“Yep, it’s just that way,” she says, pointing again. Her tone of voice is brisk and to the point, leading me to believe she’s not receptive to any questions I might have, and I’m not sure how to broach anything with her, so I give up as she turns and moves toward the door.
“Um, wait,” I call out. “What about a place to wash off?”
She raises a brow and says as she closes the door, “Well, if it were me, I’d take a shower.”
My jaw drops at that, and I stand for a moment in thought before dropping the bag I brought with me containing spare clothes, weapons, and water. Our guns were confiscated from us before we entered the gate, but I was allowed to keep a small knife in case of a zombie attack. Leaving behind the handgun didn’t exactly fill me with warm fuzzies, but the possibility of a community outweighed the alternative.
It’s been months since I’ve had the opportunity to clean myself thoroughly, much less shower, so it’s with a great deal of eagerness that I rush into the bathroom. It’s small and sparse, but I don’t fucking care as I twist the knob on the shower spout, and sweet water flows over my fingers.
“Fuck, yes,” I moan aloud at the sensation, and without waiting for the water to warm, assuming it ever will, I drop my clothes and jump in.
It’s so fucking glorious that I stand under the spray and allow the water to glance off my hair and skin in tiny pinpricks before scrubbing my face in my hands. But when I glance down and spy the grime swirling down the drain, I feel the grotesque sitting on my skin acutely. Except, shit . . . I don’t see any soap or shampoo, and when I pull the shower curtain back, I realize in my haste I didn’t even bother to grab a towel.
With a sigh, I step out and drip all over the floor as I look underneath the sink, happy to find not only the shampoo and soap but a towel, too. I feel so dirty that I wash my hair and body twice over before rinsing, after which I stand in the water for an extra few minutes and enjoy the sensation, studiously ignoring all thoughts of Cole.
After the most magnificent shower of my life, I stalk back to where I left my bag in the main area and stop up short at the sight of Cole leaning against the counter. His beautiful arms bulge enticingly, stretching the thin fabric of his shirt and reminding me of the glory that lies beneath. I tighten in delicate places at the thought as his eyes roam my body, flaring at all the real estate on display with only a small, tiny towel as a barrier between us.
My heart kicks up in my chest and the shock of finding him alive still surges in my system, but his lackluster greeting, the strange woman at the entrance, and the hurt swallowing my soul keep me from rushing to him. Instead, I mirror his stiff posture awkwardly.
“Cole,” I say, shivering under the weight of his gaze before his eyes fly back to mine, the heat quickly banked.
He looks away and says,his tone gruff, “Lola, are you okay?”
“Yes, yeah.” I stutter, choking on my next words. “I thought you were dead.”
His brows drop over his eyes, and he rubs his mouth before dropping his hand. “No, I managed to get out but couldn’t find you. Ended up here a few months ago.”
Couldn’t find us? That doesn’t make sense. We fucking waited for him . . . for months. How hard did he look? Or did he look at all?
“How many months ago?” I mutter, frowning when his gaze slides away from mine. After everything we’ve been through together, after all this time, can’t he just tell me whatever it is he’s fucking thinking?
“I landed here just a few weeks after the ranch burned down,” he says, still staring at a spot over my head.
Fuck me, why won’t he look at me? Shaking my head, I whisper, “Mich . . . Jase?”
He shakes his head, grief sliding across his features before he pulls it back and closes it off once more. I drop my gaze to my feet as tears well in my eyes. How do I process this? One more loss? Although before this morning, I had already mourned them in my heart. At least, I thought I had.
Cole sighs and drags his hand down his face again. Feeling both foolish and cold because his body language is screaming at me to stay back, I walk over and pull clothes from my bag before locking myself in the bathroom. Now alone, I allow myself to cry silently while I don a fresh pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and socks, but when I’m done, I pull myself together with deep shuddering breaths.
Now is not the time to fall apart. I can fucking do that when Cole leaves, assuming he hasn’t already.
With a wince for my reflection in the mirror, I scrub my face and pull my hair around my ears, but it does nothing to hide the devastation. Oh well, the fucker deserves to see what he’s done to me.
He’s staring out the window when I come back. Ignoring him, I sit on the couch with an oomph and sneeze at the cloud of dust that rises around me before shaking my head. What a cluster. This is awkward as fuck, and I’m so confused and heartsore, but he’s giving me nothing! I grab my hiking boots and push my feet inside before lacing them up.
He doesn’t speak, and finally, I break the peace, asking as casually as possible, “So, how’s it here?”
My heart is racing at his nearness, but I sit on a precipice, and I’m afraid I’m going to fall off the wrong side at a moment’s notice. I’m so happy he’s alive, but there’s a dull ache where my heart resides. The coldness emanating from his expression and body posture has me bracing for the worst.
He finally turns to me, and with his arms folded across his chest and his eyes firmly on the floor, he clears his throat and says, “It’s good. Safe.”
“Oh,” I say, swallowing past my dry throat. “That-that’s good.”
“Lola,” he says abruptly, stepping forward with painful desperation in his eyes.
“Yeah, yes?” Even though I know this will break me, I can’t look away.
“I,” he mutters, running his hand through his hair, “I’m sorry.”