Chapter 24 Cole
twenty-four
Cole
Angelina's back presses warm against my chest, her hair spread across the pillow between us. My arm rests heavy across her waist, anchoring her close even in sleep.
I've been awake for two hours. Watching the morning light shift.
Listening to her breathe. Running threat assessments in the back of my mind while the rest of me notes the smaller things, the way her fingers curled around mine sometime in the night, the lavender scent of her shampoo mixing with something warmer underneath, and the steady rise and fall of her ribs beneath my palm.
Petition for Custody.
The custody papers sit on her nightstand. I've read them six times while she's slept. They don't say anything different at dawn than they did at midnight, but I keep looking anyway. Searching for the angle I'm missing. The weakness I can exploit.
Adrian's move. Calculated, legal, designed to drag her through international courts where his family's money and connections carry more weight than justice.
Angelina shifts against me, a small sound escaping her throat. Not quite awake. I spread my hand across her stomach and pull her closer, saffron and cedar mixing with her scent until I can't tell where I end and she begins.
My lips brush the back of her neck. Not seduction. Comfort. The kind I didn't know I was capable of giving until her until recently.
"What time is it?"
"Early." I keep my voice low. "Chesca's still—"
The bathroom door opens. The one connecting to Chesca's room.
We both freeze. Thank God we cleaned up and pulled on clothes before passing out last night.
The second bathroom door swings wide.
Chesca stands in the threshold with Aaron Bear dangling from one hand, her dark hair a tangled mess around her face. She's wearing her favorite pajamas, the ones with little cats, and her feet are bare against the tile.
Her eyes go wide. "Mamma?"
Her gaze swings to me. "Cole?"
Nobody moves. Chesca's mouth opens, and then closes. Her fingers tighten on Aaron Bear's paw. I can see her working through it, and a hundred directions this could go depending on what happens next.
My arm is still around Angelina. I don't move. Don't pull away. Don't pretend we're something we're not.
"Good morning, piccola." Angelina keeps her voice calm and steady, as if this is normal, as if her daughter didn't just discover something that changes everything. "Did you sleep okay?
Chesca's gaze flicks between us. Her brow furrows in the same expression she makes over difficult math problems.
"Is Cole your boyfriend now?"
My hand tightens on Angelina's hip. Not answering for her. Waiting.
"Yes." She says the word more easily than I expected, and something loosens in my chest at hearing her say it. "He is."
She said it. Out loud. Didn't hesitate, didn't soften it into something easier to explain away.
Chesca considers this for a long moment. Her fingers twist in Aaron Bear's fur, a nervous habit she's had since she was four. I know because I've watched. Seven years of watching from a distance, and now I'm here in her mother's bed while she decides what to make of me.
"Is he going to live here?"
"We're figuring that out."
Another pause. "Does he make you happy?"
The question hits somewhere behind my ribs. Does he make you happy? Not do you love him or are you getting married or any of the questions I'd expect from an eight-year-old. Just, does he make you happy? Like that's the only thing that matters.
"Yes, bambina." Angelina's voice catches. "He does."
Chesca nods slowly. Then she walks toward the bed without hesitating or asking permission and climbs up onto the mattress. She settles herself between us with the absolute certainty of a child who knows she belongs exactly where she is.
"Good." She tucks Aaron Bear under her chin. "You should be happy, Mamma."
My eyes meet Angelina's over her daughter's head. The softness in her expression undoes something I've kept locked for years. The tension I carry like armor dissolves, just for this moment. I feel like I've been given something I never expected to deserve.
"Bambina." Angelina brushes hair from Chesca's forehead. "There's something I need to tell you."
Chesca's shoulders draw up. She knows. Somehow, she already knows something's wrong. Too many hushed conversations and locked doors. Too many times her mother checked her phone and went pale.
"Is it the bad man?"
My stomach drops. "What bad man?"
"The one at the soccer game. The one who made Xander take me away so fast." She looks up at her mother with those brown eyes that are far too old for her face. "Xander said not to worry. But you worry. I can tell."
Xander told me not to worry.
I file that away. Later, I'll thank him for protecting her. And then I might kill him for not telling us Chesca had noticed.
"There's a man," Angelina says carefully, "who says he wants to be part of our family. But he's not a good man. And I don't want him near you."
"Who is he?"
My hand finds Angelina's behind Chesca's back. Our fingers lace together and I squeeze once, anchoring her.
"He's..." The word sticks in her throat. I can feel her fighting to say it. "He's your biological father."
Chesca goes still against her mother's chest.
"I don't have a father." Her voice is small but certain. "You said I didn't need one."
"You don't. You never did." Angelina pulls her closer, tucking Chesca's head under her chin. "But he's trying to use the courts, the legal system, to make me share you with him."
"I don't want to go with him." Chesca's fingers grip her mother's shirt so tight I can see the fabric strain. "Mamma, I don't want to—"
"You won't." My voice cuts through her rising panic. Low, steady, absolute. "You're not going anywhere."
Chesca twists to look at me. Her chin trembles. Her eyes are wet with lashes clumped together.
"Promise?"
I don't hesitate. "I promise."
"But how? If he—"
"I'll keep you safe." I settle my hand on her shoulder, gentle and careful, the way I'd handle something precious. "Both of you. That's my job."
"Your job?"
"My most important job."
She stares at me for a long moment, reading me the way children read adults. Looking for lies, for false comfort, for the gap between what someone says and what they mean.
Whatever she sees makes her exhale. Her shoulders drop.
"Okay." She nods once, small and serious. "Okay."
She burrows between us with Aaron Bear crushed against her chest. One small hand finds my arm like it's the most natural thing in the world.
Her breathing slowly steadies. The trembling in her small body eases by degrees until she's heavy and warm between us, taking up more space than her size should allow.
My eyes meet Angelina's over her daughter's head.
Neither of us says what we're both thinking.
An hour later, I'm standing at the stove.
"You're putting vegetables in eggs again."
I tilt the pan, watching the eggs fold over on themselves. "You need fiber."
"I need cheese." Angelina's voice carries that particular edge of sleepy protest she gets before her second cup of coffee. "There's a difference."
"Cole puts vegetables in everything." Chesca doesn't look up from the purple paper in her hands, tongue poking out as she works the creases.
"She's not wrong." I slide the eggs onto plates and add bacon from the second pan.
Soft light slants through the windows, catching the steam rising from the food, the dust motes drifting lazy in the air. Bacon grease pops in the pan behind me. Chesca's paper rustles as she folds.
This is what it could be, every morning.
I carry the plates to the counter. Angelina's bare feet are pale against the dark tile, one of my t-shirts hanging loose on her shoulders. The gray one she claimed three days ago and hasn't given back. She watches me approach, and the tension in my shoulders eases.
"Thank you." She takes the plate with her fork already in hand.
"Eat the spinach."
"I'm eating around the spinach."
"You're impossible."
"You're bossy." But she's smiling, the real smile that reaches her eyes, the one I've seen exactly seven times and am now actively counting.
Chesca holds up her paper. "Look! It's almost done!"
The butterfly is crooked with one wing larger than the other, but the shape is unmistakable. She's gotten better every day, a little more precise with each fold.
"Nice work, Hime."
She beams. "Can we go to the park later? You promised."
I'm certain I don't remember promising. But the hope in her face makes the truth irrelevant.
"After breakfast. If your mom says yes."
Angelina shrugs one shoulder, coffee cup held in both hands like she is warming herself. "I say yes."
"YES!" Chesca pumps her fist, nearly crushing the butterfly. She catches herself, smooths the paper with careful fingers, and shoots me a guilty look.
I shake my head. "Finish your breakfast first. I need to grab the cooler from the truck." I wipe my hands on the dish towel. "Back in a minute."
"Mm-hmm." Angelina is distracted, fork halfway to her mouth, eyes on Chesca's butterfly.
I pass behind Chesca's chair and drop a kiss on the top of her head without thinking. Her hair smells like the strawberry shampoo Angelina buys, sweet and childish and achingly normal.
"You missed Mamma."
I stop.
This kid sees everything.
Angelina is trying not to smile behind her mug and failing miserably. The gold flecks in her eyes catch the morning light.
I cross to her and cup her face in my hand. Kiss her properly with coffee and warmth and the soft sound she makes against my mouth that I've learned to listen for.
"Gross," Chesca announces, but she is giggling.
"Finish your butterfly." I pull back. Angelina's cheeks are flushed and her lips slightly parted.
I head for the front door, past the bookshelf where Chesca's purple butterfly from yesterday sits next to the yellow crane Angelina took from my box, the one I made when Chesca was sick, years ago.
Sunlight pours through the windows onto my family at the table.