Confessions in the Dark (25 page)

By the time he made it to Barry's—Dean Meyers's—office, Cole's chest had constricted to the point where he could scarcely breathe. His legs felt like jelly, and the back of his neck was damp with sweat. Panic crashed over him. What was he thinking? He'd be laughed out of here; this was a disaster.

The door was open.

Barry had aged in the time since Cole had last seen him, but then again, Cole had, too. The reddish blond of his hair had gone white at the temples, and there were more fine lines around his mouth and eyes. He had a bit more of a paunch than he had had before. But at his essence, it was still him, and the family resemblance still brought Cole to his knees.

He looked so much like his sister. Like Helen.

Numb, the whole world tilting on its axis, Cole raised the claw of his fist and rapped his knuckles against the wood.

“Come in.” Barry's gaze darted away from his computer for half a second, flitting toward Cole almost absently. Then he blinked, visibly startling. In a double take that would have been comical if Cole had air in him to laugh, he looked up again, eyes widening. “Cole.”

Everything inside Cole ached, regret and fear and a loss so deep it had derailed his entire life for years.

“Just tell me to go,” he ground out. He tightened his grip around the handle of his briefcase. “If you don't want to see me. I won't blame you. I won't make a scene.”
Unlike the last time.

“What?” Barry managed to look honestly confused. “Jesus Christ. No. What are you saying? Come in.” He rose to his feet, and there was nothing doubtful in his expression at all. Cole didn't deserve this.

He crossed the space, held together with spit and glue, like with every step he was set to fly apart at the seams.

Barry moved out from behind his desk, raising a hand, and for a fleeting moment, Cole braced himself for a blow he probably deserved. Instead, his brother-in-law reached out, clasping Cole by the hand and holding on, and the warmth of his smile was almost too much.

“God, Cole, what has it been? Years.”

“Too many,” Cole agreed.

“I tried to call.” He had. So many times, but...

“I never picked up.” Cole's throat bobbed. “I'm sorry. I wasn't ready.”

He wasn't sure he was ready now either, but what choice did he have? The irony made him want to laugh or cry or fall into a bottle again, but none of those were on the table right now. Losing Helen had driven him off the rails, and gaining Serena—having to let Serena go—it had led him here. Back to the place he'd fled so long ago.

Serena had opened his life again after Helen's death had slammed it closed. And so he was here. Now. Not ready, necessarily, but he had to try.

Too fervently, Barry grasped Cole's hand in both of his. “Damn, you're a sight for sore eyes.”

The sheer generosity of it made Cole's head spin. “I thought you'd never want to see me again.”

After everything he'd done. After Helen, after he'd made a mockery of his career and of the department—of the university itself. After he'd forced his own brother-in-law to show him the door.

But Barry just shook his head. “You don't know how many times we've thought of you over the years.”

Cole's attempt to smile came out wobbly and awful, but it was the closest he'd come in weeks.

Their handshake had dragged on for ages now. With one last squeeze, Barry let go, then held his hand out toward the chair in front of his desk. “Sit. Please. Stay. Tell me how you've been.”

As Barry retreated to his own seat on the other side of the desk, Cole dropped into the one Barry had pointed to, arranging himself. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Shite. I don't know where to start. You saw...”

Barry had seen the worst of it, honestly. He'd seen Cole a mangled mess and a wreck of a man.

He nodded gravely, folding his hands together in front of him. “I wanted to help. I wish I could have done more.”

“There was nothing anyone could have done.” All Cole's will had been bent on destroying himself back then, and no one could have talked him out of it.

In all that time, no one had. Except Serena. His heart clenched hard at the thought.

An uncomfortable moment of silence passed before Cole cleared his throat. “And you? The kids? Jan?”

“All great.” Barry ticked off children, half grown now. Told Cole about his life and his job and his wife.

“I'm happy for you,” Cole said, and he meant it.

“You should come round for dinner sometime. Everyone would love to see you. The kids still ask about their uncle all the time.”

Nodding, Cole managed, “I'd like that.”

Barry's face went serious. “But you didn't just come here to ask me about my family.”

“No. I didn't.” He forced his fingers to unclench. His pride was a white-hot force inside him that he had to push away. Because he'd never asked for this before. He'd been offered it—had been all but forced to accept it by kind, beautiful women who'd had his best interests at heart. But he'd never asked. “Barry—Dean Meyers—I—” He cut himself off. Took a breath and licked his lips, but his throat was a desert. His
life
was.

How many times had he told Serena that she had the right to request things for herself? How sweetly had she tried to show him that he had that same right?

“Please,” he rasped out. “I need help.”

The words hung on the air, heavy and impossible.

And the instant they made it out of his mouth, Barry leaned forward. “Anything. If it's in my power...”

The rest of it came so easily.

“I need a job. I know I fucked up here. I burned my bridges, and I'll take my lumps, but if you have anything, or if you've heard of anything.” He fumbled with the clasp of his briefcase, pulling out the papers he'd brought and handing them over. “I've been working. Three articles written and ready to go out, but no one will look at them without an institution next to my name, and I...” Fuck, this hurt. “I want to teach again.”

Barry accepted the papers Cole passed over and began flipping through them, his brows rising higher with every page. But at that last bit, the space between his eyes scrunched up, and he jerked his gaze away from the lines of figures. “I thought you didn't care for teaching.”

“No, I just...I didn't know how to do it back then.” He couldn't pretend he was that much better now, but his afternoons with Max had reminded him of why it was worth it to try. Serena—all those times she talked about her profession with this warmth in her voice. It had reignited a spark in him he'd thought had died.

All these empty years had passed him by, and he wanted his life to be different now. He wanted to be worthy of the love he'd been given and that he'd had no choice but to throw away.

“But I've changed,” Cole said. Serena had changed him. She'd woken him from his stupor. She'd made him
better
, with just a word. With the softest of touches of her hand. “I've been working at it.” He grasped at the closest available straw. “Tutoring. Conferring with other teachers.”
One
other teacher, but it wasn't a lie. “I'm willing to give it my all this time. Just let me try, and I'll prove it to you.”

Frowning, Barry returned his attention to the pages Cole had pushed at him, and for hollow minutes, Cole sat there, waiting. Finally, when he wasn't sure he could take it anymore, Barry looked up. “This is solid work.”

“You know the work was never my problem.”

“No. It never was.” Barry set the papers down. “This isn't a simple thing you're asking for, you know.”

Cole's heart sank. “I know.”

“You forced our hand. After Helen...”

“I was a disaster.” He swallowed hard. “I still am. But I swear. If you give me another chance, I won't waste it.”

For a long, long time, Barry studied him. Then he sat back in his chair, picking up a pen and twirling it between his fingers. “It just so happens that our Introduction to Mathematics adjunct pulled out for the summer term.”

Pulse quickening, Cole sat straighter in his chair. “I'll take it.”

God. If Helen could see him now. It was the worst course on their schedule, no real content, and only non-majors took it. A few years ago, he would have tried like mad to switch to anything else. But he'd spent eight weeks teaching fractions and decimals to a ten-year-old. He could do this.

“Not so fast. You'd still need to go to counseling, Cole.”

Cole's throat tightened. That had been the stipulation the last time around, too, and he had laughed in their faces.

But Barry was still talking. “The board would demand it if...
if
I brought this appointment before them. But as your friend...Honestly, don't you think you need it?”

Maybe he did.

Maybe if he'd ended up on a therapist's couch the first time around, he could have avoided so much pain.

Maybe it wasn't too late. “I don't know. But I'll try it.”

Just like that, the stoicism on Barry's face melted. “Really?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“You always have a choice. But I think this is the right one. Hell, I'll give you the job right here and now if it means you'll get some help.”

Help
. It was what he'd come here for, if not necessarily in this form.

“I thought you had to bring it up before the board,” he said weakly, head spinning.

“You know they'll do whatever I tell them to.”

“And you'll tell them...”

“To hire you.” The way Barry said it was all conviction, and he looked so goddamn much like Helen. Like he believed in him.

Cole's chest ached. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for coming to me.” Something in his brother-in-law's expression broke, and all at once, it wasn't a conversation between colleagues. It was a conversation with family, and that was a feeling Cole hadn't had in a very long while. “You know none of us blame you. For what happened.”

Cole huffed a hollow echo of a laugh. “I blame myself enough for all of us.”

“Yeah. You do. So do me a favor, will you?”

“Anything.”

“
Stop
that. She wouldn't want this for you.” No, she wouldn't have. “It killed me to lose her. Killed me. But, Cole. I didn't think it meant I'd have to lose you, too.”

The heat behind Cole's eyes came out of nowhere, and he shook his head to try to keep the tide of feeling in. “I'm sorry.” No one knew how sorry he was.

“And I forgive you.”

They were just words. But the acceptance in them, this gift of another chance...

One thread of the knot that had tied Cole up in loss and grief for all these years...it came unwound.

And it was just this tiny, tiny bit easier to breathe.

S
erena's phone buzzed at four-thirty on the dot. Sliding the pile of assignments she was grading off her lap, she stretched to reach and grab it off the coffee table. Sure enough, it was from Max's friend's mom, letting her know he was on his way.

She texted back a quick thank-you, then started gathering her things. As she did, she kept throwing little glances at the clock.

It made her nervous as hell to be letting Max walk home alone, but his buddy only lived a block and a half away. Ever since the afternoon of Penny's interview and Cole's breakdown, they'd all been trying to be a little more relaxed about letting him do some more stuff on his own. Heck, plenty of kids even younger than he was walked home from school by themselves. At his age, Serena'd done it all the time. It was just a different world now.

Besides, Max could be graduating from college and to Serena he'd still be her baby.

Before long, the place was as tidied as it was going to get. Her gaze went to the time again, and she frowned. He should be here by now. Worrying her necklace between her fingers, she went to the window and looked out, but there wasn't any sign of him.

She was being paranoid.

Taking a deep breath, she plucked her phone from her pocket and scrolled through Facebook for a couple of minutes, but the agitation in her chest grew and grew.

Okay, seriously, where was that kid? She didn't want to be that person, but she fired off another message to the friend's mom, double-checking that Max had really left when she had said he did. The reply came quickly, confirming that yes, he had. Wasn't he there yet?

Serena's hands went numb.

Crap, don't panic.
She dialed her mom on instinct and grabbed her keys, heading out into the hall.

Her mom picked up after just one ring. “Oh, hey, sweetie—”

“So, I'm trying not to freak out, but Max was supposed to be home ten minutes ago and he's still not here.”

“What?” She clearly had her full attention. “Have you gone out to look for him?”

“I'm going downstairs right now.” Leaving her apartment made her nervous, though. What if they crossed paths or he'd just taken the long way around? The idea of him arriving on her doorstep without anyone to let him in was almost as bad as his being out there all alone.

She quickened her pace regardless. No Max in the entryway, and she pushed through the door into the bright spring afternoon and looked both ways down the street. Nothing.

A cold little curl of anxiety opened up behind her breast. “I don't see him,” she said. “But I don't want to get too far away.”

Crap crap crap, she'd known he was too young to walk home alone. A block and a half might as well be a mile in this city. There were alleys and creeps and serial killers. The cold little curl became an icy pit. If something had happened to him, she was never going to forgive herself.

“Okay, stay calm,” her mom said. “I'm sure he's fine.”

She gripped her keys and her phone both tighter. “But what if he's not?” This was a pretty safe part of town, but terrible things could happen anywhere, and Max was smart for his age, but he was also small. “Oh God, Mom, I don't know what to do.”

“Deep breaths. I'm leaving now.”

“Hurry.” If this was nothing, Serena was going to feel like a freaking idiot, making her mom duck out of work early, worrying her like this.

“I'll call your sister.”

Right. Serena should have thought to do that, too. Penny'd been really conscientious ever since Serena had kind of lost it on her. Maybe a little too conscientious, honestly, like she was the one tiptoeing around, trying to be on her best behavior, but Serena didn't have time to worry about that right now. “Okay.”

“Is there anyone else who can stay by your apartment in case he shows up?”

“I don't know.” None of her friends lived terribly close, and her neighbors would all be at work, except—

Oh no. No.

But what other option did she have?

“I may have an idea,” she said, throat tight. “Call me as soon as you get here.”

She hung up before her mother could respond. Desperate, she took a half-dozen steps in the direction she expected Max to be coming from, but there was still no sign of him, and she didn't want to go too far away. She retreated back to her building's front door and let herself in with shaking hands.

It had been weeks now since she'd seen Cole. He'd made no effort to contact her—if anything, he had to be avoiding her, and it was a sick, twisting emptiness inside her that she lived with every day. He didn't need her, didn't want her, didn't want to see her. It ached like nothing else in her life ever had, but she could live with it. Like her mom had reminded her: she deserved someone who would give her everything and who loved her for who she was, not just what she could do for them.

But God, it grated to have to go crawling to him now. She had asked him for one thing in the span of their relationship, and it had been help with Max, and it had ruined him. He owed her nothing. Heck, he might just laugh in her face, but this was an emergency. She'd messed up so badly here. The least she could do was put her pride aside and ask.

Twisting her keys in her hands, she climbed the stairs, past her own apartment and up and up. Standing in front of his door, the angry shame of what she was about to do stole her breath away.

“This is for Max,” she reminded herself, whispering it under her breath.

And then, with her heart in her throat, she knocked.

Therapy was
awful
. Cole was stomping his way around his flat, thunking things around too hard as he set about making a cup of tea to try to calm his nerves.

How many weeks had it taken Serena to pull all his secrets out of him? She'd coaxed them free with loving hands, and he'd given them to her willingly, half expecting her to abandon him at every step. Humbled and reverent every time she chose to stay.

While that bloody doctor...

He'd sat there so expectantly, judging and writing and asking these questions that twisted the very words Cole said. And so now here he was, questioning everything. Questioning himself.

Questioning his conclusion that he always had to be alone.

The whistle on the kettle blew, and he flicked it off. As the screeching died down, he braced his hands against the edge of the counter, hanging his head and clenching his eyes shut. He felt like so much wet newspaper, like someone had taken his brains out and scrambled them up and then shoved them back inside. His heart
hurt
.

And then the pounding came on the door.

Jerking his head up and his eyes open, he stepped back, scarcely breathing. No one ever came to him, no one knocked—no one had in years except Serena, and he'd made a bloody mess of that.

She wouldn't. She couldn't.

The knocking sounded out again, harder this time, and he was in motion. Ignoring the peephole, he tore open the door.

And it was a punch right to the solar plexus, a blow so hard it drove the air from his lungs.

Serena. She was really here. His eyes drank in the sight of her, every atom of his body suddenly parched. It didn't even seem possible, but she looked better than he remembered, all golden hair and soft skin, bright eyes that he could sink into and never know that he was drowning.

Her mouth was pinched.

“Serena—” he managed to choke out.

“Please.” She interrupted him, crossing her arms over her chest, her whole body closed, hugging herself as if she were cold. “I know you don't want to see me, but there's no one else I can ask.”

He was instantly on alert. “What happened?”

“It's Max.”

Max. Christ. Another impact cracked his ribs.

Because he'd abandoned Serena when he'd pushed her away, but he'd abandoned Max, too, and the tyke had had enough of that in his life. It was another failing of his. Another brilliant, aching point of regret.

But this wasn't about him. “What do you need?”

He was already reaching for his phone and his keys. He jammed them in his pockets and stepped out into the hall, tugging his door shut behind him.

It was the first time they'd stood in front of each other in weeks, no door and no pride, no obstacles between them. It felt like so much longer. And it was so fucking inappropriate, but he couldn't stop himself from raking his gaze up and down her body all over again. If he wasn't wrong, she was doing the same thing.

But she shook her head and slid a hand up her arm to grip at her own shoulder. “He was walking home from a friend's house, but he never made it home.” She barely seemed to get the words out. Her face crumpled. “I knew I shouldn't have let him go by himself, but he's getting older, and we want him to be independent. It's just a block and a half, all side streets, but I shouldn't have...I...”

Instinct possessed him. His hands were on her arms, grasping her tight, and it sent a shock of electricity coursing the length of his body. Just touching her. Even while her world was falling apart. “It's going to be all right.”

She shook her head almost violently. “What if he's hurt or he got kidnapped or—”

“He's fine. And we are going to find him.”

“But...” She took a hiccuping, shivering breath, but if anything it only seemed to push her closer to hysteria.

How could he possibly be expected to keep his distance? Without another moment's hesitation, he drew her in, encircling her with his arms. For a long moment, he held her tight, trying to give her what comfort there was in him to offer. When she unwound her arms from around herself and hugged him in return, something in the jumbled mess of his mind seemed to snap back into place.

It took a herculean effort to make himself let go. Clasping her by the shoulders again, he ducked down, putting his face right in her field of view.

“Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Just...if you can stay in my apartment while I go looking for him. In case he shows up.”

While
she
went looking for him? Over his dead body.

“Perfect, except you stay home and I'll go do the looking.”

She made a sound as if to protest, and he lifted a hand, cupping the soft curve of her cheek and feeling more at home in his own damn skin than he had in so long.

“You don't have to,” she said.

“I insist.” He stroked his thumb across her skin. “You're going to pieces, love. Let me do this for you.”

She jerked, and it was stitches tearing, the barely sewn-up wound on his heart setting back to a sluggish bleed. “I'm fine.”

He pushed away the pain.

“We don't have time to argue about this.” He'd stand here talking to her for days, even if it was to quibble over details. But it wouldn't help Max. “Stay here. Call me if you hear anything. Just tell me where he's coming from.”

She rattled off the cross streets, and he wrote them to his memory. There were a couple of different routes he could have taken, but it was still only about four square blocks to cover.

“I'll find him,” he swore.

But her eyes were damp, her lips trembling. Surrounding her face with both hands, he leaned in, pressing a dry, firm kiss to the very center of her brow. He squeezed his eyes shut tight as he lingered there.

And then he was off.

Never had he been more grateful for the freedom to move without his crutches. He still wasn't cleared to run, but he pushed the limits of it as he flew down the stairs and out the door. Calling Max's name, he ate up the pavement, glancing between houses and into the windows of cars. The chances of abduction were fairly low, all told. It was more likely he was dallying in another friend's yard or looking at dirty pictures in an alley. Buying sweets he wasn't supposed to from the corner store.

So that was the next place he went, after he'd tried his first choice of routes. It was another block out of the way, and it would've been foolish of Max in the extreme, but children weren't exactly known for their wisdom, were they? Cole poked his head inside to find it deserted. He scanned the handful of aisles all the same.

“You looking for something, mister?”

Cole nodded, speaking in distraction to the man behind the register. “Boy. Ten years old, looks younger. Blond hair, glasses. Would've been by himself, most likely.”

“Haven't seen him. Had a couple other brats in here a little bit ago, though. Kids think they can distract me and get away with stealing candy, but I see everything.”

Humming some vague agreement, Cole turned back around and headed for the door, muttering his thanks as he passed the register. He made his way back to Max's starting point and took a different side street home from there. He fingered his phone in his pocket. Serena would've called him if Max had shown up, but maybe she'd forgotten.

With every step closer he drew to their apartment building, the more the anxiety in him built. A fear he hadn't known before had his blood pumping faster, his breath jagged and shallow. The low throb of his healing knee threatened to slow him down, but he kept up his pace. All hope wasn't lost yet. There was still the alley back the other way—or maybe the library down the corner, though fuck knew what the hell he'd be doing there.

Cupping his hands in front of his face, he called again, “Max.” Then, more frantic, “Max!”

“Help!”

Cole's blood turned to ice and fire all at once.

The word was bitten off, and he froze, listening more carefully. There were other sounds, muffled ones, mumbled words in a tone that gave the fire strength.

A wet sound and a whimper. From...

That way.

Fuck his knee and fuck everything else. It was a flat-out sprint that carried him between two buildings, down a walk and over a fence, and shit, bollocks, that hurt, but then there they were.