The doorbell rings, cutting through the afternoon quiet.
I wipe my hands on a dish towel and cross to the front door, recognizing the familiar silhouette through the glass—broad shoulders and confident stance that makes my stomach tighten before I even open the door.
Cole stands on the porch holding a paper bag, and that easy smile spreads across his face the moment he sees me, warming something inside me that shouldn't respond to him this way.
"Delivery for the invalid," he jokes, lifting the bag with mock formality. "Vitamins, supplements, everything the physical therapist recommended."
I manage a weak laugh. "You didn't have to bring them yourself."
"And miss the chance to check on my favorite patient?" He winks, and the gesture sends an inappropriate thrill through me. "Besides, I was in the neighborhood."
"You're never in the neighborhood. You live twenty minutes away."
"Fine, you caught me. I made a special trip." He shrugs without shame. "Sue me for caring."
I step aside to let him in, hyperaware of how he has to turn slightly to fit through the doorway, how his presence immediately fills the entryway with that dangerous energy I can't ignore.
The good news is—Ryan walks on his own now, no wheelchair gathering dust in the corner. His body is healing faster than anyone expected, the doctors impressed by his progress. Cole's dedication has paid off.
Ryan can walk again, but bodies heal easier than souls, and the distance between us grows wider with each passing day.
"Where is he?" Cole asks, glancing around the quiet house.
"Bedroom. Resting."
"Resting or hiding?"
I don't answer because we both know the truth.
"I'll check on him in a bit." He holds up the bag again. "Kitchen?"
I nod and lead him through the living room, hyperaware of him walking behind me.
In the kitchen, I take the bag from his hands, our fingers brushing in the exchange and sending electricity up my arm. I turn away quickly, setting it on the counter and starting to unpack, my hands moving on autopilot.
"Grace? You okay?"
"Yeah." My voice comes out too tight, too thin, obviously lying. "Just tired."
"You're always tired lately."
"There's a lot going on."
"I know." He pauses, and I can feel him watching me with those perceptive blue eyes. "That's why I'm asking."
I grip the edge of the sink hard enough to turn my knuckles white, staring at the window above.
And then I break.
The tears come without warning, silent at first as wetness spills down my cheeks, then my shoulders start shaking with the effort of holding back sobs.
Weeks of rejection and cold sheets and turned backs, weeks of loving a man who can't stand to look at me, weeks of wanting what I can't have—it all comes crashing down at once.
I press a hand over my mouth, trying to muffle the sound, trying to hold myself together for just a few more seconds, but it doesn't work.
"Grace?" Cole's voice behind me is soft and concerned. "Hey, what's wrong?"
I can't turn around, can't let him see me like this. "I'm fine," I choke out between sobs. "Just give me a minute."
"You're not fine." His footsteps move closer, and I can feel the heat of him behind me. "Talk to me. What's wrong?"
I shake my head violently, wiping my face with trembling hands, trying to find words.
"I just—" My voice cracks and breaks. "I feel unwanted."
Silence stretches behind me as he listens, waiting for me to continue.
"I keep trying with Ryan." The words spill out before I can stop them, like water through a broken dam. "Every day, I try to help him, to support him, to be there for him in whatever way he needs."
"I know you do."
"But the harder I try, the more he pulls away." I grip the sink tighter. "He won't talk to me about anything real, won't touch me even accidentally, won't even look at me most days."
"Grace..."
"It's like I'm making it worse just by existing." A sob escapes despite my efforts. "Like my presence reminds him of everything he lost, everything he thinks he can't give me anymore, everything that's broken between us."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?" I finally turn around to face him with tears streaming down my cheeks. "He flinches when I touch him, Cole. Flinches. Like I'm some sort of…."
Cole's expression shifts to something soft and almost pained, like watching me cry physically hurts him.
"He's struggling," he says quietly. "What happened... it broke something fundamental in him."
"I know that. Don't you think I know that?" I wipe my cheeks futilely as more tears fall. "But I'm his wife. I'm supposed to be able to help, to make things better, to be enough. And instead, I'm just... useless."
"You're not useless."
"Then why does it feel like I am?"
"You're not making anything worse," he finally says with quiet conviction. "Ryan's lucky to have you. Luckier than he knows or deserves right now."
"He doesn't feel lucky."
"You're the best thing in his life, Grace." Cole takes a step closer, close enough that I can smell him. "Even if he can't see it right now."
I want to believe him desperately, want to accept this comfort he's offering.
"You're not unwanted," he repeats, softer this time with an undertone I can't identify. "Not even close. Any man would kill to have a woman like you."
Our eyes meet and hold, and the moment stretches like taffy, sweet and dangerous. Time slows to nothing as his gaze drops to my mouth for just a fraction of a second, so quick I almost miss it.
But I don't miss it.
My breath catches in my throat as my heart hammers against my ribs with sudden violence. He's close enough to touch, close enough that if I leaned forward just slightly, close enough that one small movement would change everything.
Then—footsteps in the hallway.
I spin around quickly, my heart leaping into my throat as the footsteps stop, pause for a long moment, then retreat. A door closes somewhere deeper in the house with a soft click.
Ryan.
Ryan was in the hallway, heard everything.
My stomach plummets to the floor as blood drains from my face.
"Grace..." Cole starts, his voice uncertain.
"He heard us." My voice comes out as barely a whisper. "He heard what I said, heard you—"
"He heard you say you feel unwanted," Cole says carefully, but his voice lacks conviction. "That's all. Not a big deal."
"That's not all." I press my hands to my face in growing panic. "The way we were standing, the way we were looking at each other. If he saw..."
"He didn't see anything. There was nothing to see."
But we both know that's not entirely true. There was something—a moment, a spark, a magnetic pull between us that shouldn't exist between a married woman and her husband's best friend.
"I should go check on him," I finally manage, though my legs feel weak.
"Yeah." Cole runs a hand through his hair in obvious agitation. "I should probably head out. Tell Ryan I'll see him tomorrow for PT."
He leaves without looking back, and I stand alone in my kitchen with my heart still racing, wondering if I've just ruined everything.