Coda Books 04 - Strawberries for Dessert (MM)

tight until he fell asleep, his cheek still damp upon my chest. Long after his breathing had slowed, I lay awake, my chest aching with a sense of foreboding. I told myself it was nothing. I told myself it would be fine.
    It was nearly five by the time I fell asleep. When I woke up two hours later, he was gone.

    MY FIRST thought was only that he had gone to the store. He almost always made breakfast. I was probably out of eggs or bacon. Or maybe he had decided not to cook today, and he would be back soon with bagels and lattes. I went for a jog, expecting to find him in the kitchen when I got home. But he still wasn’t there. I wondered about it, but I wasn’t worried. Not yet. It wasn’t until I was in the shower that I thought about what had happened in the night. How still he had been.
    His tears on my lips. His quiet whisper.
    “Just one more time, love.”
    And I knew then, in an instant, that something was wrong.
    The trepidation I had felt as he lay sleeping in my arms grew into absolute dread. I called his house, but he didn’t answer. I called his cell phone, and it went to voice mail. I dressed as quickly as I could and drove to his house.
    His eyes, when he answered the door were sad and a little bit red.
    He turned quickly away. “Would you like some wine?” he asked with forced casualness. As if this was okay. As if the ground was not shaking beneath my feet.
    “It’s not even nine o’clock yet.”
    “I know what time it is, love. I’ll mix it with orange juice if it makes you feel better about it.”
    “I’ve been trying to call.” He was silent, staring resolutely away from me. That seed of dread in my chest was blooming into full-blown panic now. “Is something wrong?” I asked.
    “No,” he said, although his voice was strange. Strained. A little too quiet. Nothing followed except tense silence, and he still wasn’t looking at me.
    “I don’t know what’s happening here, Cole, but you’re scaring the hell out of me. Please tell me what’s going on.”
    It took him a second to answer. One second, and a deep shaking breath, and then: “It’s quite simple, darling. I’m leaving.”
    That panic I was feeling exploded then, cutting off my air, squeezing my chest, threatening to choke me. My heart was pounding, and I had to grab on to the back of the couch, just to keep the world from spinning away while I stood there in numb shock. “You’re leaving me?” I finally managed to ask.
    “I’m leaving Phoenix.”
    Breathe.
    I made myself breathe. Made myself count to five. Made myself think.
    Leaving Phoenix did not necessarily mean leaving me. It didn’t have to mean that we were over.
    “How long will you be gone?” I made myself ask.
    “I don’t know yet, darling.”
    “Where will you go?”
    “To the Hamptons for now. Maybe Paris later.”
    In a flash—only a heartbeat—my panic was gone, replaced by something much worse. Something ugly. “To Raul? Is that where you’re going?”
    “No,” he whispered, and I could hear the tears in his voice.
    “Am I not good enough for you?” I snapped, and I saw how hard it hit him. I saw his shoulders start to shake under the weight of my indignation.
    “That’s not it,” he whispered, and my momentary anger melted away. I was left with nothing but pain and confusion and the unwavering conviction that I could not lose him.
    I closed my eyes. I fought back the tears that were burning behind them. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. How could this be happening? If it was hurting him as much as it was hurting me, and I was pretty sure that it was, then why?
    “Cole?” I said, opening my eyes, and he finally turned to me. His cheeks were wet, and I could see in his eyes that I was not wrong. He was so close to falling apart. “Cole,” I said again, pleading this time,
    “talk to me.”
    “I have to go,” he said, his voice breaking on the words.
    I crossed over to him. I took his face in my hands and tried to look into his eyes, but he closed them tight against me. I kissed the tears from his cheeks. “Then go,” I said. “But tell me you’re coming home to me eventually. Please tell me this isn’t over.”
    “It has to end,” he said.
    “Why?”
    He took a deep, shaking breath, and when he opened his eyes again, they were swimming with tears. “Jonathan,” he said. It was his real voice—not the lilting cadence he normally used, but the quiet one underneath it. It wasn’t any lower than normal. It