Page 4 of What I Should Have Felt

“Get your damn hand off of that,” Colette hissed. She stomped into the cabin and slammed the door behind her. As bright green as the spider lilies before they bloomed, her eyes were the first thing to catch the light as she padded over to me.

I’d forgotten just how short she was. Just how much of a height difference there was between the two of us. Or I’d grown a lot since I’d last seen her. I’d forgotten how wildly beautiful her large, round eyes were, with lashes that curled upward. They brushed against the base of her brows, as cherry wine red as her hair.

Without speaking, I watched her saunter over to me with a small bag hanging from one hand. The softness of her face had faded with age, replaced by a fierce temper I knew boiled behind skin that was paper white and freckled like the sands of the ocean. She was my ocean—the one place I always returned to when things burned like hell.

“What are you doing?” I asked as she knelt down in front of me and placed her leather bag beside her.

“Making sure you don’t bleed out,” she snapped and unzipped the bag.

Pushing some curls behind her ear, she pulled her gaze away from me and rummaged through the case. I studied her, assessing how to proceed, knowing just how different I was from the kid I’d been. Knowing what I did for a living, knowing that this wasn’t the first time I’d been stabbed, didn’t seem to be important and necessary information to give her at this time.

“It didn’t hit anything vital, so I’ll be fine,” I replied and yanked the knife from my leg.

“You stupid shit.” She clamped a hand on top of the wound right before I slammed my palm against it.

Capturing her hand beneath mine, warmth seeped from her skin into my own. Small. Rough but steady. Her touch swallowed beneath my fingers as if made to be held by me. All the time that had passed between us paused. It was as if I’d never hurt her. As if I’d never run away. As if I’d merely gone to bed the night before and we’d met back up the very next day. As if the silence draped between us was merely the thread of time resuming its weave through the life’s loom without a pause between the last loop and this one.

I dared not move.

I was holding her hand for the first time in fifteen years. For fifteen years, I’d dreamt of nothing but her, nothing but the ghost of her touch. And finally, here we were, with nothing but a breeze and two hearts beating between us.

Staring at the back of my hand, all thought was lost to time. My heart beat steadily—wild in my chest, like the storm that she always was and seemed to still be. She was the piece of my soul I’d left behind all those years ago. Colette was the only part of my being that hadn’t turned black and numb from the life I’d lived.

I’d never imagined the possibility of touching her again, let alone like this. There definitely wasn’t any blood involved in my fantasy. Nor a stab wound in that picture-perfect moment of a reunion.

Nor anger. Because in that world where we’d had a chance, I hadn’t left in the first place. In that perfect life, we would’ve been together from the beginning, and our families wouldn’t be rivals. And there wouldn’t be any hate and anger.

I wouldn’t have had to hurt her in order to protect her.

But now, as her fingers flexed beneath mine, yet her gaze remained trained on our hold, I wanted this moment to be…more. To be special. To fill the void I’d created by leaving without a word.

I mindlessly rubbed her fingers, caught up in something that had only existed in my head for years and years. Wait. The expected bump from a wedding ring on her hand was absent beneath my touch.

“I don’t remember your hand being this…rough,” Colette whispered, pulling my attention away from our touch.

I let myself take half a second to really look at her. To finally soak in the woman who held my heart and had since we were kids. A faint wrinkle creased her forehead, and the dimples on her cheeks were deeper than when I’d last seen her. Plump lips were pulled into a thin line as her browsstitched together. Something haunted danced behind her eyes that held flecks of brown and broken dreams.

Slowly, I released my palm from the back of her hand. As if peeling duct tape from my skin, there was an ache left in place of the ghost of her touch. “Sorry,” I muttered.

“That’s not—” She closed her eyes with a sharp inhale. “I’m going to move my hand from the wound. Put pressure back on it while I grab my stuff so I can stitch you up,” she finished quietly and pried her gaze away with a flutter of her curly lashes.

Placing my palm against the wet wound, I tipped my head back against the chair and stared at the ceiling. Twisting the hilt of the blade between my other fingers, I let the texture glide beneath my thumb. “Wasn’t there an alligator head etched into this when I gave it to you?”

She pursed her lips. “So?”

“I can redo it so the—”

“Look, it’s been fifteen years. Things fade over time, so just let it be and hold still. I want to make sure this doesn’t leave a bad scar.”

Swallowing the depraved chuckle creeping up my throat, I kept my gaze steady on the ceiling. A scar. Too many of them littered my skin now for another to be that big of a deal anymore. The ink that covered half of my body was what I was more concerned about her having a chance to study. If she figured out what it was, where the colorful drawings came from, the bridge I intended to build would burn in a second.

“As much as I appreciate that idea, it’s no big deal. Just give me some gauze or something, Cher, and I’ll be right as rain.”

“Will you just shut your fucking mouth? I’ve got this. Besides, I don’t need you passing out from all the blood.” From her bag, she pulled out what looked like actual medical equipment. All sealed in sterile plastic packs.

I pulled my brows together. “How the hell do you have all that? Did this realtor asshole run the doctor out of town too?”

“I am the doctor, Ford. Or at least one of them.” She pulled a pair of cloth scissors from the medical bag. “Now, move your hand so I can widen the hole on your pants and get a clear view of the damage.”

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