Page 96 of Cohen's Control

“Always,” he says, capturing my foot with his hand. He draws his thighs together, trapping me there, and we finish breakfast while I massage him.

I haven’t worn a swimsuit for a long time. It’s true, I’m naked at work a lot of the time. Or scantily clad at the very least. But still, something about tight, stringy nylon is so uncomfortable. I pull the fabric from my ass crack for the umpteenth time, but it slides right back in.

Cohen hands me a towel, and we stop before the big, rusted metal door.

He asked me to come to the pool with him, and while I realized there was some significance there, I don’t think it hit me until now.

What happened to Addie… Cohen told me he swam here every single morning for the last four years, until he met me. I don’t know why I didn’t string together the logic.

He punished himself here, and now he’s bringing me.

I reach for his hands, and weave our fingers together. “Thank you for bringing me.”

A rush of air leaves his chest, like he’s relieved I’ve realized some significance, like putting words to the occasion may break him. And I hate that no matter what we build together, he will always bear that pain. “I know what this place was to you, and it means a lot that you’d let me in.”

It’s just a gym, a pool in a shitty old gym in the city. But it’s also so much more. The place where he tortured himself, relieved the pain, rewrote history, making it all his fault. He pulls open the door and a wall of hot, chlorinated air hits us, stifling my lungs for a moment.

The door closes behind us, and when I step to Cohen’s side, I realize the place is empty. And kinda creepy, the way the encased fluorescent light flickers from the roof.

“I came here everyday,” he says, but I don’t think he’s really speaking to me as much as he is just surveying the past landscape of his life. “I thought… It brought me closer. I thought it… I don’t know, I thought it was what I needed to do.”

I clutch his hand, my voice quiet but the words important, the question critical. “Did you ever want to hurt yourself? Did you come here to do that?”

His shoulders rise and drop in one fell swoop. “I don’t know. I mean, I did want to hurt. But I don’t know if I wanted to die. Maybe, I don’t know.”

He looks down, his eyes suddenly reassuring and soft. “I’m not healed and I’m not all good, but I’m much better off than I have ever been before. And I don’t want you to worry.”

We walk toward the pool’s edge and Cohen drapes our towels over a faded brown beach lounger.

Outstretching a hand to me, I step into the pool, watching the surface gently ripple from my presence. He joins me, and we stand in front of one another, the room temperature water and the scent of chlorine stinging my senses.

He stares at his palm floating on the surface as he skates it across. Eyes on the water, he says, “I didn’t want to die. I just didn’t know how to keep living.”

I nod my head because… I understand that. “I get that.”

Another swipe across the surface, and he says, “I wanted to come here to see if it still has power over me,” he says, stepping closer, water squishing between our bodies as he hugs me. His muscles are slippery but his hold is comfortable and tight.

“What?” I ask. “The pool?”

His chin grates my head as he shakes his no. “The past.”

I swallow, relishing the way his heart thuds against me. “And does it?”

We peel apart and he gives me serious intensity in his gaze. “No. Not at all.”

“Good,” I reply as the metal door swings open and a dad and son saunter in. They both lift their hands and Cohen returns the gesture.

“C’mon, let’s go home.” He wraps a towel around me after helping me out of the pool, and kisses our linked hands the entire drive. And when we’re back he turns to face me. “I… I really want to come inside you right now.”

I smile. “You can.” I’m so glad we talked about this.

But he faces the windshield, staring at the overgrown shrub spilling over the cement barrier. He drags a hand down his chin as unease wiggles through me. “What’s the matter?” I ask, hoping the pool didn’t trigger some trauma, hoping that he doesn't think we’re moving too fast because I’m on board with this pace.

“Before we do that, I want to call Valerie.”

My brain loops around the name a few times before I realize he’s talking about his ex wife. Lifting his gaze to meet me, he adds, “And I want you to be there.”

I nod and take his hand back, weaving our palms together. “Of course.”

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