Chapter Twenty
SOFT SPOTS & SHARP EDGES
Cole
The marker squeaks as I drag it across the board.
COMPLETE. COMPLETE.
Then again—bolder, harder—as I skip ahead.
First kiss. COMPLETE.
“Jeez, man, leave some ink for the rest of us.” Trey laughs, watching me like I’m the headliner in a comedy show.
Brennan whistles low, grinning like he just won a bet. “That’s what—three levels in a week?”
“Four,” I mutter.
The room erupts.
Trey jumps up, fake clapping like we’re at the Oscars. “Four levels! Four levels! Someone get this guy a medal!”
“Or a cold shower,” Brennan adds, tossing a towel at me.
I drop the marker on the desk and step back, but I’m not smiling. Not even close.
Because all I can think about is her face this morning. That stiff smile. That “I’m fine” lie she keeps trying to sell me.
And it pisses me off.
Not at her. Never at her.
But at everything—and everyone—that made her believe she has to carry shit alone. That made her think love is a trap, not a safe place. That got her so used to holding people at arm’s length she doesn’t even realize she’s bleeding out inside.
I want to fix it, make it all better, but I know sometimes life doesn’t work that way. Sometimes there are no easy fixes.
Trey’s still laughing, but it fades when he sees my face. “Uh... Cole? You good?”
Brennan eyes me too. “Yeah, why aren’t you celebrating? You’re the MVP of this bracket, man.”
I shrug, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and twisting the cap off like it’s done something wrong.
“This isn’t a game for me. You know that, right?”
Silence.
Trey frowns. “I mean, it started as one.”
“Not for me,” I say again, sharper now. “Not when it’s her.”
Brennan exchanges a glance with Trey, then steps closer, lowering his voice. “Alright, look. Maybe slow down, yeah? She’s cool, but... she’s got walls, man. Thick ones.”
“I know that,” I snap.
“Do you?” he presses. “I’m just saying—you don’t have to get dragged into it if it’s too messy.”
I look at him, dead in the eye. “She’s not messy.”
“Fine,” Brennan backs off, holding his hands up. “But don’t say we didn’t warn you.”
Trey tries to lighten it, tossing me a grin. “Or you could just win level five and retire a legend.”
But I’m not listening.
Because yeah, I could walk away. I could chalk it up to bad timing, a girl who’s not ready, whatever.
But the idea of leaving her behind?
It guts me.
I don’t want easy.
I want her.
And just as I’m about to open my mouth—say something, anything—the station alarm blares to life.
“Any available units, report to Camp Brown trailhead—missing hiker located, severe lower leg injury with extraction required.”
Adrenaline kicks in.
“Let’s go,” I bark, already moving.
Trey and Brennan are right behind me, the weight of our conversation shoved aside for now.
Because someone out there needs saving.
And right now, that’s all I can think about.
The drive to the trailhead is quick, but my head’s still back at the station—replaying everything.
Andi. Her walls. Her stupid “I’m fine” when she’s clearly anything but.
By the time we pull in, I’m coiled tight, ready for action—or a fight.
“Looks like Search and Rescue’s already here,” Brennan says, nodding toward the group of people gathered near the trail entrance.
Great.
We jump out, grab the stretcher and medical gear. One of the rangers waves us over.
“About a mile in,” he says. “Big guy. Slipped, landed hard, looks like a broken tibia. We need help carrying him out.”
“No problem,” I mutter, adjusting the straps on my gear.
Then I see him.
Jack.
Great. The guy was an asshole last time we worked a job together. And I’m not in the mood.
He’s standing at the edge of the clearing, talking to another rescue worker like he owns the place.
He turns when he hears us coming, eyes locking on mine.
“Cole.” He nods.
“Jack,” I say, tight.
Trey and Brennan exchange a look, already bracing.
We follow the group into the woods, and every step feels heavier than it should.
When we reach the hiker, it’s as bad as they said. The guy’s huge, wincing in pain, leg at an angle it shouldn’t be. We get to work fast—splinting, stabilizing, prepping for the carry-out.
But Jack? He’s too close. Too in my way.
And I’m in no mood for his bullshit.
“You good there?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know I’m one spark away from lighting up.
“Fine,” I snap.
Trey’s eyes flick up. “Cole.”
I ignore him.
Jack moves to help lift, and I shift just enough to block him. “I got it.”
He sighs. “This isn’t about you, man. We’re here for him.”
“No shit,” I bite back. “But maybe don’t act like you’re everyone’s savior.”
Jack straightens, eyes hard. “You got a problem, say it.”
“Maybe I do.”
“Cole,” Brennan warns.
But I’m not done.
“You wanna check in on people, fine. You wanna play hero, go ahead. But don’t think I don’t see through it.”
Jack steps closer. “You don’t know shit about me.”
“I know enough.”
The hiker groans, shifting, and the ranger snaps, “Hey! Focus. We’ve got a carry-out to finish.”
Trey cuts between us, pushing me back. “Not the time, not the place.”
Brennan grabs Jack’s arm. “You two settle your beef later. Right now, we’ve got work to do.”
Silence.
Heavy.
I exhale hard, backing off. “Let’s move.”
We lift, together, because we have to.
But every muscle in my body’s still tight.
And as we haul the guy down the trail, I can feel Jack’s stare on me.
Whatever. Despite what Andi might think of me, it’s not like I have to be friends with everyone.