The look in Cole’s eyes and the tremble in his hands when he lowers the phone scares me more than his silence. He’s not looking at me, and I worry that I have lost him for good this time.
What if he won’t talk to me? I’ve really screwed up.
Swallowing thickly, I wait for him to say something. Anything. My cheek stings, and bruises and mud cover every inch of me. In other words, I look like I have been through a war. Cole swallows hard and slides his fingers into his hair, and my battered heart aches. What do I say?I’m sorry I kept your dad’s phone calls from you? I didn’t want to see you hurt like you are now? I tried to protect you?Tears cling to his lashes as he begins to rock on the bed, fisting his hair so damn hard it’s bound to hurt.
“Are you okay?” I ask, then wince. Of course, he’s not. Nothing about this situation is okay. His father is out to hurt him and his family. Cole still carries the scars from years of abuse, and sure, he hides them well. But every now and then, the mask cracks and I get to see the real Cole.
I take a step toward him. “Cole?”
Hours ago, I was tied up, helpless, and turned on beyond belief by Cole’s rough treatment, but now that side of him feels like a distant memory.
When he still doesn’t reply, I crouch down in front of him, my heart thudding in the silence. I can’t believe that, for once, I wish he would shout at me and throw me out of his room. I’m familiar with Cole’s anger and cruel words, but this broken side of him feels as foreign as the lump in my throat or the urge to hold him. The last time I tried to reach him, he pulled away, and I was left feeling confused and hurt.
When did I become so…soft?The truth is that I don’t know if I’m ready to suffer rejection so soon after our encounter in the forest. I want to hold him, but I’m…scared.
His dark eyes meet mine, swimming with tears that I know won’t fall. Not yet, anyway.
“I should have told you about the phone calls,” I blurt before I can stop myself, and he continues staring. “I understand that you’re angry. Fuck, I would be, too, but please…just…” I reach out to take his hand but pull away and fist mine instead to stop myself from crossing boundaries that will see me crash and burn. “Say something…please.”
Lowering his hands from his hair, he stares at his palms and cracked knuckles as though they belong to someone else. “Why?” he asks, his voice barely audible. “My dad… The phone calls.”
“I wanted to protect you.”
“Protect me,” he replies, tasting the foreign words, with that blank look in his eyes. “Why?”
“Why what?” I ask, confused.
He’s still not looking at me, transfixed by his cracked knuckles. He mumbles something I don’t catch.
I can’t hear him, so I lean in closer to catch his eyes. “Talk to me, Cole.”
He stares at me for the longest time before he asks, “Why would you want to protect me?”
Is it that hard for him to believe someone could care for him?Reallycare for him? Searching his eyes, I muster up my courage to reach out and take his hand, interlacing our fingers. “I care about you, Cole.”
Those dark eyes swim with emotions I wish I could decipher. He flicks his eyes to our fingers, and a crease forms between his brows as I trail my thumb over the top of his hand. I wish I could stay like this forever. Even this small connection with my stepbrother hurts in the best way possible, like the kiss of a blade at my throat.Cut me open, Cole.But then he says, “It makes no sense.”
My thumb pauses, and he pulls his hand from mine before rising to his feet and walking past me to the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind me, and I stay crouching by his bed while listening to the shower turn on. Does he really think he’s that unworthy of something good?
And what the hell is happening to me? I don’t recognize myself. It wasn’t that long ago I did everything to get underneath my stepbrother’s skin—to be the villain in his fairytale.
When did I acquire a white horse and a beating heart?
Fuck me.Rising to my feet, I glance at the bathroom door, and my throat goes dry at the thought of him wet and naked. Fisting my hands at my sides, I fight my emotions. I want to break down the door and hurt him to get at what’s hiding beneath his shell. Force him to take my biting kisses and rough touches. Instead, I unclench my hands and admit defeat. Cole needs space.
Distracted,I stab a pasta shell on my plate, but it falls off. I try again, the fork crashing against the porcelain. Cole hasn’t come down for dinner, and the silence at the table is stifling. My dad is silently stewing, and Rachel tries her damn hardest to take up as little room as possible when he gets into one of these moods. While he has never hurt her physically, like her ex-husband, he’s a moody fucker, who’ll take a jab at Cole’s personality any chance he gets. I’m sick of it. I’m also sick of his mom trying to placate my father when he gets like this. Someone needs to stand up for Cole.
My dad gives me a questioning look over the rim of his wine glass. “What’s wrong?”
Another piece of pasta falls off, and I toss the fork down. Fuck this. I’m restless and unable to stop replaying the moment when Cole pulled his hand from mine. How my heart sank like a rock. “Nothing is wrong.”
He chews while watching me. Beside him, Cole’s mom offers me a gentle smile, but it falls when Dad mutters, “Did Cole do something to you again? I swear that boy shows no respect in this household.”
“Gavin,” Cole’s mom tries in a quiet voice, “I’m sure there’s an expl?—”
My father slams his hand down on the table, causing the wine glasses to rattle. “Stop making excuses for him.” He nudges his chin to Cole’s plate of food next to me. “You spent hours cooking this meal, and he refuses to come downstairs.”
My lip curls as I stab another piece of pasta with enough aggression to cause loud clangs.
