We stood in the cold saltwater, up to our ankles in foamy, freezing surf while seaweed in heliotrope-hued goosebump bubbles swirled around our feet, catching in our toes and caressing our heels.
We held hands. The soft rubbing of his thumb on my fingers, on the back of my hand. His hand, warm and strong and self-assured. The wind had forced his hair to whip into his eyes and he shook his head and turned to block the wind from my face.
Cole smiled softly.
I'm going to ruin you.
Instead of responding I turned to go back up the beach to our blanket. Only he wouldn't let me go.
I'm serious, Bridget. You shouldn't be with me. You used to be so happy.
I never answered anymore when he started to talk like this. He would get angry if I did and I learned a long time ago that the small moments of self-doubt that crept into his words were enough to help me remember that once, he loved me. Once, he wanted to be a better man. It was better to let him speak and let him get it out and then he would turn back into the Cole I knew now.
You should be with someone like Jake. Or maybe Ben.
He'd laugh.
And then he would be gone, just like that. And the Cole I didn't like would come back. And most of the time when that happened I would stand in the surf and wish the ocean would swallow me whole.
