16. Cole
COLE
By the time I’ve managed to wrangle everyone off my property, I’m left glaring down at Taylor and her boyfriend, Carter Stahl, as they sit sheepishly on the porch steps while Clara carries a trash bag full of god knows what out of the house.
Honestly, I can’t help but feel partly responsible.
When Clara told me she’d hired Taylor Carmody to babysit, I should’ve put my foot down.
The Carmody’s are nothing but trouble in Summer.
I’d hoped Taylor, the youngest of the bunch, might’ve had her head on straight since it was recently announced she’d gotten a full scholarship to some fancy fuckin’ Ivy League college in the fall. I blame Carter, kid’s a fuckin’ menace.
“What the fuck?” I throw my hands up, looking to either of them for an explanation.
Carter turns to glance at Clara. “Make sure you don’t throw out the JD,” he says, with all the fuckin’ audacity and I swear to god, my palm itches to smack a son of a bitch.
Clara looks down at the bottles she’s got clasped under her arm, her brows knitting together and, sure enough, there’s a three-quarter full bottle of Jack Daniels in the bunch.
“This one?” she asks, holding it up before I can grab it and tip the shit out.
He nods. “Yeah.”
Shocking not only Carter, but me too, Clara unscrews the cap and holds the bottle in the air, tipping it upside down, Carter gasping as the whiskey soaks the earth.
When the bottle’s finally empty, she tosses it onto the grass, looking at the kid like she’s darin’ him to argue.
And I can’t stop the grin from splitting my face, because fuck, that was hot.
Biting back my shit-eating smirk, I clear my throat, spearing Carter with a warning look.
“Get your fuckin’ ass off my property before I call Deputy Mendes,” I order, making a show of pulling my phone from my pocket.
Carter jumps up, hands held in the air in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’m goin’,” he mutters, stumbling a little on his feet as he traipses off down the driveway.
After a few long beats, I turn to Taylor. “What the hell, Taylor?”
She at least has the decency to look remorseful, hugging herself tight.
“Clara hired you to look after her kids,” I continue. “Chrissake, Billie’s five years old.”
“I know,” Taylor says with a sob I can’t tell is genuine or not.
“I-I’m so sorry. When Carter asked if he could come here, I-I thought it would just be him.
We were gonna watch a movie after the kids went to bed.
” She shakes her head. “And I know that’s still wrong, and I shouldn’t have said yes, but he’s my boyfriend and I—”
“I don’t need to know the fuckin’ details,” I interject with a grimace, holding a hand up to stop her. “How the hell did it turn into a goddamn house party?” I kick at the wayward red solo cup by my feet for emphasis.
“Because Carter’s a lyin’ sack o’ shit,” Taylor answers without missing a beat and, honestly, I can’t help but scoff a laugh because at least we agree on something.
With tears of regret brimming in her eyes Taylor turns to Clara.
“I’m so sorry, Clara. I know you trusted me, and I…
I messed up. I want you to know that I was constantly checkin’ on Billie and Tommy, makin’ sure they were okay.
I—” She looks down, sniffling. “There’s nothin’ more to say, but I’m sorry. ”
I glance sideways at Clara and not only does she not look pissed, she looks like she’s about to give the damn girl a hug. Honestly, I ain’t surprised. Woman’s got a damn heart of gold.
“It’s okay, Taylor,” Clara says on a resigned sigh, her shoulders sagging.
I roll my eyes, shaking my head because thank fuck I’m here to play bad cop. “You’re not gettin’ paid,” I tell Taylor as if that much ain’t fuckin’ obvious. “And, tomorrow, you and that sorry-ass sack o’ shit of yours can come on over here and take away the trash.”
Taylor nods quickly. “We will. I p-promise.”
“Alright, then. Go on, get,” I mutter, turning away from her.
When Taylor’s gone, and the sound of her car fades off into the distance, I heave a sigh, removing my hat and tearing a hand through my hair. When I turn, I find Clara standing with her back to me as she looks out at the trash littered across the yard.
“Fuckin’ kids,” I mutter, only half-serious because it wasn’t that long ago that I was one of them. I can’t even count the number of times I went to a party at someone’s house when their folks were out of town. Just kids being jerk-ass kids.
Clara sniffles and the sound makes the hairs on the back of my neck prick.
“Clara?” I say softly, stepping closer. “You okay?”
Turning to face me, she keeps her gaze cast downwards, but I can see the shimmer of tears glistening her cheeks. I can’t stop myself as I close the distance between us, gripping her shoulders. “Look at me.”
With another sniffle, she does look at me, and I see a torment in her eyes I wasn’t expecting, one that hits me in the center of my chest. “Come on, now, it’s just kids,” I say with a wry smirk. “Billie and Tommy are okay. The mess can be cleaned up. It ain’t worth cryin’ over.”
She shakes her head, looking down again. “No, I know. It’s… not—”
As if my hand has a mind of its own, I tuck my forefinger beneath her chin, tipping her face up and forcing those pretty eyes to mine. “Why you cryin’?”
She sniffs again, swallowing hard.
“It’s everything.” She scoffs a humorless laugh.
“The Stop and Shop. The night Tommy called you. This house. Earlier at the club. This!” She throws her hands up in the air, indicating the yard.
“I keep messing up. Making your life harder.” She huffs, covering her face with her hands to stifle her cries. “God, I’m pathetic.”
My brows knit together in a combination of confusion and anger. “Now, I ain’t just gonna stand here and listen to you call yourself that, because first of all it ain’t fuckin’ true.”
Gently, I envelop her wrists, forcing her hands away from her face.
“Everything I do, Cole, I fuck it up,” she whispers through her tears. “And it always seems to end up with me crying on your shoulder, and you saving me, yet again.”
With my hands still clasped around Clara’s wrists, I walk backward to the porch steps, taking a seat and pulling her down to sit.
I almost pull her between my legs, almost guide her to perch her ass right here on my thigh, but I know it’s not the time or the place, so I force her next to me—right next to me—her soft body pressed up against mine.
“Look at me.”
Clara wipes her tears with the back of her shaking hand, sniffling again and meeting my gaze, her glassy eyes red-rimmed and heartbreaking.
“You are not pathetic, darlin’,” I say firmly, because that’s the most important thing I need her to hear right now. “And I need you to believe that, ’cause it’s fact.”
Reaching out, I tentatively cup her soft cheek with my hand, wiping away a stray tear with the pad of my thumb. “You’re a fierce, protective mama, doin’ all she can to keep her babies safe. But sometimes, Clara, people need help.”
She closes her eyes on a trembling sigh.
“And sometimes, even though it pains us to,” I continue, “sometimes we just gotta suck up our pride and accept it.”
Clara opens her eyes and I see the moment it sinks in.
“It don’t mean we’re pathetic, or weak, or fuckin’ useless.” I shake my head. “It just means we have people who actually give a shit enough to wanna help us. It’s when you ain’t got no one around to help that you need to worry.”
“You’re a nice guy, Cole,” Clara says after a pause, smiling at me despite her tears.
“Well, hell, I know that,” I say with a smug smirk. “Just don’t go tellin’ no one. ’Cause, you see, I got a reputation as a broody, cocky asshole to uphold.”
Clara laughs and it’s music to my ears.
“You alright?” I ask after a beat, searching her eyes.
She nods and I feel something pass between us, and it’s suddenly just the two of us, and hell, our lips are really fuckin’ close.
Before I can do something stupid like lean in and kiss her because, let’s face it, neither of us needs that right now, Clara turns away, sighing heavily, dragging her hands down her face. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” she utters, groaning.
I snap myself out of whatever daze I’m in, shaking my head to myself. Forcing my eyes from her, I choose instead to look out over the yard. “’Bout what?”
“Well, clearly I can’t trust a fucking high schooler to look after my kids.” She scoffs. “But I need to work…” She throws her head back on another frustrated sigh.
“Actually,” I begin, scrubbing a hand over my jaw, “I think I might know someone who can help…”
Clara snaps her head my way, and I see the fear flash in her eyes. “Cole, I—”
“Leave it to me,” I say, interrupting her objection, and with another slightly smug grin, I nudge her with my shoulder. “Remember what I said. Accept the help, darlin’.”
She rolls her eyes, hugging her knees, but I catch the hint of a smile lift her lips.
“So…” Wyatt begins, and the way he drags out the word combined with the tone in his voice, I’m immediately on edge. “You gonna tell us what the fuck last night was about?”
I look up from my eggs, finding six curious sets of eyes laser-focused on me from around the breakfast table.
“Yeah, Cole.” Brady bounces eagerly in his chair, grinning like a stupid motherfucker. “Who is she?”
I shake my head, ready to stick my fork in my own eye just to get out of this situation. “None of your damn business.”
“She’s pretty, Cole,” Webber gruffs from his place at the head of the table.
I don’t respond, shoveling eggs into my mouth like I ain’t eaten for a week.
Fuck yeah, she’s pretty. Clara’s a goddamn smoke show. And I swear to god, the way my gut knots at the thought of any of these assholes, or any other fucker looking at her the wrong fuckin’ way, I think I might be in trouble.
When I clock the time, I wipe my mouth with my napkin and push up from the table, carrying my plate to the kitchen and loading it in the dishwasher.
“Later,” I say over my shoulders to the fellas, fully aware of their eyes on me as I grab my hat from its hook and walk out of the bunkhouse without so much as a second glance back at them.
Normally, after morning chores on a Saturday, I take off, head home or go to the gym, but this morning I get in my truck and head on up to the main house to sort out some business.
The main house is where Mama Joy lives when she’s not in New York visiting Dallas and his family, or Dallas’ sister, Millie and her fiancé, Logan, another professional hockey player and Dallas’ teammate.
When Phil died, Mama Joy handed everything over to Austin. She didn’t want no part of the ranch. I think sometimes she blames the stress of this place for the heart attack that killed her husband. But she still stays because, well, ain’t no place like home, or some shit, I guess.
“Mama Joy?” I call out as I step up onto the wraparound balcony, waiting by the screen door that opens into the kitchen. Mama Joy always tells us to help ourselves and come and go as we please, but I’ve never been able to, not even when I lived here as a teenager.
“Oh, Cole, baby!” Mama Joy appears through the archway, walking into the kitchen. “Boy, what have I told you about knockin’?” she chides, despite her smile.
Removing my hat, I walk inside, offering Mama Joy a rueful grin. “Yes, ma’am.”
“What’s up, baby?” Mama Joy asks. “You hungry?”
I sniff a laugh. “No, ma’am. Webber just made one of his big breakfasts.”
She smiles fondly, but then I see one of her eyes narrow in that way that reminds me can’t no one get nothin’ by Mama Joy. “Boy, you sure say a lot for someone who don’t talk much.”
I huff a resigned sigh. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Take a seat, baby,” she says, pulling out one of the kitchen chairs for me.
I do as I’m told, because I know better than to argue with Mama Joy.
Turning to the fridge, she opens the door. “Sweet tea or lemonade?”
“Sweet tea, please ma’am,” I answer, biting back my grin.