Page 23 of L.O.V.E

I woke to an empty bed again. In an empty house, the brick Georgian Colonial I’d bought for my bride-to-be in the Madrona neighborhood.

A note on the kitchen counter read:Hangover cure in the fridge. See you tonight. XOXO, Vic.

I wadded the scrap paper, made for the garbage, then sucked in a breath, flattened the crumpled note, and stuck it in the drawer where every note from Victoria landed.

She called it a junk drawer.

I called it sentimental safekeeping.

Whatever.

Fuck the hangover cure. I dressed and went for a run, heavy metal blasting through my earbuds, the angry gray sky blanketing our neighborhood in a damp winter chill.

Breakfast. Shower. Shave.

I briefly considered checking on Martin, but then I’d have to hear about Natalie. Didn’t want that siren on my mind because, fuck, she was like a tiny gnat with a mighty roar buzzing around my head, and that woman was not welcome in my head.

I dialed Ellis, hoping he’d be up for a spar. “Hey. Heard you had a great night. Sorry we couldn’t make it.”

“No worries. What’re your plans today?”

“Heading to Bainbridge, hanging with my parents for the day. Wanna join us?”

“Nah. Got work to do. Thanks, bud. Have fun.”

“See you Monday?”

“Yep.”

I ended the call.

My phone rang. Victoria. Tension eased, and I settled into my couch. “Morning, beautiful.”

“How are you feeling?”

I huffed. “Like shit. You should be in bed with me. Where’d you go?”

“I reminded you last night, don’t you remember? Lauren’s cousin, Cora, owns that bridal shop in Portland. I told you about her a couple weeks ago. Anyway, she said she’d open her store just for us today. Catered lunch. Drinks. We’re making a day of it.”

I rubbed the ache in my temples. “It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow. You’ll be home tonight?”

We’d yet to decorate, both too busy.

“Not sure. If we have too much to drink, we’ll crash at Cora’s, head home in the morning.”

“Yeah. Okay.” I looked around my empty living room, the home I’d bought for my fiancée. The home she’d decorated to impress the friends who rarely visited. The white paint. Velvet couch. Art by some artist whose name I couldn’t pronounce hanging on the walls. Not much in the way of personality. Nothing inviting. Or maybe my hangover was worse than I thought. Maybe I was tired of living alone in the home built for a family.

“And Cole?” Her voice softened, a silky seduction.

“Yeah?”

“Mom and Dad just called. I’m gonna head to Hawaii with them next week. Spend some quality time before I get too busy with the wedding.”

Too busy? I refrained from laughing. We rarely spent time together as it was.

I waited for an invitation that didn’t come, then said, “I’ll see if Martin’s available to pilot the plane.”

“He is. I asked him last night.”

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