Page 42 of Chasin' Cole

She smells like honeysuckle as it overtakes a rusted barbed wire fence in the middle of late August. Sweet and steady, wild and free. I cling tighter to her, needing her. Wanting her. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want her.

She's always been in the background. Kind of like a blurred-out face in my dreams. I kept chasing and chasing, trying to get a glimpse of who she might be. Now, she's as clear as day and I can't switch off the part of my heart that beats only for her.

I never imagined she'd be it for me. Rose Young. The same Rose Young who used to stand in the shadows, too timid and shy to venture beyond her safety zone. The same one who followed behind Brock and me until she was too afraid to go any further. She's nothing like that little girl anymore.

She's fearless and fierce. Still sweet as sugar, but there's a bite to her now that draws me in and captivates the hard parts of me. Makes the restlessness plaguing my chest bend to her spirit. I like adventures, but loving Rose is the best one I’ve ever been on.

There's a used condom in the wastebasket of my kitchen, a sobering reminder that I took something from her I’m not sure I should have or not. But I couldn't resist. Couldn't resist the pull she has on me. Her bright blue eyes. The way she makes my heart thump in an uneven pattern every time she smiles at me. The smell of her hair and skin. It’s all so intoxicating. I don’t think she even realizes what she does to me.

But I'm leaving, and I don’t know how to prove to her that I'm coming back for her. That no woman has ever been able to tame the parts of me always needing to roam free. The parts of me that were just waiting for her. I didn’t even know it. Didn’t know how I really felt until she kissed me at the creek. I hadn’t even given a second thought to her being anything other than Brock’s sister. How do I prove to her now that she means so much more than that?

My grandmother's ring.

It's simple, but stunning. Just like Rose. When my grandma gave it to me, I had no idea why she thought I'd ever need it. So, I shoved it in the back of a drawer and forgot all about it. Until now. But now I know I was always supposed to end up with it. Because it's always been meant for Rose. It just took me a little while to figure it out. Maybe Grandma knew all along I’d be needing it.

It's not like I didn’t try. I went on dates with other women. Spent minutes and hours I didn't want to invest on women who didn’t pique my interest. I kept doing it, though. I kept hoping someone might catch my eye. They never did. I never even asked most of them out on a second date. I knew within the first five minutes of almost every date that there was no future. That’s why I stopped looking. I started taking more jobs. The further away—the more obscure they were—the more likely I would take them. I dove headfirst into my career and forgot about that ring in the back of my drawer.

And now that Rose is in my bed—now that I own a part of her and she owns even more of me—I don't know how I'm supposed to leave.

The ring.

It's a promise, a prayer, a plan. Once this documentary is filmed, I'm coming back here to start a life with her. Just a year.

Just one year.

Rose shifts against me, still deep in sleep. I move a strand of her long blond hair off her face and take a mental picture.This. This is what's going to keep me going on lonely nights in the middle of nowhere. In the middle of the desert.Her. I memorize the sound of her heart beating against her chest, the soft intake of breath as she sleeps. I want to remember everything. I want to be able to recall every delicate feature of her face. I study it. The soft curve of her lips, the high tip of her nose, the feel of her skin on mine.

Will she break when I leave her? Will she stand strong? Will she get through it without too many tears or sleepless nights? I worry about her. I worry too much. I don't want her to waste a year of her life missing me. That's why I want to propose to her. Let her spend the next 365 days dreaming about the future we're going to have just as soon as I get back to her. I want her tears to be happy ones. I know she might not accept it, but I want to offer her everything I have. My whole heart. And I think the ring will show her just how serious I am about coming home to her.

I hear a sharp knock on the door. I carefully extract myself from the bed and leave Rose sleeping as I pad softly over to the door.

When I gaze through the peephole, I'm not surprised to find Mary Ellen standing, irritated, on the other side.

Quietly, I open the door and step into the hallway. Rose dealt with enough yesterday. She doesn't need to deal with more today. I’ll take care of this.

"Morning, Mrs. Young," I greet her.

"Don't be so formal," she rolls her eyes. They're the same color as Rose’s, except they're weary and tired. They aren't full of fire like her daughter’s. Maybe life snuffed hers out a long time ago when she was making all kinds of heartbreaking decisions.

"Is Rose here?"

I cross my arms over my chest. "Yes." Mary Ellen moves to step around me, but I block the door. "She's sleeping. I’ll let her know you stopped by.”

Mary Ellen smirks. "Oh, I'm sure she is sleepin’ in there. She lied to me, Cole. When I called Brock this mornin', he said Rose never even stopped by yesterday."

"She had a rough morning yesterday," I respond. "She ran into Rowdy and his new family. It didn't go well."

Mary Ellen's features soften for a moment. "Is she OK? Did they say somethin’ to her?"

"Kenzie ran her mouth as usual. Rose cried, but she's doing better now."

"I know we've all made mistakes—"

"Have any of you ever thought to apologize to her?" I interrupt. “Or consider things from her perspective?”

Mary Ellen looks taken aback. "What?"

"She's been suffering for two years over everyone's choices, and no one's ever apologized for ruining her life," I clarify. “Is that what you’ve come here to do today? Apologize?”

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