Chapter 35
“Y ou can’t seriously say you don’t see the resemblance. Logan looks like season two Jax Teller and Henry Cavill had a baby,” I shout, pointing at the frozen TV screen as Cole shakes his head at my antics.
"Okay, fine. When you put it like that, I see it. Just a little bit. Now get your ass back over here so we can keep watching. I want to know what happens," he grumbles and tosses a handful of popcorn at me.
Rocky huffs from his bed, clearly displeased with the commotion. After giving him an affectionate pat on the head, I rejoin Cole on the sofa and hit play. Hours slip by in the blink of an eye, and Cole’s reactions to the show keep me cracking up. I’m doubled over in laughter at his latest sarcastic remark when Rocky’s frantic barking and growling shatter our peace.
With a hiss, Teddy leaps from the sofa and bolts out of the room before my brain even registers what’s happening. Cole shouts and vaults over the sofa, yelling for me to run, but I’m frozen in place.
It feels like watching a car accident—you know you should look away or do something, but you’re paralyzed. My eyes lock on Cole as he faces off with a masked man lurking in the hallway. Fear claws at my throat, but I force myself to stumble to my feet, edging towards the sliding doors. If I can escape, maybe we have a chance. Peter’s house is next door, and as far as I know, he’s home. If I can just get there, surely, he can raise the alarm.
“Step aside, and no harm will come to you,” a dark voice commands, sending a shiver down my spine. Horror sinks in as I recognise the voice—its Scottish lilt unmistakable.
It couldn’t be... could it?
“Fuck off. Take one step closer, and I’ll shoot you,” Cole growls, shifting to block me while freeing his gun from his waistband. He backs us towards the door, his movements calculated and protective.
The tension is so thick it feels suffocating. My pulse pounds in my ears, so loud I’m convinced it echoes through the room. Indecision grips me. Do I grab my phone and call for help? Will the masked man shoot me if I move? Who would I even call? Do I run and leave Cole behind? But if I run, will he shoot Cole instead?
Before I can decide, the masked man lunges at Cole with a shout. The glint of a knife catches my eye, and I scream to warn Cole. He curses and braces himself, yelling at me. "Abigail! Get the fuck out of here now!"
Tears blur my vision as I whirl around and crash through the glass doors, sprinting towards safety. But I’m not fast enough.
Cole’s enraged shout echoes behind me a split second before searing pain erupts in my side, and the sound of gunfire rings in my ears. Gasping, I clutch my side and push forward, terrified to look back and see Cole under attack. But I’m equally petrified that by the time I get help, it will be too late.
Ignoring the fiery pain and the wetness coating my hand, I press harder against the wound and clench my teeth. Each step feels heavier, the dizziness threatening to bring me to my knees, but I force myself to keep moving.
When I reach the first house, I nearly collapse against the door, screaming and pounding with all the strength I have left. A soldier I vaguely recognise from the Halloween party opens the door, his eyes wide with alarm.
“There’s an attacker! Please, we have to save Cole! He’s got a gun!” My voice cracks on the last word, and the soldier curses before letting out a sharp whistle to alert the others inside. Within seconds, five soldiers charge towards the house, and I follow them, clutching my side.
My gut tells me we’re already too late. The soldiers try to hold me back at the door, but I refuse. Letting out a guttural scream, I bite the arm of the man restraining me. He curses and lets go, and I stumble into the living room.
“Cole!” I whimper his name as I crawl closer to him, ignoring the pool of blood spreading beneath his body. He lies exactly where I left him, unmoving. No rise or fall of his chest. No sign of life.
He can’t be dead. He’s too young. He hasn’t lived enough.
Frantically, I search for the source of the bleeding, tears blurring my vision. Swiping them away only smears blood across my face. “Cole!” I scream, shaking him, trying chest compressions, begging him to wake up. Nothing works.
“He’s gone,” one of the soldiers says sharply, his tone devoid of sympathy. He grabs my shoulders, trying to pull me away.
Biting the hand trying to pry me away from Cole fills me with a twisted sense of satisfaction. As the soldier curses and recoils, I turn my full attention back to the only person in the room who matters. Slumping over Cole’s body, I surrender to the wave of grief threatening to consume me entirely.
I sob into his chest, mourning the pain and heartbreak this will bring. For his brothers, who—fuck—won’t handle this well. But mostly, I weep for the life he’ll never get to live, the dreams he’ll never get to chase, and the moments he’ll never experience. A life so full of potential, now forever gone.