Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T ully

Colson’s thumb kept up its rhythm, pressure deepening with each sweep across my instep. His left hand, the one with the tattoo on his ring finger, held my leg firmly. A shiver ran up my body and this time it wasn’t trembling due to acute panic. I’d never been so scared in my life.

“I’m staying here with you this time.”

Colson’s eyes burned into mine, several decades of communication that could have happened but didn’t, occurring now in the span of a few seconds. I didn’t know what I was offering. Had no idea what staying would mean for Colson and me. If it had to mean anything at all. All I knew was that when flames and smoke filled my vision, when terror gripped my heart and my body froze, Colson was there. He took care of the fire so my childhood home hadn’t burned down. He’d carried my aging mother to a place where she could rest. He’d bandaged my foot and talked to the fire marshal. He had a plan for tonight and the coming days.

Just like I knew I wouldn’t let Mama stay in this house until it was fixed, I knew I couldn’t leave Colson’s side. I craved the teamwork I’d felt for just a single second out there on the driveway when I had my arm around Mama and Colson came out of the house unharmed. I’d simply looked at him with concern and he’d charged in to take care of us both. It reminded me of all the times we’d silently communicated when we were dating. When we were married. We had always been an excellent team.

Mama’s words swirled in my brain, wrapping around the exhaustion creeping in and the terror trying to fade away.

You could have been someone if you’d stayed married to Colson too.

“Okay. I’ll make up some blankets in the living room. We should be able to still see into the kitchen. You take the couch, I’ll take the floor.” Colson put my foot flat on the hardwood floor and went to stand.

Without a single thought about whether this was a good idea or not, I leaned all the way forward and wrapped my arms around his neck, hugging the absolute stuffing out of Colson. He fell back onto the floor with an audible grunt.

He didn’t hesitate, because Colson never did when it came to me. His arms came around my body like a steel band of reassurance. He smelled of smoke and sweat and something that could only be uniquely Colson because it took me back to being sixteen years old, making out with my boyfriend by the river. Now he felt warm and comforting and downright dangerous, all at the same time.

“Thank you,” I managed to croak into his neck, gratitude for this man I tossed aside years ago the only thought in my head.

His arms tightened and suddenly I was swept off the chair and plopped down on his lap, my legs straddling him. All available oxygen left my lungs, and I became acutely aware of how intimate this position was. Thin cotton pajamas were no match for the hard angles and rough skin of Colson Wolfe. His hand cupped my hip like an iron brand while the other swooped up my back, leaving a trail of goose bumps. His fingers tangled in my nest of hair, stroking and soothing while he whispered words of encouragement in my ear. What flared into a sexual embrace in my head, he tamped down into a simple, painfully intimate gesture of comfort. I laid my cheek on his shoulder and let him.

My eyes flickered open as I was jostled. I realized with a start that I was still draped across Colson, fast asleep. He got up from the floor with a soft exhale of air. I knew he was strong, but his ability to stand up with my dead weight in his arms was impressive. His hands cupped my thighs, keeping me in place around his waist. His belt buckle dug into my backside as he walked us into the living room. I remembered being a little kid and pretending to be asleep when my father would pick me up and carry me to bed. Colson carrying me gave me that same level of absolute security. The woman who’d been fired, tossed aside, and abandoned by Hollywood ate up that comfort like a starved woman.

“Your breathing changes when you’re asleep,” Colson whispered into my hair.

I tensed, realizing I’d been found out. My lips brushed against his neck as I grinned. He flinched.

“Don’t tickle me, woman, or I might drop you,” he teased. He carefully laid me down on the couch, despite his warning. We both knew he’d never drop me.

I felt cold the instant he let go of me and straightened. He grabbed the throw blanket off the back of the couch and spread it over me, careful to tuck in my feet. “Be right back. Gotta get some more blankets.”

“They’re in the?—”

“I know,” he said simply, disappearing down the hallway to the cabinet where Mama kept her Afghans and throw blankets. He came back with a stack that almost covered his head. He dropped them on the floor and began to spread them out, creating a makeshift bed that still couldn’t be very comfortable. He saved the comforter to spread over me, ensuring I wouldn’t get cold during the night.

Without another word, he pulled off his belt, toed off his boots, and crawled between the blankets on the floor of Mama’s living room, his head resting on a decorative pillow. I stared at the top of his head, barely able to make him out in the dark. Everything from tonight mixed with the exhaustion of my midlife crisis and my eyes began to sting. I turned my head and buried my face in the couch pillow, not making a single noise as the tears came. I was a fucking mess, and tonight had just shown me how easily my mother could have been taken from me. All that time away from her, proving to the world that I was somebody, kept me from being with the very somebodies that mattered.

The blankets were ripped away and I turned my tearstained cheeks upward with a yelp. Colson stood above me, jaw clenched and a lock of that golden-brown hair hanging over his forehead.

“Come on.” He reached down and swooped me up in his arms for the second time that night, walking me over to his makeshift bed, and laying me down between the blankets. He crawled behind me, pulled the blankets over us, and wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me into his chest before letting go. Heat from his body unlocked all of my terror-soaked muscles, relaxing me almost instantly.

“I’m…sorry,” I managed to say, renewed tears flooding my eyes in the face of his kindness. I felt embarrassed as hell and yet these damn tears wouldn’t stop. I hadn’t cried once since being back in Blueball. Hadn’t cried over moving back in with Mama. Hadn’t cried over the loss of the life I thought I’d be leading at forty-two years old. But now that they’d started, I couldn’t get them to stop.

Colson’s hand, where it had been hovering above my waist, carefully not touching me, came down on my top hip, rolling me onto my back. He rested his head into his hand and held me in place.

“Hey. You’re killing me with the tears, Tully.”

I swiped at my face, but the tears kept coming. I could feel him staring down at me and everything about tonight felt like too much. My hands came up to cover my face, hoping I could shield him from the tears. Time and experience had proven I was an ugly crier. There was no way he needed to see all that, not after all he’d done for Mama and me tonight.

“Be mean to me!” I wailed from behind my hands.

Colson huffed a laugh from behind the wall of my hands. “What?”

“Every time you’re mean to me, I feel a little less guilty!” My hands came away from my face. Colson was staring at me like he didn’t understand me at all. “You’ve been so nice tonight. Caring. Going above and beyond. It’s making me feel…” I trailed off, not able to put the feeling into words. “You’re making me cry.”

As if to prove my words, my face crumbled and another wave of tears hit. I slapped my hands back over my face as I let the sobs wrack my body. Colson sighed and lay back down beside me, his arm around my waist again. Pretty soon the sobs died down and I felt the shake of his body against my side. I peeked one eye open and slid my hand to the side so I could see him.

“Are you…are you laughing at me?”

He was. That fucker was laughing silently. Shaking with it, in fact. It did the trick though. The tears dried up and I was suddenly hot with anger. I sat up and drilled my finger into his gut. He only laughed harder. When I did it again, harder this time, he snatched my hand and sat up, holding our hands between us. The laughter was gone, replaced by a fierceness that reminded me of the days when I told him I wanted a divorce.

“Are you kidding me, Tully? You really think I should do anything to help you feel better? You walked out on our marriage. You left me behind to have some fabulous life in Hollywood. You took every single one of my dreams and lit them on fire. I was devastated and humiliated for years after you left. And even after all that, I still fucking care about you. I still take care of your mother like she’s mine. I still would do anything for you if you just ask it of me. And of course you have the audacity to ask me to make you feel better because you had a rough night. I would give you everything . Turn myself inside out for you. How much more do you want from me, Tully?”

I didn’t even dare to blink. His voice came out raw and husky and so torn it made my ribs ache. I would rather he punched me in the face and left me alone in this house in that fire than say all of that. It was one thing to imagine you’d hurt someone in your past. It was another entirely to see and hear the devastation from someone who’d always been so sweet.

Previously, I thought my rock bottom was getting fired from my job. I thought having to move home with Mama was the lowest of my lows. That was almost laughable now. My rock bottom was seeing the hurt on Colson’s face and knowing I was solely responsible for putting it there. Shame and regret hit so hard I doubled over from it. My face landed in the blankets and Colson let go of my hand that he’d had a death grip on. I stayed there, trying to get air back in my lungs. I didn’t know what to possibly say or do. What does one do when a simple sorry isn’t even close to enough? What does a person do when they realize their life might have been a complete waste due to their own decisions? How does one live with regret so palpable you don’t think you can ever hold your head up again?

Colson’s hand landed on the back of my head, soft and hesitant. His fingers dug into the knots in my curls and he sifted through the strands. One stroke turned into two.

“I’m begging you. Please don’t be nice to me,” I said into the blanket, voice muffled.

His fingers stilled for a moment and then he went back to sifting through my hair. His voice sounded a little lost when he spoke a long minute later. “I don’t know how to be mean to you, Tully.”

His sigh sounded nearly as emotionally spent as me. We stayed just like that, me with my face in the blankets, hiding from him, trying to find the strength to pick myself back up. Him with his hand stroking my hair with a comfort I didn’t deserve. When I felt like I could face him once again, I pushed up from the floor and sat up straight. I was sure I looked an absolute fright. Puffy red-rimmed eyes, crazy hair that had dried to twice its size. None of it mattered though. Not with Colson.

He looked back at me with both trepidation and a deep caring that stunned me.

“I know I hurt you, probably more than I will ever understand, so I have to ask.” I swallowed hard, about to offer the only thing I could. “Should I not move back to Blueball?”

His face screwed up. “Why do you need my permission?”

“I want to give you a choice this time around when I gave you none before. If me moving here would be too hard, tell me now. I promise I’ll leave and never come back.” I knew it would hurt Mama if I never visited, but I’d find ways to drive or fly her to see me wherever I ended up making my home.

Colson studied me for long minutes. I wanted to cringe away, but I forced myself to stay steady. To let him look his fill. To see the brokenness I’d only recently discovered in myself.

“I’ve spent years trying to get over you. I was furious with you. Then I ran to a different town to escape memories of you. I’ve tried to simply forget you exist. But then I’d walk by a television and see you kicking ass. Once even saw a billboard with you up there in safety goggles, holding a goddamn drill.” His lips briefly tilted up into a smile under that mustache before falling away again. “But after the first ten years, I realized something. It’s impossible.”

“What’s impossible?” I whispered.

Colson glanced down at our legs, our knees touching as we faced each other. He looked back up through his lashes, looking exactly like his flirtatious sixteen-year-old self.

“Kicking you out of my heart. You’re wedged in there for good.” He shrugged, giving me a sad smile. “I care about you still, even if I’m also mad at you. I’ve just accepted it. Stay in Blueball if it makes you happy, Tully.”

Air flooded into my lungs. Despair eased just a bit with this tiny flicker of hope offered by the one person who had every right to squash my hope under his boot heel.

“You sure?”

Colson straightened and looked me square in the eyes. “Ultimately, I want you happy, wife.” Then he tackled me down to the blankets and covered us both with the blankets. This time, there was no arm around my waist or one single body part touching as we lay there in the dark.

I turned my head to the side to see him staring up at the ceiling. “It’s ex -wife,” I said teasingly.

Colson’s head jerked toward me. He snorted, reached behind his head, and threw the pillow at me. I batted it away with a yelp and we settled into a restless night of sleep on the floor.