Page 41 of Flashback for the Forward

Lifting one shoulder, Cole said, “Probably. Unless it bothers you. In which case, I’ll stop.”

“What bothers me is that you come home hurting after a game, and passing out on the hardwood floor is wreaking even more hell on your body.”

“Will it make you feel safer if you know I’m out there?” I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off. “And don’t say what you think I want to hear. Tell me the truth.”

My shoulders slumped as I admitted, “Yeah, it will.”

“Then that’s where I’ll be.”

I sighed. “Cole, it’s too much.”

“Truth is, it doesn’t feel like nearly enough. I wish I could do more, but I know the heavy lifting in healing is mostly up to you. So for now, I’ll be waiting on the sidelines, ready and willing to jump in whenever, however, you need me. All you have to do is say the word, and I’m there.”

God, could this man be any more perfect, maintaining a supportive presence while giving me the space to figure out this next part on my own?

Most days, it felt like I was walking on a tightrope, paralyzed with fear, knowing that one wrong move would send me careening into the dark abyss below. But maybe I would be brave enough to take a few baby steps if Cole was there to catch me if I fell.

“Whatever you’re making smells delicious,” Cole remarked as he entered the kitchen.

“Sit down at the table,” I instructed over my shoulder. “Dinner’s almost done.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave a mock salute, a twinkle in his bright blue eyes as he dropped onto one of the wooden chairs, taking care to place the cloth napkin over his lap.

Moving hot food from the pans on the stovetop to ceramic dishes, I carried our meal to where Cole sat waiting, setting his portion down in front of him before taking a seat myself.

Growing up, my mom was adamant that her kitchen wasn’t a restaurant where everyone could order individual entrées. So during hockey season, all four of us found ourselves on an athlete’s diet rich in protein and complex carbs.

My mental recipe book was overflowing with meals that were perfect for supporting Cole’s nutritional needs, and tonight’s offering was a burrito bowl featuring brown rice, black beans, grilled chicken, and lots of veggies.

“Mmm.” He rubbed a hand over his stomach after taking the first bite. A “so good” came out muffled around a mouthful of food.

I speared a piece of chicken with my fork. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I don’t just like it. I’m already—” Cole’s words cut off abruptly when he lifted his head, and he eyed my bowl with a frown. “Is that all you’re eating?”

“Not all of us have a job where we burn thousands of calories a day,” I joked, playing off the fact that I’d measured out a quarter cup of rice and added only four ounces of chicken.

“While that may be true, birds eat more than you’ve got there.”

“Yet birds are light enough to fly.”

Those words came out muttered under my breath, but apparently not quietly enough that Cole didn’t hear them.

“Bridget, I need to know if you’re having negative thoughts about your body because you’re unhappy with how you look and feel or because he put them into your head.”

Shame curled through my insides, my eyes firmly fixed on the table.

Honestly, I couldn’t separate how I felt about my weight from how disgusted Aiden was by it. Not after years of psychological abuse where he called me fat to my face and made remarks about how much I ate. On top of that, there were the times when he grabbed my belly rolls to emphasize how much extra padding I carried around my waist and examined my skin for new stretch marks. It was beyond humiliating, and I became hyperaware of every change as I grew heavier still. My clothing being too tight—the discomfort of that—served as a constant reminder I was the furthest thing from a healthy size.

“Can you please look at me?” The request was uttered so softly that I was compelled to obey.

Lifting my gaze, I expected to find what I always saw in Aiden’s eyes when the conversation focused on the fact that I was plus-sized—judgment and disdain. But instead, all I found reflected in Cole’s blue eyes was compassion and kindness, and it struck me that he didn’t view me as “less than” simply because I was larger than what society deemed acceptable.

When he spoke again, it only drove the point home that he was nothing like Aiden.

“To me, you’ve always been perfect. And you always will be.”

My lungs seized, and try as I might, I couldn’t breathe, let alone say anything in reply.