21. Blaise

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? Really care 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.

“It’s okay,” she says, eyes downcast. “He can eat it lat⁠—”

“Stop making excuses for that boy!”

“Enough!” I bite out, fisting the fork in my hand. “That’s fucking enough!”

Dad’s eyes slowly skate in my direction, and I meet his glare dead-on. It’s not the first time we’ve clashed like this over Cole, and it sure as hell won’t be the last.

“Excuse me?” he asks, and I know I’m in trouble when he wipes his mouth with his napkin before tossing it onto the table.

“You heard me. Leave Cole alone. I’m sick and fucking tired of you treating him and your wife”—I tip my chin in her direction—“like shit.”

I swear his eye twitches when he glares at me, but unlike the woman at his side, I don’t fear him. Cole’s dad might have been physically abusive, but my dad won’t win a ‘husband-of-the-year award’ any time soon either. Scooting my chair back, I rise to my feet and turn to leave but hesitate. Smiling at Cole’s mom, I thank her for the meal, which I still haven’t touched because of my complicated emotions where her son is concerned, and then make my way upstairs.

I pause outside his door, wondering if this is a good idea. It’s not. None of this is a good idea. Why do I break myself open again and again on Cole’s blade? Glancing past his door to mine, I debate walking away, but I can’t get my feet to move no matter how tempting the thought is. I stay rooted in place with nothing but a thin piece of wood between me and the boy I can’t get out of my fucking head.

My own stepbrother. My very broken stepbrother. My father would flay me alive if he knew how deep my emotions run for another man—his wife’s son.

As my heart thuds, I push down on the handle, and the door creaks open with a soft click. I hold my breath as his navy walls and messy desk come into view. There’s no sign of him. His bed is empty. Standing in the doorway, I stare at the creased bedsheets. Where is he? Did he leave the house? No, I would have heard him.

I drop my gaze to the space underneath his bed, my heart squeezing tight. It’s the only place in the world where Cole feels safe when the nightmares and haunted memories crawl out from the shadows to torment him. Anyone else would think it’s weird that a twenty-year-old man hides under his bed, but I get it.

Crossing the threshold, I shut the door behind me. His smell surrounds me—citrus and leather, as always. I breathe it in. I’ve never known a scent to calm me like this, and it gives me the courage to step closer to his bed. “Cole?” I ask, swallowing. “It’s me…”

When there’s no response, I briefly close my eyes as I try to steady my shaky breaths. Why am I here? As the seconds turn into minutes, I come up with a million reasons why I should walk out and leave him alone. Fuck it.

Before I can change my mind, I lower myself down and then crawl beneath the bed to find Cole on his back, staring at the slats. He doesn’t acknowledge me as I lie beside him and try to go as unnoticeable as I can so that I don’t spook him. I’ve been scared before, sure, but nothing like this, not even close. My heart beats so hard that I struggle to hear his soft breaths. His woodsy scent surrounds me while I think of a thousand things to say, yet come up short.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

“I never slept with Jackson,” I admit in the ensuing silence.

Thud.

Thud.

“He tried, but…fuck…” I drag a hand down my face before lowering it back down dangerously close to Cole’s fingers. “I…” My throat constricts, and I turn my head to look at him. His eyes stay locked on the bed. “All I could think about was you,” I whisper. “I wished it was you.”

When he shows no sign of listening, I sigh and look up at the slats. I guess it’s a good thing he hasn’t told me to leave—at least he’s allowing me in his sacred space. That accounts for something, right? He could have told me to fuck off by now, but instead, he’s letting me see this vulnerable side of him.

I’m torn from my thoughts when his calloused fingers slide through mine. He clasps my hand in his, and my breath catches. It’s just something as innocent as hand holding, but my heart is clawing its way out of my chest. I can’t breathe. I don’t dare to move. Is this real life? Am I dreaming? Is he touching me?

“Cole?”

“Don’t talk,” he whispers, and I snap my lips shut.

Fuck me. Cole is holding my hand. My heart is too big for my chest. Every nerve ending in my body screams at me to pull him to me and kiss the living daylights out of him, to wrangle his demons and put a fucking end to his torment, but I don’t move a muscle as I home in on the feel of his hand in mine. I’ve kissed and fucked and lost myself in others, but none of those experiences hold a candle to the electric connection between me and Cole.

Is he feeling it too, or is it just me?

He has to feel it, right? I can’t be alone in this.

“I know you want me to stay silent, and I will…as soon as I get this off my chest.” I swallow hard. “I need you to know, Cole, that I will never let anyone hurt you again.” My head rolls on the hard floor, and I gaze at his side profile. “Your father will never come close to you or your mom again. I swear it.”

He doesn’t reply, but that’s fine. I don’t need him to. His hand in mine is enough for now. I’d live and die a thousand lifetimes to relive this moment, and if this is his only surrender, I’ll take it.

“I’ll protect you.”