Coldhearted King: Chapter 38

The doorbell rings and my heart races—it’s a reaction I’m still getting used to. After a quick glance in the mirror to run my fingers through my hair, I open the front door. Butterflies take flight in my stomach and my mouth goes dry when I see Cole.

It’s been two days since he was last here. Two days since we made pancakes in my kitchen and ate them as I sat on his lap. He’d called me at work later that day to cancel our original plans for the weekend, telling me there was a situation he had to resolve, so when I got his message an hour ago asking if he could come over, I was excited. I’m finding it harder and harder to be away from him, and I hope this means he feels the same way.

I smile at him, then rise on my toes to press my lips to his.

His hands go to my waist, his fingers curling into my skin, but he doesn’t pull me into him the way I’m expecting. I drop down and search his face. His jaw is tense, that familiar muscle twitching in it. Nerves tumble through me, and I swallow. “Do you want to come in?”

He nods and follows me to my small living room. I sit on the couch, but he remains standing, so I jump to my feet again, not wanting to be at a disadvantage. It’s exactly the way I used to feel with him, before all this started. Icy dread settles in my chest.

“Delilah . . .” He scrubs his hand over his mouth but doesn’t continue. He just stares at me with his lips pressed together.

I know what’s coming. My instincts scream it at me with an intensity that rasps anxiety down my nerves. “Just say it.” I’m relieved when my voice comes out with only a small tremor I hope he won’t notice. “Whatever it is, just say it.”

He clears his throat. “I know this is sudden, but it’s time we end this.”

Even though I know it’s coming, pain still lashes across my heart. I try to take a deep breath, but it gets caught in my lungs. “Why? I thought . . . I mean, last time we were together . . .” I can’t find the words I need.

“Jessica and I . . .”

My spine snaps straight. “What about Jessica?”

His eyes burn with some unknown emotion as he stares at me.

“What about Jessica?” I demand. “If you’re about to do something you know will hurt me, then just do it, for god’s sake.”

His eyes shutter. “Jessica and I are getting engaged. I wanted to tell you before it’s officially announced.”

For a second, I can’t process his words, my mind and body paralyzed. A heartbeat later, the pain and betrayal hit, burning through every flimsy wall I’d thrown up in preparation.

“What?” My mouth makes the shape of the word, but I have no breath to force the sound out. I try again. “What do you mean? You told me there was nothing real between you. You told me you weren’t sleeping with her anymore. You told me that. You promised.”

My head screams at me to stand firm without pleading for him to change his mind. It tells me what I already know: He’s serious and not a thing I say will make a difference. It tells me I’ll regret begging as soon as he walks out the door. I know all that. But my heart . . . My heart pounds out a rhythm that won’t be denied, a pressure to fight for something that it somehow still believes is worthwhile. So I open my mouth and I beg as the tears I can’t hold back slide down my cheeks. “Please, Cole. Please don’t do this. I thought this was working between us. I thought you were feeling the same—”

He’s shaking his head before I even finish speaking. “Don’t, Delilah. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. This was always going to end, and you know that. We both knew it.”

My heart shatters into a thousand pieces. My head might have believed that, but my heart had succumbed to hope a long time ago. My heart, that is just as much of a liar as the man standing in front of me. Was this how my mom felt when my father walked away from her because she—we—didn’t fit his life?

That thought is enough. I swallow, dash the tears from my cheeks, and give a curt nod. “You can leave now.”

His shoulders tense, but he doesn’t move. He just stands there, staring at me with his hands clenched at his sides. I don’t care if this isn’t easy for him. I don’t care if he didn’t intend to hurt me. He’s choosing this—he’s choosing her—so he can damn well suffer the consequences.

I turn and walk to the door, more traitorous tears welling over. I let them fall this time. Tonight is the last night I’ll allow myself to cry over Cole King. I unlatch the door and hold it open. He still hasn’t moved.

“Delilah, I . . .” he says, his voice rasping.

“Get out, Cole. I don’t want you in my home anymore. I don’t want you in my life. You want us to be over? Then we’re over. So get the hell away from me.”

His eyes flash, but he jerks into motion. I look away as he approaches, my hand tightening on the door handle, waiting for the moment I can slam it behind him and break apart without him witnessing it.

But he doesn’t even give me that. He stops in front of me, and I close my eyes, not wanting to see whatever’s visible in his.

The heat of his palm pressing against the side of my face makes me flinch. My lips part as his thumb brushes my cheek, wiping away the tears I can’t seem to control. I jerk my head away from him, staring at him, shocked that he would touch me like that. As if he has any right. As if tenderness has any place here.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice hoarse. And then he’s gone.

I shut the door, locking it as if I actually think he’ll barge back in and tell me it’s all been a terrible mistake. Then I stumble to the living room, curl into a little ball on the couch, and sob.