Chapter 27 – Colt
When I wake up, the house is completely quiet.
The storm must’ve blown itself out of North Carolina sometime after Molly and I fell asleep.?
It’s still dark outside and my body instinctively knows it’s 4 a.m.—just like every other morning for the past five years when I’ve woken up on instinct. It’s too damn early to be awake, but trying to go back to sleep is pointless. I know it won’t work. The kind of rest I need these days doesn’t come easy.
Carefully, I untangle my arm from around Molly, pausing to take her in. Her dark hair spills across my bed in a wild mess, her long lashes cast soft shadows over her high cheekbones, and those lips—plump and slightly parted, cause me to still my breath so I don’t wake her. She looks peaceful, beautiful, like the girl I used to know. The one I’ve always wanted to shield from the ugliness of life, even when I was too young to understand why.
I know now, though. It’s because she makes me better—always has, and I intend on protecting what we’ve got fiercely.
Even if I feel like I don’t deserve it yet.
She’s been through hell with the men in her life, and I’ve watched from the sidelines as her trust has been shattered repeatedly. I’ve promised myself that I’ll be different. I won’t be one more name on the list of people who’ve let her down.
But last night…
Damn, last night.
I told her I wouldn’t fuck her, and I meant it. Not because I don’t want her—I do. Too much if I’m being honest. And sure, I can make her come in ways that don’t involve my cock, and maybe that’ll keep her satisfied for a while. But how long can I keep dancing around the truth?
I’m broken. A fucking mess of a man. And no amount of wanting her can fix what’s wrong inside of me.
It’s not her—hell, everything about her gets me hard. Her body, her face, her damn laugh. She’s perfect. ButI’mthe problem. Something inside me is fractured in a way I don’t know how to put back together. If I can’t let myself feel everything, if I can’t trust, then what the hell do I have to offer her?
Orgasms without emotional connection?
A protector and provider with the emotional control of a child?
She deserves more than that. I know she does. She deserves alife.
And that’s the part that terrifies me. Giving her more means risking it all—risking her seeing the ugly parts of me, chancing going soft at the worst possible moment because my head is fucked, and my heart is a minefield.
Call me a coward, but I’d rather keep her at arm’s length than ruin what we have. Because if I let her down while I’m fucking her, I don’t know if my pride will recover.
And losing her? That might just be the final blow.
I throw my legs over the edge of the bed, still wearing my sweatpants from last night, and make my way downstairs. Coffee doesn’t do much for me anymore. It hasn’t since I got out of prison. When you spend years waking up to the adrenaline of survival, that edge—the edge to survive—it’s sharper than caffeine could ever be.
I push open the backdoor of my dad’s house and step outside to breathe in the crisp April air. It’s still early, the kind of quiet you only get before the world wakes up. Dew clings to the grass, and the first light of the sun spreads across the horizon. Spiderwebs glisten like strands of glitter, stretched out across the lawns, catching the morning light.
It’s beautiful, this scene, I know it is. Freedom should feel like this—peaceful, clean, alive. New beginnings. But I don’t feel any of its beauty. The only time I feel anything is when I look at Molly. With her, there’s protection, desire, and something else that gnaws at me. Something that I know is love.
A shiver runs through me, but it’s not from the cold or from the realization that I’m in love with Molly. It’s that heavy, ominous sense—like a storm on the horizon, or something shifting in the universe just out of reach. I’ve learned to trust that feeling over the years. Ignoring it when I was younger almost cost me my life. Now, I know better.
Something isn’t right.
Sliding my phone from my pocket, I scroll to Liv’s number and hit call. She’s my therapist—but she gave me her personal number in case of emergencies. Told me I could call anytime, day or night, if I needed to talk or was in a crisis. And something about this morning feels like an emergency.
The line rings a couple of times before her groggy voice answers, “Colt?” Her tone is soft, grounded, the kind you don’t mind waking up to and despite me being hard on her for her age, I think she’ll make a fine therapist someday.
“Sorry for calling so early,” I say, staring out at the horizon.
“Don’t apologize. What’s going on?”
I take a deep breath, letting the cool air settle in my lungs but the words feel stuck at the back of my neck.
“Colt? You there?” she asks again, bringing me back to reality and the fact that it’s only four o’clock in the morning.
