The note is written in Cole’s handwriting. The words make sense, but the underlying message is confusing.
Baby,
If you wake up and I’m gone, don’t worry. I had to take care of some work. I’ll be back in a few hours.
I adore you,
Cole
Standing at the side of the bed wearing a white dress shirt of his that I found in his closet, I read the note over again. Uneasiness is a hungry sewer rat gnawing holes through my stomach.
Everything about this is strange. Him leaving me here alone, the “work” he had to take care of, that sign off.
Especially the sign off. He’s expert at turning the closing of a letter into mind fuckery.
So he adores me but doesn’t want to commit to me. He adores me but doesn’t answer my questions. He adores me but keeps me at arm’s length distance while dropping masterpieces of mystery such as, “Being with me isn’t safe.”
I look around the room, at all the expensive furnishings and the artwork and the elegant décor, and say into the silence, “This is bullshit.”
I want to ransack his closet, but I don’t. I want to rifle through his drawers, but I don’t. I want, badly, to find some evidence of whatever it is he’s hiding from me, but I decide to respect his privacy instead.
Barefoot, I head downstairs to the kitchen. The overhead lights blink on automatically, which is convenient but also weird. It makes me wonder if the house is operated by artificial intelligence, then I get creeped out that maybe a sentient computer is spying on me from behind the walls.
The contents of the massive stainless steel fridge are bizarre. Two dozen hard boiled eggs in a bowl, seven identical prepped containers of sliced steak and mashed sweet potatoes, and four glass jars of beige liquid that look like protein shakes are arranged separately in symmetrical rows on each shelf. The cheese and vegetable drawers are empty, as are both doors.
There are no condiments, no snacks, no desserts in the freezer.
The only thing in ample supply is cold air.
I open one of the protein shake jars and sniff, instantly regretting it. The contents smell like dirt and cabbage, which means it’s probably healthy. I replace it and grab one of the containers of steak and potatoes, then rummage around in drawers until I find a fork.
Standing up at the kitchen island, I eat cold steak and get more upset by the second.
He left me here alone.
He left me.
I’m in the middle of angrily chewing filet when Cole walks through the door.
Like a mortician, he’s dressed entirely in black. Suit, shirt, tie. The gray leather briefcase he’s holding has a strange dark smear across the top and side, along with a splatter pattern that looks like abstract art.
He sets the case on the counter beside the fridge, then turns to me, his expression blank.
“Hello.”
“Hi.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. Are you?”
“Yes.”
His energy is odd. He appears calm, but it’s like the calm that comes after a really hard workout when you’ve spent yourself physically, leaving your mind clear.
The knuckles of both his hands are black and blue.
My heart starts to pound. I slowly set the fork down, staring at those bruised hands and the healing scrapes from the other morning when he said Dylan was fired, most of which have reopened and are oozing blood.
“Cole?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“That’s funny, because I was just thinking that I do.”
He doesn’t reply. He only stands staring at me with his odd, unnerving calm.
“You told me you trusted me.”
“I do.”
“So tell me what this work thing was that was so important you had to leave in the middle of the night and left your hands in that condition.”
“It was a personnel issue.”
“A personnel issue. Like Dylan’s was?”
He says nothing.
“What were you out doing in the dark while I was here sleeping? Tell me.”
Still nothing. A faint whiff of cigarette smoke reaches my nose.
His strange calm has infected me, because I should be freaking out, but I’m not. The only physical reaction I have so far is an accelerated heartbeat.
“I didn’t know you were a smoker, Cole.”
“I’m not.”
“Just went out to punch some trees, did you? Box a few rounds with a buddy at the gym?”
“No.”
“So what, then?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t have you hate me. It would end me if you hated me. I can handle anything but that.”
I stare at him, so calm and handsome, so odd and enigmatic, and so obviously dangerous it permeates the air all around him, and realize that this man standing in front of me is capable of anything.
Including extreme violence.
I knew it before, but now I know it in a different way. Not only is he capable of violence, he goes out and looks for it. He walks around with it in the darkness, holding its hand. He prepares for it, evidenced by that case with its ominous smear and whatever tools of mayhem it contains.
And, if I’m not mistaken, there’s a part of him that enjoys it too.
My voice is quiet in the stillness of the kitchen. “Did you kill someone?”
He stares at me, his body still, his blue eyes glittering.
His silence speaks volumes.
I wait for the fear to come. Or the shock. Neither arrives. Which means I’m too far down this rabbit hole to find my way out.
I’m in love with him, monster or not.
Holding his gaze, I say, “I’ll never hate you. No matter what you’ve done. No matter if you keep doing it. I won’t hate you because I can’t, Cole. My heart won’t let me. So whatever happened tonight, it doesn’t change how I feel. Maybe it should, but it doesn’t, and that’s the truth.”
Finally, his odd composure breaks. He closes his eyes, clenches his jaw, and swallows. His right hand trembles, then falls still. His voice turns raspy. “You can’t mean that.”
“You know I do.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I really hate it when you’re patronizing. Let me ask you something. Final question about this, I promise.”
He opens his eyes and stares at me. His gaze burns me down to the marrow of my bones.
I point at his hand. “Did you do that to someone bad? Yes or no.”
This time, his answer is immediate. “Yes.”
“That’s what I thought. Now, are you hurt anywhere on your body other than your hands?”
When he shakes his head, I exhale in relief.
“Good. Now that we’ve got all that covered, let’s share this steak, then go back to bed. I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.”
When he doesn’t budge an inch, I start to lose patience. “Don’t just stand there staring at me like I’m speaking Latin. Come over here and get some food in your stomach.”
When he still doesn’t move, I stab a piece of filet and bring it over to him, holding it up near his mouth.
Brows knitted, he stares at me.
“Please don’t make me do the choo-choo train noise to get you to open your mouth. It would be humiliating for us both.”
He takes the fork from my hand, sets it aside on the countertop, and cups my face in his hands.
“This isn’t a fight you’re going to win. We can’t be together.”
“I didn’t say anything about us being together. I said eat the steak.”
When he doesn’t respond, I close my eyes and sigh. “Look. Nothing’s changed. The whole thing is impossible. I realize that. You’ll take me home in the morning, and we’ll go back to living our separate lives and pretend there’s nothing between us when we see each other at work. But for right now, just eat the fucking steak.”
I open my eyes and meet his burning gaze. “Okay?”
His expression is indescribable. Sometimes there aren’t words for things, and this is one of them.
I know he’s not angry with me. It’s more like he met someone from an alien world who he’s desperate to understand but can’t because he doesn’t speak their language.
“I know it doesn’t make sense. I don’t get it either. It’s just how I feel. You could ask me to be the driver of your getaway car, and I’d say yes. You could ask me to lie to the FBI, and I’d say yes. Just please don’t ask me to help you bury a body because digging a big hole sounds really hard, and my arm strength isn’t what it should be.”
He swallows. He shakes his head. It’s obvious he’s struggling.
So I turn to the counter and pick up the fork. I slip the piece of steak off the end and hold it to his lips. “Eat, honey. It will make me happy.”
He opens his mouth and accepts the meat, then stands there looking electrocuted as he chews.
“I like it when you’re obedient.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“I won’t. Want another piece?”
Staring at my lips, he nods.
I grab the container from the island, then go back and stand in front of him, holding another bite of filet. I lift it to his lips. He opens his mouth and takes it.
We stare at each other in blistering silence until he’s swallowed.
“More?”
He nods.
When I lift the meat to his mouth this time, he puts his hands around my waist and pulls me against him. I give him the steak, watching the pulse throb in the side of his neck. His cock is growing hard against my hip.
I whisper, “You like me feeding you.”
“Yes.”
His voice is husky. His breathing is erratic. His pupils are dilating fast.
He’s a man who does bad things in the dark as if it’s another day at the office, returning home a little tired but composed. But show him some tenderness, and he crumbles like a sandcastle under a crashing wave.
Like my heart is doing, watching him fall apart for me.
I set the container on the counter, turn back to him, slide my hands up his chest, and look into his eyes.
“I think you’re beautiful. All your parts. All your broken pieces. They’re beautiful to me, and so are you. So if I never get the chance to tell you again, I’m telling you now that if you and your monsters ever decide you need a home, you have one in me.”
He doesn’t answer. I didn’t expect him to.
He’s too busy fighting his demons.
I hand feed him the rest of the meat in the container, then we go back upstairs to bed.
