I’m sitting at my kitchen table that Saturday afternoon, eating one of
those frozen macaroni and cheese dinners, when Cora’s text comes through.
Me: How outrageous are we talking?
Cora: Hmm. Upper medium?
Me: On a scale of “I cut my own bangs” to “I bought a llama farm”
Cora: Let’s just say I bought the llama from the farm. Two of them.
Me: Wtf?
I’m about to just call her when a picture text comes through and I almost choke on a noodle. It’s a selfie of Cora holding a scraggly Yorkie mix in one arm, while her other arm is draped around a German Shepherd, hugging the animal to her chest.
Me: … …
Cora: I sort of adopted a serial killer’s two dogs. Meet Jude and Penny Lane.
Twenty minutes later, I’m standing in her living room.
“Are you nuts?” I glance at the two dogs curled up together in one giant dog bed as the miniature bed sits empty. “You adopted Earl’s dogs? The
ones who were going to eat us?”
She stands up straight after refilling their water bowls, pulling her hair up into a ponytail and raising an eyebrow at me. “I doubt they were going to eat us. Earl was just trying to scare us.”
I blink. “The guy was pretty honest and forthcoming, if I recall.” “They needed homes, Dean. Nobody else wanted them. I already
planned on adopting a dog, and this just seemed like the right thing to do. Look at them.”
We both turn our heads to admire the undeniably adorable display. Penny Lane, the little one, is curled up into a tiny ball against Jude’s chest. They
are both fast asleep and content.
“Fine, they’re fuckin’ cute. I’m not a stone cold monster. I’m just
confused.” I scratch my head, cocking it to the side as I try to process it all. “Aren’t they… messed up?”
I realize that was the wrong terminology when Cora’s head snaps back over to me. “Not anymore messed up than us. Are you saying we don’t
deserve to be loved and cared about because of what happened?”
Shit. She got me there. I fill my cheeks with air and shrug my shoulders, letting out a slow breath. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I just thought they might be aggressive or have some issues, you know?”
Cora swings her head back and forth, glancing at the resting animals. “They had a full assessment and the vet doesn’t think they were abused.
Just severely neglected. They’re very attached to each other, so they came as a bonded pair.”
A bonded pair. They aren’t the only ones.
She smiles, wistfully. “I guess you were right about me getting two dogs.”
My own smile stretches across my face. Her heart is even bigger than I thought. “I guess so.”
“They’re the sweetest. I’ve only had them for a couple of hours, but I think they knew everything was going to be okay the second they stepped inside the house,” Cora says. “It’s like they knew they were home.”
My smile turns contemplative as I watch her, her bare toes curling into the shag rug, a far off look in her eyes. It’s funny how home can mean one thing one day and something entirely different the next. I think that’s
because home isn’t a place—it’s a feeling. “Have you talked to Mandy lately?”
My daydreams disintegrate at the mention of Mandy’s name. I chew on my tongue, realizing Cora doesn’t know yet. “Uh… yeah.”
Cora begins busying herself around the living room, fluffing pillows and folding a blanket. “She was supposed to come over last night to watch a
movie with me, but she never showed up. She hasn’t replied to my texts either, which is weird. She’s usually glued to her phone.” Cora breezes into the kitchen for a bottle of glass cleaner and starts spritzing the coffee table, wiping it down with a fresh rag. “Maybe she had to work late and forgot.”
“She didn’t tell you?”
Cora stands up straight to face me, adjusting her tunic that dipped down her chest. “Tell me what?”
Damn. I was hoping I didn’t have to have this conversation twice. I’m still recovering from that look of utter devastation in Mandy’s eyes, and I
have no idea how Cora is going to react to the news. “I broke up with her yesterday.”
Cora stares at me, unblinking, and the rag slips from her hand.
“I figured she told you. It was a rough night, and she didn’t handle it well—obviously. And I just think—”
“Undo it.”
I frown as I meet her eyes. “What?”
Cora pulls her cell phone out of her waistband and storms over to me, slapping the phone against my chest. “Undo it.”
I catch it and hand it back to her. “No. What are you talking about?”
She spins away, her shoulders heaving up and down as emotions
consume her. Cora is silent for a few beats, her ragged breaths the only sound permeating the air around us.
I reach out to touch her shoulder. “Cora…”
Cora flies back around on her heels with wild eyes. “Is it because of me?
Did you break my sister’s heart because of me?”
“No.” I have no idea why she’s so pissed off. “This has nothing to do with us.”
“You’re lying.”
I stare at her, confounded. “Jesus, Cora, what the hell? I just… we don’t work anymore. I can’t pretend there’s something there when there’s not. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”
She hugs her arms around her chest, stepping towards me with icy purpose. “You’re so stupid.”
“Excuse me?” Cora storms away down the hall, and I follow, my anger flaring. “Cora!”
“I said you’re stupid!” she repeats over her shoulder.
“Why are you acting like this?” I call after her, pushing against her bedroom door just before she slams it in my face. I barge inside. “You’re being ridiculous!”
“Fifteen years!” she shouts, whirling around, her ponytail following and catching on her lip gloss. She shoves her hair aside, tears brimming in her eyes. “You just gave up fifteen years.”
“You’d prefer I give up twenty? Thirty? If I know it’s not meant to be, why would I string her along when she can start over and find happiness?” I counter, throwing my arms up.
“You’re a coward.”
“What?” I shake my head with a contemptuous laugh. “First I’m stupid, now I’m a coward. Thanks.”
“Yes,” she spits out, stepping right up to me until we’re toe to toe. “You’re a stupid coward, too scared to put in the work. Did you go to couple’s counseling? Anything? Did you even try, Dean?”
“Fucking stop it. You don’t get it.”
“You were supposed to marry her! How could you do this?” Cora cries as the flood gates open and her tears begin to fall. “You were happy. You were happy before…” She trails off, rolling her jaw and dropping her eyes to the floor.
I scrub my palms over my face with a sigh. “I was happy, but I wasn’t
happy. When you spend three weeks convinced your life is about to be over, you tend to do a lot of soul searching and reevaluating. Mandy and I were getting by, but we weren’t thriving. There was no passion.”
“Passion? You’re throwing away fifteen years for passion?”
“I didn’t throw away shit!” I yell back. “They were a good fifteen years and I have no regrets, but we ran our course.”
“Because of me.”
“No, Cora, because I’m not in love with your sister anymore.” “Stop lying!” she shouts, her voice laced with desperation, almost
panicked. “I was right about what I said in the car that night. This is toxic. This is wrong. We shouldn’t even be contacting each other. Mandy’s life is ruined and it’s all my fault.” Cora starts to sob into her hands. “I can never forgive myself.”
“Corabelle, stop…” I try reaching for her again, but she pulls away like I’m going to burn her.
“Don’t touch me. I can’t even look at you.” “Why not?”
“Because it’s true, okay?” Her voice breaks, shuddering and quivering and full of defeat. “Something happened between us that last day. I felt it, too. And I thought it was just some screwed up defense mechanism that I’d leave behind in that basement… but dammit, Dean, it followed me. I still feel it.” She looks up, boldly finding my eyes. “It’s destroying everything, and I hate you for it.”
My hand cups her face as my heart constricts inside my chest. “Corabelle…”
She slaps my arm away. “Don’t call me that. Don’t touch me. Just leave me alone.”
“You don’t hate me.”
“Yes, I do!” Cora’s pitch rises as new tears break through, then she shoves me backwards. “I hate you. I always have.”
“No.”
“I hate you!” She shoves me again, her palms planting against my chest, causing me to stumble. “I hate you… I ha—”
“No.” I grab her wrists and walk her back towards the far wall until she’s pressed up against it, shaking and crying. I cradle her wet cheeks between
my palms and plant a kiss on her mouth, tender and soft. “You love me. You fucking love me, Cora.”
Her cry becomes a gasp as her body arches into me, and I kiss her again
—just as soft, just as sweet. Then again, lingering longer, and again, until she curls her fingers around the nape of my neck and pulls me hard against her mouth.
I kiss her, and this time, there is no mistaking what it means. There are no apologies.
Our lips fuse together with madness and chaos, missing and yearning, our tongues tangling like we’re starving for each other. I angle my head to taste her deeper, but it’s still not enough—never enough. Moans mingle together, becoming one, and I grasp her thigh, yanking it up and around my waist. So familiar… so instinctual. Cora sifts her fingers through my hair, then drags them down my neck, my chest, my abdomen, forcing a groan
from the back of my throat. I trail my lips along her jawline, still christened with tears, my tongue tasting her as I find the curve of her neck.
Cora grinds her groin against my erection as her hands claw their way up my shirt. “I don’t love you, Dean.”
I kiss my way back to her perfect mouth, warm and soft, and she
whimpers when I tug her bottom lip between my teeth. “Yes, you do.”
“No,” she breathes out, a strangled sob, like she’s begging for it to not be true. Please don’t be true. “I can’t…”
“It’s okay,” I whisper, framing her head between my hands when she starts to twist from side to side, rejecting the very thought. “It’s okay.”
Cora yanks my face back down and our mouths crash together, teeth colliding, tongues hungry and violent. I grasp the side of her face, then
force her jaw open by pushing my thumb between her teeth. She squeaks in surprise, and I take her mouth in mine, filling her with my tongue and
tasting every inch of her. It’s sensual and erotic, and I can’t get enough. I’m fucking drowning.
She pulls back to catch her breath, crying out, as if she’s still trying to deny what seems abundantly clear. “This isn’t real,” she gasps, grazing her ankle up and down the back of my thigh. Her fingers are fisting my shirt
sleeves with white knuckles, scared to let go.
“It’s real.” I kiss her forehead, then her nose, then her heart-shaped upper lip, as I intertwine our fingers and raise our hands above her head. I press our foreheads together, feeling the way our bodies meld so effortlessly. A perfect fit. I’m about to kiss her again, I’m about to lose myself to her mouth and tongue and glorious heat, when my eyes catch sight of her wrist peeking out of her long sleeve.
It’s been scratched raw, swollen and irritated, possibly infected.
Reality hits me like a bucket of ice water, and I grab her arm, cradling her wrist between my fingers and inspecting the damage. Cora tries to pull away, tries to erase what I’ve already seen, but I hold tight. “Corabelle,
you’re hurting yourself.”
“Don’t…” she sighs, her voice hitching. Her tears inevitable. “I’m fine.
It’s fine.”
“God, Cora.” I graze my thumb over the marred skin of her wrist, the exact spot I would massage beneath her cuffs to make her forget, then I bring it to my lips, trying to kiss away her pain. I pepper delicate kisses up and down the length of her arm, paying extra attention to the wound.
“Please don’t.” Cora tries to tug herself free and redirect my mouth to hers, but I don’t let her. She collapses against the wall with frustration. “Let me go, Dean.”
I close my eyes, kissing my way up to her fingertips. “Tell me you don’t hate me.”
“No.”
She moves to escape, but I pull her to me, pressing our foreheads together once more. “Tell me.”
Cora locks her eyes on mine, trembling in my grip. She shakes her head. “I do hate you.”
“Dammit, Cora.” I clench my jaw as my fingers curl around her upper arms, clinging to her. Begging for a different answer. “Please.”
“I…” She’s still looking me in the eyes when her breath catches and her face crumples. “I hate myself.”
Cora goes limp in my arms with a heart-wrenching sob. I don’t catch her before she falls—no, I let her fall, and I fall with her. Our legs buckle and we hit the floor, Cora in my lap, her face buried against my chest. I hold her so fucking tight I’m afraid I might break her, feeling her tears seep through my shirt and bleed into my skin. She clings to me, raining her own kisses along my torso in between her tears and hiccups, and I glide my fingers through her hair, down her back, letting her release.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper into her hair. “Always.”
She can pretend to hate me. If it diminishes even a fraction of her pain, she can fucking pretend all she wants.
But I know it’s love… it has to be, because if this isn’t love… Then I’m certain it does not exist.
