows her out.
Going to the fridge, I get a can of Coke out, extending it to Cole. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
As he steps closer, I’m acutely aware of every move he makes. The subtle scent of his cologne, a reminder of days long past, fills my senses. My breath hitches, and I have to remind myself to breathe normally. It’s unsettling how my body responds to him, how a simple glance or the brush of his fingers as he takes the can of Coke can send a ripple of sensation through me.
“I’m not here to harass you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And you say that while coming to my house?”
He winces. “I didn’t come here to make things harder for you, Angel. I just… I needed to see you. I’m here to listen. Whatever you need from me, I’m ready to hear it.”
I take a deep breath, steadying my nerves. This is the moment I’ve been both dreading and needing. “Cole, I… I need space,” I plead. “It’s hard for me to be around you and not feel the pain of everything that’s happened. I don’t hate you; I don’t think I ever could, but the pain… it’s still there, raw and overwhelming.”
He nods, his expression a mix of understanding and hurt. “I get it,” he says quietly. “It’s hard to accept, though, to be the representation of your pain.”
There’s an awkward silence that settles between us, heavy with unsaid words and unhealed wounds. I break the silence, trying to ease the tension. “I need to process everything. I was so convinced you plotted it all.”
He gives me a small, sad smile. “I’m trying, Eva. But knowing you’re in pain because of me… it’s hard. I just want you to be happy, to heal.”
The sincerity in his voice tugs at my heart. “I’m working on it. Healing, I mean. It’s a process, you know?”
“Yeah, I do. And I’m sorry. For everything.” His voice is thick with regret. “Is there a chance for us to start fresh?”
I open my mouth, but a yes or no answer is not fitting.
There’s so much more I want to say, so much more to understand, but now isn’t the time. We’re interrupted by the sound of my father and Susan returning from the garage, their arms laden with desserts and plates.
“We need to get moving,” Susan says, putting the dessert in the main fridge.
“What time is Max coming?” my father asks, and I see Cole’s jaw tense as he takes a sip of his Coke. He may be happy to give me space, but the jealous, possessive streak is still there, and I may be broken inside because knowing he wants me so obsessively does warm a part of me.
Damn, I will get my feminist card revoked for sure.
He puts his now empty can of Coke on the counter and rubs at his neck. “Well, I better get going then. I’m only in your way.”
Is his reluctance only so obvious to me, or could the others see it too?
Susan nods. “Eva, can you walk Cole out? It would be nice to catch up with him. As for you, Mark, I really need help to reach the serving plates.”
Smiling as the weight on my chest eases, I decide I definitely want Susan to be in our lives.
We walk side by side to the door, and I half expect him to leave without a word, and it feels wrong somehow.
“It’s better if I leave now,” he whispers, his voice so faint it almost gets lost in the space between us. He hesitates, his hand on the doorknob, his back to me. “We wouldn’t want Max to see me.”
I should have nodded and let this one slide, but before I can think better of it, I admit the truth. “Max is my friend, nothing more. We’re close, and you know why. I haven’t been with anyone else, just you,” I finish rather lamely, and the way his eyes darken, I know I made a mistake, igniting even more of his caveman tendencies.
“Only me?” His voice is a low rumble, a sound that resonates deep within me, awakening memories I’ve tried to bury. He takes a step toward me, his promise seemingly forgotten. Standing far too close to leave any doubt about our former involvement.
“Cole,” I start, my voice faltering as I look up into his eyes that hold a storm of emotions—regret, pain, hope. He takes a step closer, then seems to catch himself, a silent battle raging inside him as he fights the urge to bridge the gap between us.
The hate and need to see him burn is gone now that I know it was nothing more than a bad decision gone really wrong. It’s hard for me to resist him, and yet I must because I can never allow myself to be weak in the way I was with him again. I can never hand him the power he had over me, and I don’t trust myself not to.
His hand lifts, and his thumb brushes ever so lightly against the seam of my lips. The touch is featherlight, yet it sends a shock wave through me. “It should have been me with you on that bridge. Not him,” he murmurs, his breath mingling with mine. “You should never have been on that bridge at all.”
The air between us is charged, heavy with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires. His face inches closer, and I know it would only take the slightest tilt of my head, the barest whisper of movement, to close the gap between us.
But I can’t. I can’t fall back into him, into us. Not now, not when I’m still piecing myself back together.
“No, I shouldn’t have,” I agree, my voice barely audible. My heart pounds in my chest, a frantic drumbeat urging me to give in, to lose myself in him once more. But with every ounce of strength I possess, I step back, breaking the spell that has always bound us together.
His shoulders slump, a silent admission of defeat. He steps back, putting space between us, a physical manifestation of the distance I need.
“I’ll see you back at Silverbrook?” His question is laden with hope, a faint glimmer in his eyes that I can’t bear to extinguish.
“Yes, see you then,” I reply, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me.
He hesitates for a moment as if he wants to say more, but then he simply nods and turns to leave.
Watching him walk away with so many emotions churning inside me brings relief that he’s respecting my need for space, but also a lingering sadness, a sense of what could have been—and what still might be. It’s confusing, and I hate that a part of me still responds to him so strongly.
Closing the door behind him, I lean against it, taking a deep breath to steady myself. The house feels quieter now, his absence almost palpable.
I head back to the kitchen, where Susan and my father are busy setting the table. They both look up as I enter, and I force a smile.
“Everything okay?” Susan asks, her eyes searching mine for something I’m not sure I can explain.
“Yeah, it’s fine. Cole left,” I respond, trying to sound casual.
My father grunts, clearly not a fan of Cole’s unexpected visit. Susan gives me a knowing look, a silent acknowledgment that she understands there’s more to it than that.
The doorbell chime cuts through the tension, offering a welcome interruption. “That must be Max,” I murmur, more to myself than anyone, as I make my way to the door.
When I open the door, Max stands there, a bottle of wine in hand and a warm smile on his face. “Hope I’m not too early,” he greets me, his voice carrying a hint of his usual playfulness.
“No, you’re right on time,” I assure him, stepping aside to let him in. There’s a comfort in his presence, a steadiness that I find myself leaning into, especially now.
As I take his jacket, he looks at me with a sincerity that’s become a cornerstone of our friendship. “I’m sorry, little one, truly,” he says, his eyes reflecting a genuine concern. “I…” He shakes his head, searching for the right words. “I guess certain people just push my buttons.”
Understanding his struggle, I manage a small smile. “It’s a Cole thing. He has a talent for triggering people.” The attempt at humor feels a bit strained, but Max’s slight chuckle tells me it’s appreciated.
The tension in his shoulders eases as he relaxes. In a gesture that’s become a comforting routine, he pulls me into a hug, his presence enveloping me in a sense of safety.
“It had to be done,” I whisper, my voice muffled on his chest. “Maybe not in the way I would have liked, but he needed to know.”
We pull apart as Susan calls out from the kitchen, her voice laced with excitement. “Dinner’s almost ready!”
Max gives me a reassuring nod before heading toward the kitchen, his usual confident stride back in place.
As we sit down to dinner, the conversation flows easily, filled with laughter and light-hearted banter. Max fits in seamlessly, his charm and wit a welcome addition to the table. It’s a pleasant evening, one that almost lets me forget the turmoil brewing inside me.
As the night draws to a close and Max says his goodbyes, the reality of my situation settles back in. The house feels emptier, quieter. I find myself at the window, staring out into the darkness, my thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and longing.
Cole’s visit, his words, stirred something in me that I can’t quite name. There’s a part of me that yearns for the comfort of what we once had, the intense connection that seemed unbreakable. But there’s another part, stronger and more determined, that knows I can’t go back to that. Not now, not when I’m unsure I can see past the hurt when I look at him, not until I’m sure the resentment won’t linger every time I try to pick up a violin and can’t play. And also, not until I know for certain that I can survive the ugliest part of him.
