Page 146 of Ten Day Affair
Cole's cry cuts through the morning air. I spin around to see his arm trapped between the door and the frame, his face twisted in pain.
Oh God.
"Cole!"
I yank the door back open. He cradles his forearm against his chest, breathing hard.
"Jesus, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were?—"
"It's fine." He's trying not to wince, but I can see the red mark already forming.
"It's not fine. Let me see." The words tumble out before I can stop them.
I grab his elbow, guiding him through the open door. My bare, sandy feet slap against the cool tile as I pull him toward the kitchen counter.
I shouldn't touch him. This is exactly what I shouldn't be doing. But the red mark spreading across his forearm makes my stomach twist. I did that. I hurt him.
"Sit." I point to one of the bar stools.
Cole doesn't argue. He settles onto the stool, still cradling his arm. His breathing is shallow but controlled. Like he's trying not to show how much it hurts.
The freezer door sticks when I yank it open, and ice cubes scatter across the floor. I dig for the bag of frozen peas buried behind leftover takeout containers. My hands shake as I wrap the bag in a clean dish towel.
"Here." I press the makeshift ice pack into his palm.
His fingers brush mine as he takes it. The contact sends heat shooting up my arm.
Don't.
Cole positions the pack against his forearm and hisses once. His jaw clenches, but he doesn't complain.
I should step back and put distance between us. Instead, I hover there like an idiot, watching him hold frozen peas against his skin. I'm looking for any complex fractures, any sign that he needs to go for an X-ray.
"I really am sorry. I didn't mean?—"
His free hand catches my wrist.
"Let go." My voice comes out breathier than I intended.
He doesn't. His thumb traces across my pulse point.
"Don't do that. Don't pretend you don't feel this," he implores.
This.Like there's some invisible thread still connecting us. Like everything that happened didn't shatter whatever was building between us.
I'm shaking my head before he finishes speaking. "That's not…. This isn't…."
"Then tell me to leave."
The words hang in the air between us. It's a challenge and plea rolled into one. Say it. My mouth opens and then closes. Nothing comes out.
The ocean crashes behind us through the open door. Salt air stirs the curtains. Morning light streams across the kitchen where we once made coffee together, where he kissed me against this same counter.
Cole's breathing changes and becomes uneven. He leans forward on the stool, bringing us eye level. He's too close but not close enough.
"Sam."
Just my name. The way he says it makes something crack open in my chest.
