CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE Chad

When I stepped out of the shower, I found a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt sitting on the toilet. Cole must have slipped into the bathroom while I was behind frosted glass, not giving his presence away.

The tee was too big, of course, but I pulled it over my head and then ran my fingers through wet hair, attempting to tame the mess. The shorts had a drawstring but still hung to my knees. I looked like a kid wearing his older brother's gym clothes.

I came down the hall and found him waiting for me in the oversized room off the kitchen. I lifted my arms from my sides. "Maybe a little big?" I asked, grinning. "I'm guessing you're… six-one, or so?" I asked. "And maybe a coupla pounds heavier?"

He came to stand in front of me, lifting the T-shirt's shoulders away from mine, and laughed. "Try six-three and at least thirty pounds heavier than you," he corrected. "You're lean for sure, Chad."

"I may be lean, but I'm strong, mister," I teased, posing like a boxer.

"I wouldn't mess with you."

Cole headed for the kitchen. Once there, he looked in the fridge. "You hungry?" he asked, his head hidden behind the door.

"Starved," I replied, joining him. "What ya got?"

Cole quickly shut the refrigerator before I could peek. "Not much."

I reached for the freezer door instead, but he intercepted me and gripped my hand. This close to him, I was overwhelmed by how good he smelled. Fresh and citrus-based. A very clean scent.

"Lemme see what you have," I said, slightly elbowing him aside.

I opened the freezer and found stacked boxes of Healthy Choice frozen dinners, and one package of chicken breast inside. Using my butt to push him away, I then opened the fridge while he tried to pull me away. He was strong, but I was on a mission.

"I need to go shopping," he admitted.

He had three cans of sparkling water, two tomatoes, an onion, some kind of packaged sandwich meat, and two boxes of Chinese takeout leftovers from one of the local Chinese restaurants in town. I pulled the takeout from within and did the smell test.

I winced after getting a whiff. "From when?" I asked, holding the small, white box to his face.

"About a week ago," he answered, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't know how to cook."

"Any dried pasta in a cabinet?" I asked, glancing around the kitchen. "And maybe some jarred pasta sauce?"

He shook his head, appearing disappointed that he wasn't prepared for guests. "I'm sorry."

"Not a problem," I stated. "Be right back."

I headed toward the deck and the open slider. "Wait. Where are you off to?" he questioned.

"Home," I said. "I'll be right back. Open a good red and let it air out," I instructed. "Back in a flash."

"But…" he began, but I was already out the door and didn't look back.

"How'd you learn to cook like this?" Cole asked, gesturing toward a near-empty serving bowl. "That was the absolute best pasta dish I've tasted."

"Mom," I replied. "And do not tell her what you just told me. She fancies herself the queen of spaghetti and all things Italian."

"So your heritage is Italian?" he asked.

I lifted my arm toward his face. "Norwegian. I just tan well."

"The salad, the bread, everything was amazing," he praised. "Your mother taught you this?"

"Yep. I always helped as a kid and can replicate almost all her dishes," I said. "My dad can as well."

Cole topped off my wine and began clearing the dishes. I stood and helped move them to the kitchen. We stood side by side as he rinsed them and I placed them in the dishwasher. After wiping up the counter, he grabbed another bottle and pointed toward the beautifully appointed sitting area.

"You still have time to visit?" he asked.

I plopped into a distressed leather couch and he sat across from me in a broad-striped upholstered chair. "I have all night," I said. "Well, not overnight," I corrected.

"My loss," he remarked, smiling. We stared at one another for a few moments before he cleared his throat. "Thank you," he began. "For coming over and, well… for giving me a second chance."

"And thank you for giving me a second chance."

Cole looked toward the kitchen before turning back. "You can really cook. The meal was amazing."

I studied his body language. "You're nervous too, huh?" I asked, attempting to make him feel at ease.

"That obvious?" he asked.

I nodded and watched him nervously uncross his legs and then recross them. He wore a tight white T-shirt and khaki shorts. No shoes. He was casual yet looked put together. Cole had a casual elegance I'd come to be attracted to over the years. Clint wasn't like this. Clint was very much a masculine man in his dress and his mannerisms. A very attractive look indeed, but I had forgotten how drawn I was to a refined man.

"How old are you?" I asked. "I mean… gosh, that was rude," I added, forgetting I barely knew this man.

"Thirty-seven," he said. "Thirty-eight in three months."

"I'm twenty-two. Just turned."

We found ourselves in that uncomfortable stage of not knowing enough about each other to maintain dialogue. He picked at the bottom edge of his shorts while I moved my eyes around the room.

"So, just the one relationship?" he asked. "Clint, wasn't that his name?"

"Two," I corrected, displaying two fingers. "David and then Clint."

"You mentioned at your mom and dad's that you and Clint broke up last year. What about David?" he asked. We locked eyes as I hesitated to respond. "It's okay. Forget I asked," he added. "I've overstepped."

"David died," I said. "Three years ago."

"Oh my God," he stammered. "Shit, Chad. Gosh, I'm so sorry."

"Me too," I admitted. "That was a rough one."

"I can only imagine. I have nothing to compare except losing a partner in a break-up, but losing Jack was hard as well."

"Did I tell you I never met Jack?" I began. "We connected quite…" I stopped, remembering his reaction the last time I admitted to speaking with a dead person. "I'm sorry for your loss, Cole."

"You were going to say you connected with Jack, weren't you?" he asked, leaning forward in his chair and focusing on me.

"Never mind," I said, waving him off. "I understand you're uncomfortable. I get it."

"No. It's okay if you talk about Jack," he stated. "To be honest with you, I'd like you to. I haven't had anyone to share him with."

I was surprised to hear him say he hadn't had anyone to talk to about Jack. "What about Perry? Or your ex?" I asked. "Surely you could speak with them."

Cole leaned back in his chair and sighed, rubbing his temples in thought. "I never called Perry after the funeral," he confessed. "And Alan had already left and didn't seem to care that my best friend had been killed in an accident."

I crossed the room and knelt in front of him and held his hand. "So you went through those losses alone?" I asked. "That must have been awful." Cole's eyes filled with tears as he stared into mine, nodding his head slowly. He opened his mouth and then shut it again, obviously unsure how to respond. "No need to speak, Cole. I never met Jack physically, but I love him, too."

He squeezed my hand harder. "I didn't have to go through it alone. Unfortunately, I chose to," he whispered, his voice catching in his throat. "The breakup with Alan… the death of Ja…" Cole's voice was cut off by emotion and he gazed at me with the saddest eyes I think I've ever borne witness to.

I rested my head on his lap, hoping the act would allow him to continue sharing. If he didn't have to look into my eyes, perhaps the words would come easier for him. The idea worked as he began to explain what had happened.

"Alan leaving me was devastating. I thought we were doing well until he met someone else," he began. "He moved out and just like that, I was all alone. I'd been in what I would've called a good relationship, and then suddenly it was over. Done. He simply wanted out."

I listened carefully but did not speak. I sensed the effort it took and the pain he was in retelling the story.

Cole continued. "A month went by and I was still a mess. Mostly sad and angry. How does one go from sharing their life with a person to them abruptly leaving one day?" he asked. "I'd had plans, a future, something to look forward to. You're so busy living the life of a coupled person that you don't see the end coming. You don't imagine an end even occurring. You're together for several years, and then boom, you aren't."

Cole's hand came to the back of my head and he began to run his fingers through my hair as he spoke. I was certain it was an instinctual action. I doubted he knew he was doing it. I found it comforting as I listened.

"Then the other thing happened," he whispered. A minute passed before he resumed speaking. "The day was a Friday, I think," he began again. "No, Sunday," he quickly corrected. "Perry and Jack always kept their Sunday mornings open for the New York Times, coffee, and fresh pastries. Yeah, that was the day," he stated, pausing and drawing in a long breath.

I squeezed his free hand to let him know I was still there, still listening, still encouraging.

"I'll never forget the call from Perry." Cole paused again, I assumed from the pain of recalling the story. "I picked up his call. I think on the following Monday if my memory is correct. Perry just blurted it out. ‘Jack is dead, Cole,' he'd said. I can still hear his voice. Very clinical and direct like he was speaking about a neighbor or a news story he'd seen."

I sat up and looked at Cole. His eyes were closed as he spoke, tears falling like a waterfall.

"And then Perry just hung up. I sat there asking myself if I'd heard him correctly. Surely he wouldn't just call and say such a thing, right?" he asked, his eyes still closed, not actually asking me if I agreed with this question. "I remember holding my phone so tightly that it hurt my hand and staring at the face until it went black, thinking my best friend was dead. No, that couldn't be true, could it? I'm not sure when I got off the sofa that day. Alan had been gone a month or so, and now Jack was gone. I remember thinking that at least I could still call Alan, but not Jack."

I watched as Cole remained quiet, deep in a sad memory. He seemed to be remembering the day, as if it was happening right then and there.

"That was the day I lost everything," he whispered.

His eyes popped open, and he began to sob uncontrollably. I leaned into him and took him into my arms. "Let it out, Cole. Embrace your pain, and let it out," I soothed.

After a couple of minutes, Cole lifted his head from my shoulder and pressed his face against mine, letting out a held breath before taking in another, slow and easy, one at a time, until his crying subsided.

He sat back, still holding my hand. "I never called Perry after the funeral, not until a few weeks ago," he confessed. "And I still can't bear to even think about Jack. To do so still hurts too much."

I shook my head in embarrassment. "And then I barged in and grabbed that picture and started blabbing a bunch of nonsense about him," I stated.

"I'm glad you did," he said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he replied. "I've missed him.

"Me too," I said, making a pouty face.

"He's not checking in lately?" Cole asked, not in the least bit seeming flip.

"Well," I began. "He's here, but he's not saying much."

Cole tapped his chest and then pointed toward me. "Anything about us?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and smiling.

"Nothing," I revealed.

Cole's smile raced from his face. "Nothing?"

I shook my head. "Not a thing."