I understand what he means. Not drifting. Not using him to disappear. Not letting fear decide for me.
“I’m here,” I whisper.
His eyes close for half a second.
Then his phone buzzes from the bed where he dropped it. We both freeze. The sound slices through the room, sharp and cruel.
Cole looks at the screen. It’s Vanessa. For a second, neither of us moves. Cole’s jaw tightens, but he does not pick up the phone until I nod. He reads the screen, and whatever heat had opened in his face turns colder.
“What?” I ask.
He turns the phone toward me.
Please don’t answer me through his phone again. It makes me feel like he’s become the door I have to knock on to reach you. That’s not us, Kara. Call me alone. Two minutes. I need to hear your voice and know you’re still you.
The words blur for a second, then sharpen.
He’s become the door.
That’s not us.
Know you’re still you.
My stomach folds in on itself.
“She’s hurt,” I whisper.
Cole says nothing.
I look up at him. “Say it.”
His eyes stay on mine. “She wants you alone.”
I read the message again, and the old reflex rises fast to answer her. Comfort her. Explain. Make sure she knows I’m not avoiding her.
But I am avoiding her… for me. Not because Cole ordered it. Not because anyone locked a door. Because for once, I am allowed to choose safety without apologizing for it.
Please, honey. Before he convinces you I’m the problem.
A chill moves through me. Her statement is not proof of anything. But it is something — like a shape taking form in the fog of this experience.
Cole watches me carefully. “Kara.”
“She keeps making it about you.”
“Yes.”
“She keeps making you the thing between us.”
“Yes.”
Something behind my sternum pulls tight and does not let go. The want is still there, warm and alive under my skin. Cole’s mouth on mine. His hand at my waist. The way he asked if I was still here, not because he wanted to claim me, but because he wanted to make sure I had not left myself behind.
Vanessa wants me alone. Cole wants me present. The difference opens in me like a door. I take the phone from his hand, set it face down on the bed, and look back at him.
“I’m still here,” I say again.
His breath changes.
