Chapter 24
Cole
Four weeks later
Rachel and Tommy have been living with us for four weeks, and Jake has been in Alaska for four. The house feels different. Fuller. Louder. Better.
I’m making breakfast when Tommy runs into the kitchen wearing Spider-Man pajamas.
“Cole! Can you make the pancakes shaped like dinosaurs?”
“I can try. No promises they’ll actually look like dinosaurs.”
“That’s okay. Uncle Theo’s dinosaurs look like blobs anyway.”
“I heard that!” Theo calls from upstairs.
Tommy giggles and climbs onto his designated chair at the kitchen table. We’ve fallen into routines faster than I expected. Tommy sits in the same spot every morning. Rachel drinks her coffee from the blue mug. Marco reads the news on his tablet. Theo makes jokes that only Tommy finds funny.
It works.
Rachel appears in the doorway with her hair pulled up in a messy bun, and she looks exhausted despite sleeping eight hours.
“Morning,” she says, heading straight for the coffee pot.
“Morning. Pancakes, okay?”
“Pancakes are great.” She pours coffee and leans against the counter. “You guys don’t have to keep cooking for us every morning.”
“We like cooking.”
“You like making sure Tommy and I are fed. There’s a difference.”
She’s not wrong. The three of us have been in an unspoken competition over who can take better care of them.
“Consider it payment for the pleasure of your company,” I say, flipping a pancake that looks nothing like a dinosaur.
“That looks like a blob,” Tommy observes.
“It’s an abstract dinosaur.”
Rachel smiles into her coffee.
Theo bounds down the stairs shirtless, hair still wet from his shower. He grabs a towel from the laundry room and starts drying his hair right there in the kitchen.
Rachel’s eyes flick to his chest, then away quickly. Her cheeks flush slightly.
It’s not the first time. Three days ago, she walked in on Marco doing pull-ups in the garage, shirtless and sweating.
Last week, I was fixing the sink without a shirt because I didn’t want to get it wet.
She’s seen all of us at various stages of undress, and every time, she gets that same look—flustered, trying not to stare, failing.
It’s adorable.
“Theo, shirt,” I say.
“I’m getting one.” He disappears back upstairs.
Rachel takes a long drink of her coffee, deliberately not making eye contact with me.
Marco walks in fully dressed, already in work mode. “Morning. Rachel, I need you to stay home today if possible. I’m following up on some leads, and I’d feel better if you’re here.”
“What kind of leads?”
“Ryan Williams. Dorothy’s grandson. His financials don’t add up.” Marco pours himself coffee. “I’ll know more this afternoon.”
Rachel nods. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere anyway. Tommy’s home sick from school.”
“I’m not sick!” Tommy protests. “I just have a little cough.”
“A little cough that kept you up half the night.” She ruffles his hair. “You’re staying home, and that’s final.”
“But Mrs. Cott is reading the next chapter of the wizard book today!”
“I’ll read it to you. After you rest.”
Tommy grumbles but accepts defeat. He knows better than to argue with his mother when she uses that tone.
The morning passes in comfortable chaos. Theo leaves for his shift. Marco heads to the county office. I’m on a day off, so I stay home with Rachel and Tommy.
Around noon, Rachel makes lunch: grilled cheese and tomato soup. Simple, but she makes it feel special somehow. Like she’s contributing even though she doesn’t need to.
“You don’t have to cook,” I tell her. “That’s our job.”
“I need to do something. I can’t just sit around being waited on.” She plates the sandwiches. “Besides, you guys have done so much. The least I can do is feed you.”
“We’re not keeping score.”
“I know. But I am.” She sets a plate in front of me.
After lunch, Tommy crashes on the couch. His “little cough” has worn him out. Rachel covers him with a blanket and sits beside him, one hand on his forehead, checking for fever.
“He’s fine,” I assure her. “Just tired.”
“I know. But I still worry.” She doesn’t move her hand. “I always worry.”
“That’s what good mothers do.”
“Sometimes I wonder if worrying is enough. If I’m doing enough.” Her voice drops. “Too many fires, Cole. My son keeps getting pulled into this because of me.”
“Not because of you. Because of whoever’s setting them.”
“Same result.”
***
Rachel puts Tommy to bed at eight. I hear her reading to him through the wall—the wizard book he missed at school. Her voice is soft, soothing, and I find myself listening even though I can’t make out the words.
Theo comes home from his shift around nine. Marco shows up an hour later, looking frustrated.
“Ryan Williams has gambling debts totaling over fifty thousand dollars,” he says, dropping his files on the kitchen table. “And his grandmother is worth close to two hundred thousand between her house, savings, and life insurance.”
“So, he’s got motive,” Theo says.
“He’s got motive. But I can’t prove he set the fires. Not yet.” Marco rubs his face. “I need more time.”
“Take the time you need,” I tell him. “Just catch him before he tries again.”
We all know there will be a “next time.” These things don’t just stop.
Rachel appears in the doorway. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”
“Night,” we chorus.
She heads upstairs, and the three of us sit in silence for a moment.
“She’s not sleeping well,” Theo observes.
“Nightmares,” I confirm. “I hear her most nights. She tries to be quiet but fails at it.”
“Someone should talk to her about it,” Marco says.
“Someone should.” I stand up. “But not tonight. She’s exhausted.”
I head upstairs to my room, but I don’t fall asleep. I keep listening for sounds from Rachel’s room across the hall.
Around two a.m., I hear it. Small gasp and then silence. Then another gasp, louder this time.
Nightmare.
I’m out of bed and across the hall before I consciously decide to move.
Her door’s slightly open. I knock softly. “Rachel?”
I hear a whimper. Then her voice was thick with fear. “Cole?”
“Yeah. Can I come in?”
“Please.”
I push the door open. She’s sitting up in bed, covers tangled around her legs, face pale in the moonlight streaming through the window.
“Nightmare?” I ask.
She nods, not trusting her voice.
I sit on the edge of her bed. “Want to talk about it?”
“Fire.” Her hands shake. “I’m trapped. Can’t breathe. Smoke everywhere. And Tommy—I can’t find Tommy. I’m calling for him, but he’s not answering, and the smoke’s so thick, and I know he’s in there somewhere, but I can’t—”
Her breath hitches. Panic attack starting.
“Hey. Look at me.” I take her hands. “Tommy’s fine. He’s across the hall. Safe. Sleeping.”
“I know. I know he’s fine. But in the dream—”
“Dreams lie. Reality is Tommy’s safe. You’re safe. No fires. No smoke.” I squeeze her hands. “Just you and me in this room. That’s all.”
She focuses on my face. On my voice. Her breathing slows slightly.
“I have them every night,” she whispers. “Every single night. I’m so tired, Cole. I’m so tired of being scared.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to feel it anymore. Just for tonight… make it stop.”
Her plea cracks something open in me. I lean in, slow enough that she can pull away. She doesn’t. Her lips crash into mine—hungry, desperate, like she’s trying to crawl inside my skin and hide there.
I kiss her back, hard, cupping her jaw, swallowing every frightened sound.
My hands move on instinct under the hem of her oversized t-shirt, palms sliding up warm, bare skin until I find her breasts.
Heavy, perfect. I squeeze, thumbs brushing over her nipples, and she arches with a broken moan that goes straight to my cock.
“Cole—”
“Shh.” I drag the shirt higher, mouth dropping to one nipple, sucking hard while my fingers roll the other. She’s already writhing, thighs pressing together. I slide one hand lower, over the soft curve of her stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of her sleep shorts.
No panties. Fuck.
She’s soaked. My fingers glide through her folds, circling her clit. Her hips buck, chasing more.
“You’re, you’re wet,” I growl against her breast.
She lets out a small giggle. “It’s all you,” she whispers, voice trembling.
I push two fingers inside her—tight, scorching heat—and she clenches so hard I groan. “So, fucking tight, baby.”
“You’re so big,” she gasps, head falling back. “You take up all the space I have.”
I curl my fingers, while my thumb keeps working her clit, relentless circles, until her thighs start to quiver and her breath comes in sharp little sobs.
I pull my hand free, ignoring her whine, and yank her shorts down her legs. She’s bare, glistening in the moonlight. I hook her knees over my shoulders, spreading her wide, and sink between her thighs.
One long lick and she’s already clawing the sheets.
I don’t tease. I devour, tongue spearing inside her, then flattening over her clit, sucking hard. My fingers plunge back in, three this time, stretching her open while I fuck her with my mouth. The headboard taps the wall in a soft, steady rhythm. Her moans get louder, breathless, and wrecked.
“Cole—gonna—”
“Come,” I growl against her clit. “Let me take away all that pent-up energy.”
She shatters with her hips bucking, pussy clamping down on my fingers, a rush of wetness coating my tongue. I keep going, licking her through it until she’s sobbing my name.
I rise, shove my boxers down, and fist my cock. Her eyes go wide.
“Still open door,” I remind her, voice gravel.
She bites her lip, nods, and pulls me down.
I hook her legs higher—ankles by my ears—and drive into her in one slow, brutal thrust. She’s so tight I have to stop halfway to breathe. Her walls flutter around me, trying to adjust.
“Fuck,” I hiss. “You feel that? Every inch of me stretching this tiny pussy?”
“Yes—God, yes—”
I pull back and slam home. Again. Again. The bed creaks louder, headboard knocking the wall in a rhythm that’s definitely carrying down the hall. Her nails rake my back, legs trembling over my shoulders.
“Harder,” she begs.
I give it to her the deep, punishing strokes that hit her G-spot every time, my hips grind against her clit on the downstroke.
She comes again harder, squirting around my cock, soaking the sheets. The sight of it rips my own release out of me. I bury myself deep, groaning her name as I pulse inside her, filling her up until it leaks out around us.
We stay locked together, breathing hard. Her legs slide down my arms, trembling.
We hear heavy footsteps in the hallway. Theo or Marco. Doesn’t matter.
I don’t move. Don’t cover us. Just press my forehead to hers and whisper, “Told you’re safe with me.”
She smiles and kisses me softly and slowly.
The footsteps pause outside the door, then keep walking.