Chapter 7
Cole
Three months ago, Rachel Morgan walked back into my life carrying a duffel bag and holding a five-year-old’s hand.
I was at Jake’s house fixing his kitchen sink when I heard the U-Haul pull up outside.
Went to the window and saw her climbing out of the driver’s seat, looking exhausted and determined in equal measure.
Her auburn hair was longer than I remembered.
Her face was thinner. But those green eyes were the same.
Sharp and bright even when she was clearly running on empty.
Jake rushed outside to help. I stayed at the window and watched her hug her brother like he was the only solid thing left in her world.
And I thought: someone hurt her.
I didn’t know the details yet. Didn’t know about Derek or the breakup or any of it. But I could see it in the way she held herself. Careful. Guarded. Like she’d learned the hard way not to trust easily.
I wanted to find whoever did this to her and make them regret it.
Stupid, I know. And totally the kind of thing that lands you in hot water when the woman’s your best friend’s kid sister.
But watching her now, sitting on this rooftop with tear-stained cheeks and walls crumbling, I can’t pretend I don’t feel it. Can’t pretend I haven’t been feeling it since the moment she came back to Millbrook Falls.
She matters.
And I’m in serious trouble because of it.
“You’re staring,” Rachel says quietly.
“Sorry.” I’m not sorry. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
“How you’re tougher than you give yourself credit for.” I shift slightly, keeping my arm around her shoulders. “You remind me of myself. After my dad died.”
She lifts her head from my shoulder. “Cole—”
“I was eighteen. Construction accident. One minute he was fine, next minute he was gone.” The words come easier than they used to. Time does that. Makes the sharp edges duller. “I thought I wouldn’t survive it. Thought the grief was going to swallow me whole.”
“How did you get through it?”
“Your family, mostly. Jake stayed with me for three days straight. Your parents brought food, helped with paperwork, and made sure I didn’t do anything stupid.” I look at her. “They saved me. Gave me a reason to keep going when I couldn’t find one on my own.”
Rachel’s quiet for a moment. “And now? You’re okay now?”
“Most days. Some days are harder than others. But yeah, I’m okay.” I squeeze her shoulder gently. “My point is, you will be too. This dark phase you’re in? It won’t last forever. You’ll come out the other side stronger.”
“You sound very confident about that.”
“I am. Because I’ve seen you with Tommy. I’ve seen how you handle stress. You’re a fighter, Rachel. Even when you don’t feel like one.”
She lets out a small laugh, a sad sound, but real. “I don’t feel like a fighter right now. I feel like a disaster.”
“You’re not a disaster.”
“I’m crying on a rooftop at eight o’clock on a Wednesday. That’s pretty close to disaster territory.”
“That’s called being human.” I hesitate, then add, “Besides, I saw the video that went viral. The one from the fire. Made me look like some superhero.”
She actually smiles at that. Slight smile, but it reaches her eyes. “You are a superhero.”
“I’m really not.”
“Okay, maybe not ‘super,’” she concedes. “But definitely a hero. You saved me tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Yeah. From sitting alone in the dark, feeling sorry for myself.” She looks up at me. “Again.”
The way she’s looking at me right now makes my chest tight.
She’s beautiful. I’ve always known that on some distant, objective level.
But up close like this, with the stars coming out above us and her face turned toward mine, it hits different.
The curve of her mouth. The way her eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks.
The small freckle near her left ear that I never noticed before.
I want to fix everything for her. Want to track down every person who’s ever hurt her and make them answer for it. Want to take away every problem and every fear until the only thing left is that smile.
It’s impossible. It’s not how life works.
But sitting here with her, I can almost believe in impossible things.
“Cole?” Her voice is soft.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For being here. For listening. For—” She stops, something shifting in her expression. “For making me feel like I’m not alone in this.”
“You’re not alone.”
She’s still looking at me. Still close enough that I can count the shades of green in her eyes. Her hand comes up to rest on my chest, right over my heart.
And then she kisses me.
Not hesitant. Not asking permission. Just her mouth on mine and her fingers curling into my shirt, and every thought in my head going completely silent.
She pulls away suddenly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
I don’t let her finish.
I pull her back in and kiss her harder this time, swallowing whatever apology she was about to make. My hand slides into her hair, and she makes this slight sound against my mouth that drives me crazy.
Rachel swings a leg over me, straddling my lap. Her flowy skirt, some thin gauzy thing, rides up, baring the smooth curve of her thighs.
The fabric catches the breeze, fluttering open like it’s teasing me, showing flashes of soft skin. My hands find her waist, her warmth seeping through the shirt, and I grip hard, feeling the heat of her under my calloused palms.
She grinds against me, slow at first, a deliberate roll of her hips that makes my breath catch. The pressure is intense, and I’m hard in seconds, straining against the denim.
Her eyes lock on mine, green and wild, and she does it again, harder, her lips parting as she feels me respond.
“You’re asking for it, Rachel,” I rasp, my voice low, almost a growl.
She leans in, kissing me fiercely, her tongue sliding against mine before she pulls back just enough to whisper, “Please give it to me. Please.”
The words are broken, desperate, caught between kisses that don’t stop, her lips brushing mine with every syllable.
My hand slides under her shirt, tracing the curve of her ribs, her skin warm and smooth under my calloused fingers. The fabric bunches easily, giving me access, and I trail my hand down, slipping beneath her skirt.
My fingers find the edge of her underwear, and I tease her through the thin fabric, feeling the heat, the dampness that tells me she’s as gone as I am. “Fuck,” I mutter, the word slipping out as my thumb brushes her, drawing a soft moan from her throat.
She’s so wet, so ready, and it’s all I can do to keep my head straight.
I fumble with my belt, the metal buckle clinking sharply in the quiet night, my hands shaking with need.
I yank the zipper down, freeing myself, the cool air a shock against my skin.
“Help me get it in, baby.”
Rachel’s hand moves fast, pushing her panties aside with one trembling finger, the fabric dark and clinging to her skin.
She wraps her hand around me, her touch firm, guiding me to her entrance. The feel of her fingers, the heat of her, nearly undoes me right there.
She lowers herself, slow at first, then all at once, and we both groan, the connection like a spark hitting gasoline. I’m buried in her, her warmth tight and overwhelming, and I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to come apart as her hips shift, adjusting to me.
She starts to move, riding me with a rhythm that’s all instinct, her thighs flexing against mine. Her flowy clothes sway with each roll of her hips, catching the breeze and baring flashes of her stomach and her waist.
My hands slide up, cupping her breasts through the thin fabric, feeling the weight of them, the way her nipples harden under my palms.
She gasps, arching into my touch, her head tilting back, auburn hair spilling over her shoulders like fire in the starlight. I press my lips to her collarbone, tasting salt and lavender, the faint pulse of her heartbeat under my mouth.
Our kisses are frantic, messy, all teeth and tongue, stealing air. Her lips are soft but fierce, like she’s pouring every ounce of her hurt and want into me.
A breeze sweeps across the rooftop, lifting her shirt higher, and my fingers graze a faint scar on her hip—a thin crescent, barely there, a mark of some fight she’s never shared. It hits me hard how much she’s carried, how strong she is, and I grip her tighter, like I can anchor her to this moment.
She rides me harder, her movements growing uneven, desperate. My hands stay on her breasts, thumbs circling, teasing through the fabric, and she moans my name.
The chair creaks under us, the stars blurring above, the distant hum of the town gone. It’s just her—her heat, her weight, the way she tightens around me. I’m barely holding on, every nerve on fire, and when she shudders, her breath hitching, I know she’s close.
I thrust up to meet her, matching her rhythm, and we hit the edge together, her gasp sharp against my lips as we shatter, clinging to each other.
She collapses against me, forehead pressed to mine, both of us panting, her pulse racing under my hands. The night air feels colder now, prickling my sweat-damp skin, but her warmth keeps me grounded.
Her hair brushes my cheek, carrying that faint lavender scent, and I can feel her trembling, or maybe that’s me.
I just crossed multiple different lines with my best friend’s sister.
And I can’t bring myself to regret a single one.
The question is: how many more am I going to cross before this ends?
Because it will end. Has to end. There’s no version of this where Jake finds out and doesn’t lose his mind. No version where this doesn’t complicate everything.