“Dallas said you tried to carry her out, but everything went wrong.”
Colson shakes his head, “I couldn’t save her,” he glances out the window, a defeated look in his eyes, “I couldn’t do anything except watch her die. Trees were her life, but she probably never thought she’d get taken out by one.”
“That’s awful. Is that why you left?”
Colson smiles bitterly, “When an indigenous woman goes into the woods with a white man and doesn’t come back alive, people start talking.” He shakes his head, “But she didn’t deserve to be the subject of rumors like that.”
I stare at him in silence, trying to read the expression behind his eyes.
“But I did lie to you about something,” Colson continues, “I didn’t come back from Alaska because I couldn’t handle the stress. I liked being out in the middle of nowhere, staring into the snow and waiting for something terrifying to appear. I loved the tension and the adrenaline, like I was living somewhere between life and death. But when you spend enough time staring at a blank canvas, eventually other things start appearing, whether you want them to or not.”
“It would be difficult to be alone with your thoughts after something like that happened,” I admit.
“When things get quiet and time slows down, it’s easy to start fixating on things you’ve tried to forget.”
“What do you fixate on?” I ask flatly.
Then I realize I probably don’t want to know the answer.
“I can’t do anything about Paige and I can’t do anything about my sister. But you’re not dead,” the way he says it is both endearing and ominous, “so, what good does it do me to stay up there when you’re down here?”
I look down at some random spot on the carpet, wishing he hadn’t said what he just said.
It seems it would do me a lot of good for you to stay up there…
“I’m sorry all of that happened to you, but—”
“Nothing happened to me,” Colson cuts me off, “those things happened to them. I just have to live with the aftermath.”
“Fine,” I purse my lips, “but what’s any of that got to do with me?”
Colson chews his nail for a moment and then lets his arm fall back into the armrest, “Because you did happen to me. And you were the first good thing to happen to me in a long time. Before that, there was just this void with nothing but anger and resentment and alcohol. And after, I didn’t want to do anything except be where you were.”
In a twisted way, part of me feels guilty for blaming him for what he did and how everything ended.
But the other part of me still wants him to pay for it. I had to deal with the aftermath of him and mourn the person I might’ve been.
“Are you going to say I led you out of the darkness—that I brought you happiness?” I taunt, flashing a sardonic smile. “Are you going to tell me that I lit up the room when I walked in, because I’m so pure and wonderful?” My smile disappears, “Because I don’t light up rooms. And it’s because of you.”
“Pure as saltwater,” Colson smiles, totally unfazed, “and you sting just as bad. You don’t light up anything. You wanted to stay with me in the dark, not make me leave. I’m still full of anger and resentment, I’m just sober now.”
“Yeah, well, congratulations,” I snip, “you happened to me, too. And if I’d known what would happen by setting foot in that house, I would’ve listened to my gut the first time you treated me like shit.”
“Is that why you finally decided to give me the time of day,” Colson tips his chin, “because you’re a glutton for punishment?”
“Sometimes I don’t know why I talk to you,” I sigh.
“You don’t?” He says it like he already knows the answer, in a patronizing tone that makes me want to slap him. He’s getting under my skin, and he knows it.
“Brett,” Colson glances at his watch and moves to stand, “you and I are more similar than you’d like to admit.” He strolls around to the front of my desk and plants his hands on the edge of the wood veneer, “You did listen to your gut that night. And I bet you’re still a sucker for some pain.” He grins and looks me up and down, sending a tremor deep through my stomach, “You probably still have the marks to prove it.”
I clench my jaw in shock. How can someone with such bright and vibrant eyes be so diabolical?
Why is he doing this? And why do I feel anything other than blind hatred for him right now? I don’t need him coming in here and wrecking my life—again. But there’s no way I’ll ever let him see that he’s getting to me.
I lower my voice and glare up at him, “You need to stop.”
Colson gives a slight shake of his head, “You know I’ll never stop. I’ve had you out on loan long enough, Sorensen. I’ve come to collect.”
The way he looks at me makes my blood go cold. After a moment, he slowly straightens up and turns toward the door. His footsteps sound so much louder, magnified by the tension stifling the room.
He starts to leave, but pauses and turns around, “Oh, by the way,” he taps the doorframe, “that wasn’t salted caramel in your latte,” he winks before disappearing into the dim hallway.
I stare at the empty space, frozen, listening to my heart pounding. My eyes dart to the paper coffee cup, nearly empty now. A faint ringing gets steadily louder in my ears as I taste the sweet and acidic bite of the coffee on my tongue.
No. He’s a fucking liar.
I fly from my chair and march down the hallway, down the stairs, and all the way to the break room. I stop abruptly in front of the fancy coffee machine in the corner and scan the labels over each button. My stomach drops as I read each one: Espresso, dark roast, decaf, cappuccino, latte macchiato, iced coffee. Just like always.
I whip around and search the countertop catty-corner to the machine, where all the cups and stirrers and extra coffee additives are crowded together in a disorganized jumble. There are a couple of containers of French vanilla and hazelnut powder creamers and four bottles of Torani syrup—vanilla, chocolate, pumpkin spice, and caramel.
I give a hard stare at the caramel, then scrunch up my nose and hard swallow, pushing the bile back down. I can’t prove anything. It could just be the syrup.
It’s probably the syrup.
But now I can’t tell for sure. I can’t tell if it’s Colson getting in my head or if it’s something else that lingers ominously on my palate.
●●●
