Chapter 5 – Cole-Present #2
Kenna’s fingers tighten slightly around her arms. “They were beautiful. The hibiscus especially. My mom cried when she saw them.”
Her voice cracks on that last part, and I feel it like a weight in my chest. I didn’t mean to make Claire cry, but I know that family carries grief like it’s stitched into their bones.
My chest loosens at the warmth in her voice. “I’m glad you liked them.” I shuffle my feet for a second, not sure what else to say. The silence between us isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s new—like we’re both trying to figure out where we stand.
“I didn’t think you were still around,” Kenna adds casually, her eyes flicking over me like she’s noticing me again for the first time. “Thought you’d be off doing something...important.”
I can’t help but smile. “Nah, just trying to get back to the basics. I’ve been spending some time with the guys.”
Kenna’s eyes brighten with recognition. “Oh, Josh and Andy, right?”
I nod. “Yeah, and Gabriel. He’s married to Millie, huh? It’s hard to believe little Millie is married.”
She laughs, and I feel a little lighter, like the conversation is finally settling into something natural. “I know, right? She and Gabriel have a little girl, Aura. She just told us she is pregnant with her second baby. It’s all so exciting.”
“That’s amazing,” I say, unable to keep the grin off my face.
Kenna shrugs. “It is. My whole family is ecstatic.” She looks down for a second, then meets my eyes again.
I nod, feeling the weight of those words. “Yeah, I can only imagine how excited Claire is for a grandbaby.”
Then she says something that completely catches me by surprise. “Do you want to go for a walk with me?”
I blink. “Now?”
She shrugs, pushing off the doorframe. “I’ve got twenty minutes before my next client. I could use some fresh air.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”
We walk side by side down the quiet street, the morning sun warming the sidewalks, painting long shadows between us.
We don’t speak at first. The silence isn’t awkward—it’s full. Like both of us are waiting for the words that matter most to show up on their own.
Every few steps, I catch her glancing sideways, like she’s checking to see if I’m real. And maybe part of her still doesn’t believe I am. I don’t blame her. Some days, I don’t either.
She glances over at me eventually, her voice tentative. “Why now, Cole?”
I slow my pace, glancing down at the sidewalk before meeting her eyes. “Because I’ve spent years thinking about the day, they took me away from you. Every single one of those days, I wished I could’ve stopped it. Wished I could’ve told you it wasn’t goodbye.”
“I didn’t leave you, Sunshine,” I add, quieter now. “I didn’t want to. They took me, and everything else just…stopped.”
She exhales through her nose, that same quiet sound she used to make when she was trying not to cry. I know it too well.
“I know you didn’t choose it,” she says after a moment, voice low. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t break something.”
I nod, my throat tight. “I get that. I do.”
Kenna stops, turning slightly to face me. The breeze pulls at the hem of her sweater and brushes through her hair. She doesn’t look angry—not exactly. But she’s guarded, eyes sharp and wounded all at once.
“I watched them put you in cuffs,” she says, her voice brittle. “As they read you your rights, I stood there in your hospital room, like you were some stranger. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
I look at her, helpless. “I never stopped thinking about you. Not once.”
She swallows hard, then shakes her head like she’s trying to dislodge the memory. “You were gone. And the world just kept moving without you. Without us.”
“I hate that it happened like that,” I whisper. “If I could change anything…”
“But you can’t,” she finishes for me.
Silence again. Thicker now.
“I’m not asking you to pretend it didn’t hurt,” I say, forcing the words out even though they feel heavy. “I just want a chance to be part of your life again. Whatever that looks like.”
She studies me, her expression unreadable. “You’re different,” she murmurs.
I nod. “Yeah. Prison will do that.”
“You’re quieter. Still you, but…heavier,” she says. “Like you’re carrying something invisible.”
I smile faintly. “Maybe because I am.”
Kenna sighs, looking down at the pavement beneath our feet. “I don’t know if I can trust this. Trust you.”
“I don’t expect you to. Not yet.”
She lifts her gaze again, eyes searching mine like she’s trying to peel back everything that’s changed and find the boy she used to love underneath.
“I still remember the way you used to look at me,” she says softly. “Like I was your entire world.”
“You were,” I say without hesitation. “You still are. Even if that looks different now.”
Her expression wavers, and for a heartbeat, I think she might cry. But she doesn’t. Kenna’s too strong for that—always has been. Instead, she presses her lips together, then shakes her head slowly.
“I don’t know what I want from you, Cole.”
I give a faint smile. “Then don’t decide right now. Let’s just…start small. Taking a walk. A conversation. A maybe.”
She lets out a slow breath, then looks up at me again. “I used to draw you in my sketchbooks. Did I ever tell you that?”
I grin despite the ache in my chest. “Stick figure me?”
She nods. “Always smiling. You never stopped smiling, even when everything else felt impossible.”
“I was smiling because of you.”
Her eyes glint with something like pain. “That’s what scares me, Cole. You smiling because of me. Because when they took you away, I felt like I’d stolen that from you.”
“No,” I whisper. “They stole time. Not you.”
We turn the corner, and the salon comes back into view. Her pace slows as we approach, and I feel it—the inevitable ending of something soft and fleeting. The moment you don’t want to leave behind.
Kenna stops at the step, her fingers brushing the edge of the doorframe. She glances back at me. “I’ve got a client in five.”
“I know,” I say quietly. “Thanks for the walk.”
There’s a brief pause before she moves. Then, without a word, she steps forward and wraps her arms around me.
It’s not a long hug. Not tight. But it’s real and grounded in something that hasn’t completely broken yet.
She smells like lavender now, but underneath it is the same warmth I remember. Citrus and cinnamon. Familiar enough to ache. Flowers, art, and something that once felt like home.
“I haven’t forgotten either,” she whispers.
Before I can respond, she pulls away, slipping inside the salon. The door closes behind her with a soft click that somehow feels louder than it should.
I stand there a moment longer, heart thudding, my hands still tingling from her touch. It’s not everything. Not even close. But it’s something.
And for now, that’s enough.
But then, just as I’m about to turn away, she opens the door again.
She leans slightly out, brows lifted. “Hey,” she says, almost like it’s an afterthought—but her voice is too careful, too deliberate.
I pause, surprised. “Yeah?”
“There’s a pizza place still open late on Main.” She shrugs. “If you’re around later this week.”
My chest tightens, but in a good way. “I’ll be around.”
“Okay,” she says, smiling—not forced this time, but real. “I’ll see you soon then?”
“Definitely.”
She nods once, then disappears inside for good.
This time, I don’t linger. I turn and start back down the sidewalk as the morning stretches out around me. I should feel heavy after that, uncertain—but I feel something else entirely.
Hope.
The conversation wasn’t earth-shattering. It didn’t solve anything, but it was honest. Easy. A reminder that something between us still exists. That maybe we’re not so far gone after all.
I don’t know what’s going to happen next. I don’t need to. What I do know is I’m here. I’m staying. I’ll be patient.
And maybe next time, it’ll be over a slice of pizza.
Or a cup of coffee.
Or something that feels like a beginning.