Page 41 of This Life of Mine

I cut the engine and get out of the car. “What thehellare you doing here?“ I demand.

He sways slightly, hands lifting in a gesture meant to calm me, though it does the opposite.

“I went to your house first,” he slurs. “You weren’t there. So I figured you’d be here.” He taps the door behind him like it’s obvious. Like this makes sense. “You always come here.”

My chest tightens. “You can’t show up like this, Cole. You’re drunk, and it’s late. This is my business.”

“I needed to see you,” he says, voice cracking in that familiar, irritating way. “I need to talk. I’d like you to come home with me.”

I laugh hysterically. “Are you serious right now?” I move nearer, softening my tone but not my anger.

“It’s been five years! I left you for a reason. My God. You’re engaged, and having a baby soon, dipshit.” I say with anger.

“She doesn’t mean anything. She wants to marry me for my money. I’m only doing it so she doesn’t fuck me over in child support,” he snaps, defensive. “I want you back. I need you back. It’s just—“

“No,” I cut in. “Un-fucking-believable. You’ll never change. You are so fucking pathetic.”

He reaches for me and misses. “We belong together, Lina. We were supposed to be together forever. You will always be mine.”

I sense something inside me go cold and steady. “Never again,” I say flatly. “Not now. Not ever. You’re a narcissistic drunk who wanted to control me for the rest of your life.”

His face hardens. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s more than fair,” I say. “Look at you! Your drinking and drug abuse caused the accident.”

The words hover between us, substantial and irreversible.

“You don’t get to pretend you don’t remember,” I continue, my voice shaking now despite myself.

“Our baby is gone because you were drunk and drugged up. You lied when you told me you barely had anything to drink that night. You always lie. You made a choice, and our baby paid for it.”

His mouth opens, only to swiftly close. For once, there’s nothing clever or cruel to throw back at me.

“I buried that loss,” I say. “I lived with it. You drown yourself in alcohol and excuses. You will always be like this.”

I take a step back, creating distance I should’ve demanded years ago. “You need to leave. Right now. If you don’t, I’m calling the police.”

For a moment, Cole stares at me, like he doesn’t recognize who I am anymore.

He scans my face, and then his gaze drops to my clothing.

The short black trench coat. The heels.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” He asks, his voice shifting, suspicion bleeding into something darker.

I freeze, abruptly mindful of myself, which makes my skin prickle. The coat is tied closed, but the truth lands anyway. Lingerie. It strikes me like a spotlight.

“Cole…just leave,” I snap, already turning away.

I don’t wait for his response. I quickly head for my car.

He follows.

I hear him before I sense him, footsteps uneven and fast behind me. My back slams into the side of the car, the impact stealing the air from my lungs. Pain rattles through my spine.

“Cole—stop!” I scream.

His hand cups my jaw, fingers digging painfully into my cheeks before both hands turn frantic, grabbing at my coat, my waist, my hair, like urgency has burned away every ounce of reason left in him. The sting of whiskey floods my senses. Panic detonates in my chest.