9. Cole
COLE
With a pizza box in one hand, I knock with the other and wait. Feels weird to be knocking on my own damn door, but I can’t be letting myself in while Clara and the kids are staying here. This is their place right now, and they deserve to feel at home, safe.
The door opens and I’m met with Tom peering up at me, his brow furrowing a touch, like he wasn’t expecting me. But then his gaze dips to the pizza box and his eyes nearly bug right out of his head, the tip of his tongue poking out to lick his lips.
“Hey, buddy.”
“Hi.” He pulls open the door, letting me in.
I hesitate. “Where’s your mama?”
“She’s getting ready for work.”
I poke my head in enough to see Billie perched on the sofa, dressed in a pair of pink frilly pajamas with some blue dog printed on them, her eyes fixed on the television as it plays some show featuring the very same dog.
“Clara?” I call out, not wanting to step inside without her permission.
“Hey!” She calls back from somewhere, the bathroom I presume. “I’ll be out in a sec.”
“Is it okay if I come in?”
“It’s your house,” she responds, a touch of sass etched in her tone that makes my lips twitch.
As I step over the threshold, Billie notices my presence, or she smells the pizza, her eyes lighting up as they trail me slowly, eventually landing on the box.
“Mom said you’re staying here with us tonight?” Tom says, following me through to the kitchen.
I place the box onto the counter and turn to him, wiping my hands on the back of my jeans. “Yeah, just until she gets home from work.” I fold my arms across my chest. “That okay with you?”
He nods, and I bite back my smile at how casual and nonchalant he’s trying to be.
“You like PlayStation?”
Tom snaps his head up, his interest clearly piqued.
I turn, nodding for him to follow me back into the living room. I crouch down at the cabinet the TV sits on, careful not to get in the way of Billie’s viewing, and I pull open one of the doors to show him the console that sits inside.
“You have a PS5?” Tom sucks in a gasp, gaping at it like it’s the holy grail.
“Yeah.” I chuckle. “Bought it last year when I busted my knee and was holed up right there on that couch for six weeks.”
“Woah,” he breathes out.
“You can play it whenever you want to,” I say, quickly adding, “I mean, of course, if it’s okay with your mom.”
He gawks up at me, not blinking. “Th-thanks.”
“Can I play?” Billie asks, and I don’t know why but I can’t help but think she has absolutely no idea what it is.
I sniff a laugh. “Might be a little old for you, but maybe Tommy can find a game on there that you can play.”
She grins, bouncing up and down on the sofa.
“Oh, h-hey.”
I turn right as Clara walks through the doorway from the kitchen, and I don’t miss the way my eyes trail down of their own accord, taking her in.
Thankfully she ain’t dressed in that sorry ass excuse for a uniform Bruce the seventy-year-old fuckin’ pervert makes his waitresses wear; but the leggings and tank top that hugs her curves is almost as distracting.
Her honey-blonde hair is pulled into a bouncy ponytail on top of her head, and her naturally pretty face is covered in makeup that takes away from her beauty instead of adding to it, but she’s still fine as hell.
A thick swallow works its way down my throat and I blink hard, shaking my head. Chrissake, Dawson, get your shit together. Clearing my throat, I scrub a hand over my chin, averting my eyes. “Hey.”
Clara’s blue gaze flits from me to Tom and Billie, smiling between the two of them.
“Are you guys going to… behave… for… Cole?” Her voice wavers a touch, uncertainty evident in her tone. And it’s only then that I realize she’s nervous as hell, and shit, she has every right to be.
She doesn’t even know me, and yet I’m offering to stay here with her kids. Now that I think about it, that’s probably a little sketchy. What the fuck am I doing?
“Yes, Mommy,” Billie chirps, snapping my attention back to the now.
“Cole has a PS5,” Tom says, jumping up from the couch and closing in on his mama. “He… He said I can play it whenever I want.” He’s nervous, hands twisting together. “If it’s okay with you,” he adds, hopefully.
Clara smiles, reaching a hand out and ruffling his hair. “For a little bit, okay.”
Tom fist pumps the air, turning and grinning at me before scurrying back to join his sister.
“Are you… sure about this?” Clara asks me, her voice dropping to a whisper.
I nod, tucking my hands into my pockets. “Yeah. You need to work,” I begin, shrugging a casual shoulder, “and I’ve got a rusted old’88 F250 sittin’ in the barn I’ve been neglecting.”
Clara’s eyebrows bunch together. “I have no idea what that means, but… okay.”
“It’s a truck,” I explain, not sure why, she don’t need to know.
She nods but I can tell she doesn’t really care.
“Okay. Well, if you need anything or there’s any problems”—she points in the direction of Tom and Billie—“don’t call the club because Bruce won’t relay the message to me.
” She huffs, rolling her eyes, understandably still upset about last night.
“Send me a text, and I’ll make sure to check the phone as much as I can. ”
“Sure.” I follow her as she places her things into her purse.
“Billie’s had a shower. She just needs to brush her teeth before bed.” Clara loops the long string of her purse over her head. “Her bedtime is around eight. Tom will take himself to bed when he feels like it, but no later than ten.”
“Okay.” I nod, trailing her to the door, trying and failing not to look at the generous swell of her ass in those leggings.
Clara pauses, glancing from me to the kids and back again, lips twisted in contemplation like she’s trying to think of some other thing to tell me.
“Just go,” I urge her with a wry smirk. “We’ll be fine.”
She looks at the kids one last time. “Bye guys.”
They both turn and wave.
“Be good for Cole, okay?”
“We will,” they chorus, turning back to the TV.
Hesitating once more, Clara eyes me cautiously, her eyebrows tugging together. “How old are you?”
I balk, unsure where that came from. “Uh, I’ll be twenty-seven in a couple months. Why?”
Lips pursed, she looks me up and down like she’s not completely satisfied by my answer. Can’t say I blame her. I can barely look after my damn self, most of the time.
“I’m trusting you with my whole world.”
I hold three fingers in the air. “And I promise I will guard ’em with my life.”
She quirks a brow. “Why do I find it very hard to believe you were ever a boy scout?”
“Because I wasn’t,” I admit easily, my grin knowing. “But I’ve got a bunch of guns locked away in the safe, and a pistol under the seat in my truck. Ain’t nobody safer than they are when they’re here. That’s a goddamn matter of fact.”
Her eyes widen and her mouth falls open.
“We’ll be fine, I promise,” I continue with a low chuckle before she can say anything, reaching around her and opening the door. “Go. ’Cause if Bruce fires you again, I doubt even I’ll be able to save your ass.”
Merle Haggard crackles through the old radio hanging from the popped hood of the truck while I’m bent over, tinkering with the engine like I know what I’m doing. For the record, I don’t, but the damn thing don’t go anyway, so I might as well try.
“Cole?”
At the unexpected sound of my name coming from behind me, I jump, snapping up so fast, the back of my head collides with the sturdy Ford steel, nearly knocking me out cold.
“Ah, fuuu…” I trail off, not finishing that profanity when I see Tommy standing in the open door, cowering a little.
Rubbing the back of my head and wincing at the feel of the instant lump, I try to contain my own tears, managing a smile through my grimace. “What’s up, bud?”
Tommy’s hands nervously twist together as he looks up at me warily, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m… I’m sorry.”
I pause, my eyebrows tugging together when I realize exactly what’s happening. He thinks I’m mad at him, thinks I blame him for making me hit my head on the damn truck. I drop my hand and deal with the pain, folding my arms across my chest.
“It’s okay, buddy. Not your fault. I’m totally fine.” I cock my head to the side, looking him up and down. “You okay?”
“Uh, yeah.” He takes a tentative step inside, big eyes scanning the barn. “I can’t sleep.”
I watch him as he takes everything in, from the old tractor covered in cobwebs that sits in the far corner, and the way he runs his finger through the dust that’s settled on the rusted old tool chest by the wall, silently curious, almost meticulous in his assessment. I bite back a smile.
Over the last couple of hours spent with Clara’s kids, I think I have them figured out.
Billie is the cutie-pie who, at five, has successfully figured out how to wrap a full-size adult around her little finger.
Tom, on the other hand, is the quiet, reserved type, the one who watches from the outside, figuring out all he can before deciding whether or not to make his move.
At ten, I can tell Tom has scars that he’s learned to hide from outside eyes, and that thought makes my blood fuckin’ boil.
“Wanna help?”
Tom turns, gaze flitting from me to my truck and back again, shrugging a shoulder. “I-I don’t know how.”
I look around, pulling an old milk crate over from the junk piled off to the side. “Stand on this,” I say. “You can hold the light for me.”
Shrugging again, Tom walks over, ever cautious as he steps up onto the crate.
I pluck the torch from where it’s been magnetized to the hood and effectively useless considering my head keeps blocking out the damn light, and I hand it to him instead. “Hold that up for me.”
“Like this?” Tom holds the torch over the engine, and I lean over, checking I don’t cast a shadow.
“Perfect.” I nod, grabbing the wrench and wedging my hand under the timing chain to adjust the bolts.