39. Cole

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Continuously, the beeping fills my ears like a haunting melody. It’s constant—the reminder that I’m not dead. Unless I am, and I’m stuck listening to this fucking sound for the rest of my dead life.

Or when people said you see the bright light, they lied, and you actually hear the incessant beeping right before you take your last breath.

Unless I am dead already and this is Hell, because the high-pitched noise is getting annoying the more awake I am. The bright light nearly blinds me as I open one of my eyes. Wincing, I close them again and try to lift my hand to my face, but it’s then I become aware of someone holding my hand.

“He’s waking up,” I hear a voice. A soft voice I know belongs to Allie.

“Go get the nurse,” my mom says to my left. It’s her that’s holding my hand. Her thumb is stroking the top of it, squeezing every few minutes while I fight to stay awake.

Is she okay? Did Dad let her take me to a hospital? Is he standing in the corner of the room, gun drawn, waiting for me to get treated so he can take us away? Did my mom scream for help?

I flinch as I try to move. Everywhere hurts – my side and back, my head, my chest. It’s like I was hit by a⁠—

My eyes open. The last thing I remember is a car ramming into us.

The beeping intensifies, and a hand rests on my chest. “You’re okay, Cole,” my mom says, trying to soothe me. “Please relax. Please. You’re still very fragile.”

“The nurse is coming,” Allie says, and I turn my head to look at her. She has no makeup on, her eyes red, and she’s wearing sweats and a hoodie I’m certain belong to Jackson.

She hugs herself. “Hi,” she says, her voice low, like an echo. “How do you feel?”

I grit my teeth and turn to my mom. “What happened?” I ask, my voice all croaky and dry. It takes me everything to try to swallow, like I’m gulping down nails against sandpaper.

“Blaise found us,” she says, and my heart thuds even harder, the machines alerting us that my heart rate is picking up. “He told me to take you to hospital.”

“Dad?”

She chews on her lip. “He’s dead. Blaise put up a good fight against him.”

“Bl—” I stop, my eyes instantly stinging. My face snaps to Allie, then back to my mom. “What…?”

My mind is about to explode, because I’m not following. I think the drugs pumping into me are making me lightheaded, or it’s my erratic breathing.

I look down at my arms, their voices falling in and out of focus, even as the nurse comes in and checks me over. She tells me I was lucky to be brought in when I was. The bullet was removed, and it’s been two days since surgery. I have fluids and antibiotics pumping through my body to fight the infection, stickers on my chest from them trying to trace my heart, and my side is bandaged.

My temperature is still high, but not dangerous, and the wound still has some pus, but not as bad as it was when I was brought in.

I was lucky, she keeps saying.

Over and over and over again. Lucky. Lucky. Lucky.

Where’s Blaise?

Blaise was there. He found us. So he must’ve received the message I sent. Did he call the cops and make sure he had help? Dad is trained in combat, and in how to use a firearm. Blaise, as much as he’s a hard-ass, would be nothing on my dad.

I hold my breath when a shot of pain runs up my side. The nurse tells me my throat will still be scratchy from the breathing tube. I still needed it for a few hours after surgery because I was declining, but they put me on their strongest antibiotics.

“Calm down, Cole,” Allie says, and I want to tell her to fuck off. She has no reason to be here. But then my mom leans over me and cups my cheek, her bruised face filled with worry. “Breathe, sweetheart. We’re safe now. Blaise saved us.”

Blaise.

Why aren’t you here?

There’s not a chance in hell I’ve lost him.

My heart drops at the thought, stopping altogether. I look around the room, and I don’t see any of his things. His bag, his phone charger, his keys. Blaise wouldn’t leave my side if he was here. And he wouldn’t be sitting around and allowing Allie to be here. He’d tell her to get the fuck out.

My breaths are shaky as my eyes land on my mom again. “Is Blaise… Is he…?” I gulp painfully, not wanting to hear the words that will shatter my world forever.

“He was brought in shortly after you. Blaise was in a bad way. If the emergency services got there even a few minutes later…” Her words trail off. “His ribs were broken, and one of them punctured his lung. He was shot in the arm too. And he has quite a lot of internal bruising, but he’s okay. They worked quickly on him.”

I sit up, or try to, and wince at the pain in my side. Sweat layers my skin, and I feel sick, but I don’t care. I need to find him.

“No. You need to stay in bed and heal, Cole.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s on this ward. Please, just rest. We’ll take you to him soon.”

Allie sits down beside the bed and tries to take my hand. I pull it away before she can. “Why the fuck are you here?”

“I was worried about you. It was all over the news. I came straight here and found your mom.”

“I’m fine.” I groan as I try to sit up once more. “You can leave now.”

Tears brim her eyes. “Don’t push me away.”

I stare at her, blinking. “I don’t want you here. You have no reason to be here.”

Standing, she hesitates. “I’m sorry. About everything. Jackson will leave you both alone, I promise. Will you ever forgive me for how I was in our relationship?”

“I’ll forgive you if you leave. I’m fine.” I sigh at the sadness in her expression. “Thank you for checking on me.”

She nods, smiling at my mom. “I’m glad you’re both okay. Thanks for always being there for me.”

“Of course, dear.”

Allie gives me one last look before she leaves. The door shuts behind her, and my head turns to the side to look at Mom. “Why’d you let her in here?”

“She was screaming down at the reception looking for you. I thought it would be better for everyone to let her in. She was a big part of your life for years, Cole.”

“Was,” I repeat, pointing out the important word in that sentence. “And she cheated on me constantly and treated me like shit. I wasn’t ever happy with her.”

Her eyes round, but she softens them. “You never told me that.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

She flattens her lips when I try to sit up again. “Where are you going?”

“Blaise is on the ward. I’m not just fucking lying here.”

“You’re hurt.”

“And so is he!” I raise my voice, then hate myself. “Please take me to him, Mom. You heard what my dad said. You know what he means to me.”

Mom freezes, her bottom lip curling as she tries to stop herself from crying, but fails as I push up fully, ignoring the burning sting on my side. I tug out the needles from my arms, and when I get to my feet, I feel like I’ve been hit by a fucking truck.

Mom rushes to my side, but I shrug her off and force one foot in front of the other. I need to get to him. I need to know he’s okay.

Fuck. It hurts, and there’s warm liquid trickling down my arms from pulling the needles out, but I keep my eyes in front of me as I step out into the corridor, my mom right behind me as she yells for a nurse.

I stop in my tracks as I see someone limping down the corridor, throwing his arm off someone trying to grab him. My vision is still blurry, but I know who it is. I limp probably worse than him from how tender my body is. As my arm presses to my side, I hold my breath and rush to him, gritting through the pain as I hear a nurse telling me to get back to my room.

Closer, Blaise comes toward me, trying to speed up. His dad is trailing behind, his eyes sunken in like he hasn’t slept a wink while his son fights him off once more.

“Cole,” he breathes as he reaches me, and we collapse against one another in a warm, painful embrace. His arm, the one not in a sling, wraps around me as my arms hold him to me.

I’m finally home. I know I’m not dead. And neither is Blaise, because my heart hammers against his, beating as one.

Everything aches. I’m sure I can feel my stitches pulling, but I don’t care. Because I have Blaise in my arms and we’re okay. His body shakes against mine, and my own does the same as he buries his face into my neck.

My hand slides up into his hair, sticky with blood and mud, and I fist at his strands and pull him to me more. My eyes open, staring at my stepdad. He’s frozen in place, unable to move or say a word.

I have his son in my arms, tears in my fucking eyes, and if he thinks for a second that he’ll take him from me, he’ll be the one in a hospital gown next.

Because Blaise is mine, and I’m his.