“Aw, were you two in love?”

My heart thumps twice as hard, and my face falls, an image flashing in my mind of her standing by the pool just three nights ago, asking me to tell Cole and then to take her to bed—to our bed.

My stomach sinks. I miss her so much.

“Oh, my God, you do love her,” Lindsay says, staring at my face and looking like she’s about to laugh.

But before she can say anything else, I steel my spine. “Where is he?”

“Gone,” she says, leaning on the door and taking a sip of her drink. “For the next eight weeks.”

“What?”

“Well, maybe if you were paying more attention to your son than his piece of discarded trash, you would know he went up to MEPS over a week ago for his physical and other tests,” she tells me, all too pleased to rub everything I don’t know in my face. “He enlisted in the Navy, Pike. Seems he was desperate for the guidance he’s clearly not getting from you. He shipped out this morning.”

My eyebrows nosedive. “What?” I yell this time.

The Navy? You don’t just join the Navy. It takes months to enlist. I should know. I almost did it when I was his age.

As if sensing my questions, she goes on. “He’s been planning it for a while. He’s lost, wants some direction,” she says as if reciting her grocery list. “He was afraid to tell anyone, because he has a habit of not following through with things. He wanted to surprise us when he was sure. After he went to MEPS, took his test, got his physical, and committed, though, he was going to tell you, but I guess he never got a chance.”

My lungs empty, and I drop my head.

Needles stab my throat, and my eyes sting. This isn’t right. He wouldn’t have done something like that. Cole’s not…disciplined. Would he willingly put himself through that? What was he thinking?

“He’s at Naval Station Great Lakes,” she says. “He’ll be back in a couple months. Check his Instagram if you don’t believe me. He made a final post this morning.”

Instagram? I don’t…

Jesus Christ.

She slams the door, and I immediately hear the lock turn.

I stand there, outside her door, the rain pouring around me with the past several days running through my head as I try to connect any clues Cole left about his plans. Quitting his job, telling me all the perks of his new one…. He wanted a tattoo.

This secret new job was a big deal.

Did he really join the military?

Heading back to my truck, I climb in and slam the door against the downpour, and check my phone for any messages or texts again.

But still nothing. Not from Cole or Jordan.

Did she know about this?

No, she would’ve told me.

Remembering what Lin said, I type Cole Lawson Instagram into the search bar, and I immediately see a few different accounts pop up. Clicking through them, I find one with his picture and notice the first post is the most recent. It’s just a picture of the open doors of a bus that it looks like he’s about to board with a caption that reads I should’ve taken the blue pill.

What does that mean? Then I remember The Matrix. One of his favorite movies when he was little.

I run my hand through my hair, ready to crawl out of my goddamn skin. How could he not at least send a text? I understand if he won’t talk to me, but he has to know I’d be worried. To leave me for months with all these questions…

I sit in the truck, spending the next half hour searching websites and parent blogs, trying to figure out how I can talk to him. He isn’t allowed a cell phone during training, and I can’t call him unless there’s an emergency, and even then I have to go through the Red Cross to reach him.

Fuck. I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone right now. He’s gone. With no way to immediately reach him for eight weeks.

We haven’t spent much time together the past few years, but he was still only a phone call away. I can’t let things be left like this for two months.

I search the local recruiting station in the area and call the office. I might be able to get his address through them once he receives his assignment.

There’s no answer, so I’ll track him or her down tomorrow and find out how I get a hold of him.

Goddamn it. “Shit!”

I feel so fucking helpless.

Knowing his cell phone has probably been confiscated by now, I dial him anyway and hold the phone to my ear. It goes immediately to voicemail.

“Cole,” I say, swallowing a few times to wet my throat. “I…I...”

I shake my head, closing my eyes.

“I love you,” I tell him. “And I’m always here for you. I know I…I know I have no excuse. I just…” Tears well in my eyes, and I don’t know what else to say but the truth. “I tried not to fall for her. I did try. I’m sorry.”

Hanging up, I throw the phone down, feeling empty. I don’t want either of them out there without them knowing that I love them.

I’m alone again, and I just want them back. They’re everything.

Jordan was right. I should’ve just told him, gotten it over with, and got him moving toward accepting it. I was never going to give her up willingly. How long was I planning on lying to him? Even if she and I didn’t end things, I would’ve had to tell him at some point.

I start the engine and shift into reverse, backing out of the parking space and speeding out of the lot. Getting back onto the road, I head across town, periodically checking my phone for any messages.

Jordan left nearly everything at my house. She took some clothes, her books, and a few personals, but her models, her bed and furniture, and the painting are still there. She’ll be back for that stuff, right? All hope isn’t lost yet. I’ll see her again.

But I haven’t seen her in town anywhere, she hasn’t been at work, and I haven’t spotted her car. Where is she?

She was so calm the other night. Eerily calm, actually. As if she didn’t care anymore.

I’ll hate myself forever if I ruined her. My beautiful, happy, sexy girl who kills me with her smiles and jokes.

Pulling into The Hook’s parking lot, I hop out of the truck and walk through the rain, into the club.

There’s no one at the door, taking covers, but I doubt I’d stop anyway. I walk in and halt, déjà vu flooding me. The same song from Jordan’s little FaceTime dance is playing as two women twirl around poles up on the stage. The picture of her beautiful body performing for only me hits me, and I’m almost sick with how fucking stupid I am and for what I lost.

Spotting Cam to the left, I walk over, not even caring she’s on top of some guy right now. She straddles him, her arms resting over his shoulders.

“Where is she?” I demand.

Cam shoots her eyes up, arching a brow as she grinds on the guy, not skipping a beat.

“Look, I just want to talk to her, okay?”

Cam finishes the guy, whispering something in his ear, and rises from the chair, brushing past me.

I follow. “Can I at least know if she’s alright?” I ask, my tone firm. “It’s been days. Is she’s staying somewhere safe? She left nearly everything behind, so I know she doesn’t have her own place.”

Cam keeps walking, and I’m a little uncomfortable with the fishnet wrap she has around her thong-clad ass, but I keep pursuing. She gestures to the bartender who reaches into a cooler and pulls out a bottle of water for her, sliding it across the bar.

But instead of stopping, she takes the water, turns, and keeps walking away from me.

“Cam, Jesus!” I blurt out, taking out my wallet and fishing out money. “Here’s a hundred bucks for five minutes of your time!” I slap it on the bar. “I don’t want a dance from you. All I want—”

She spins around, and I don’t have any time to react before her knee jams right between my legs, sending me falling forward.

I growl, gasping as white-hot pain fires like bullets through my groin, thighs, and stomach. I squeeze my eyes shut, dropping to one knee and a cool sweat breaks out all over my body.

I faintly hear her voice in my ear. “I wouldn’t dance for you if you were worth a billion dollars and your dick tasted like a cherry Tootsie Pop,” she bites out. “Stay away from me and my sister. Forget she existed.”

Sickness coils through me, and it takes a while before I can breathe regularly again. By the time I’m able to rise, my legs shaky, Cam is gone.

And so is my hundred bucks.

“You don’t love her, do you?” Dutch asks.

I finish stacking the boxes in the garage, my fourth project in the past week to keep busy when I’m not at work.

Dutch sits on a lawn chair just outside, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees and watching me like I’m a bull in a China shop, about to break shit any second.

It’s been nine days now since I’ve seen my son or Jordan, and every day that passes feels like they’re getting farther away from me. Like he’s moved on and like I never existed to her.

Any hope I had is quickly depleting.

I’ve called, texted, and left messages for both of them, and the only lead I have is an address to write to Cole that I harassed his recruiter into getting for me. I mailed my first letter yesterday.

As for Jordan, the only assurance I’ve been able to get that she’s okay is from Dutch who heard from his wife who got it from Shel that Jordan is out of town visiting friends, and she’s fine.

Is she coming back?

I stopped calling after a few days, because she clearly doesn’t want to talk, and I’m trying to respect her wishes, but.... If she called right now, I’d go get her from anywhere she was and give her anything she wants. For the rest of my life she can have anything she wants.

“Pike, you can’t marry her,” Dutch states like he knows where my head is at. “You know that, right?”

I keep my back to him, rehanging discarded tools on the workbench and slowly clearing off the table.

Nine days ago I would’ve agreed with him. I would’ve said he was right.