Chapter 1 Cole #8
“You’ve probably heard Bailey’s been spotted around town.” His tone is almost too casual.
“Small towns. Hard to stay gone forever,” I reply in kind.
“Right.” His voice stays light. “He’s not keeping the best company these days. Thought I’d mention it. Just in case he tries to reconcile.”
“Thanks, Sheriff, but I think I can handle him,” I say, stiff. I’m still annoyed after all that gossiping yesterday. Definitely not in the mood for a ‘Beware of Xaden Bailey’ PSA.
Willard’s smile widens. Too much. “Of course. Just looking out for folks. Especially the ones with kids.” His gaze drops briefly to Noah. “This town can be unpredictable. Sometimes it’s not the strangers you need to watch out for.”
My gut twists. But I almost laugh anyway. This is Baywood, not Gotham City. The only thing that strikes without warning here is Steve Pell on karaoke night.
Noah tugs my sleeve. “Daddy, can we go?” I smile at him, then give Willard a curt nod. “Have a good day.”
“You too,” he says, tipping his cup.
I feel his calculating eyes on my back all the way to the library.
The library’s one of my favorite places, all thanks to Juniper Thorne.
When the old librarian, Mrs. Connor, finally retired, Juniper transformed the place from ‘Principal Trunchbull nightmare’ to a cozy and welcoming reading retreat.
There’s even a section of LGBTQAI+ books with rainbow flags the children have drawn.
Noah bolts to the children’s corner and plops down beside Sammy, his best friend. Sammy’s a shy kid who mostly whispers. Noah’s told me that they’re going to live together as adults and turn their house into a zoo. One animal per room so they won’t quarrel. Sounds like a good plan to me.
I join J?rgen, Sammy’s dad and a talented carpenter.
He’s one of the few parents I’m actually friends with.
He looks a lot like a Viking. Well, the fictional kind, because obviously I have never seen a real one.
He’s robust even in his music preferences: he listens to that certain kind of death metal that has the aggression of chainsaws and the ferocity of hellhounds.
“Great gig Sunday,” he comments, probably out of politeness. (I’m neither aggressive nor ferocious on stage. Or anywhere, for that matter.) “The Gazette wrote about you.”
“Was it bad?” I ask. Every once in a while The Baywood Gazette remembers my one-hit-wonder status.
Usually around festivals, or if One Last Kiss has been mentioned in national media.
Otherwise, they only bring me up if something actually interesting doesn’t jump the queue, like Harold’s pen being snatched by a bird or the time Earl triggered an avalanche of stockpiled toilet paper and was buried under dozens of 36-roll packs.
J?rgen grins. “Depends. What are your thoughts on being described as intriguing and devastatingly handsome?”
I laugh. “You’re kidding me.”
“See for yourself,” he says and, after tapping his phone a few times, shows me the article.
I squint at the screen and groan. “The live performance of One Last Kiss captured a longing so palpable you could spread it on toast.”
“They’re not wrong. Even I almost reached for a tissue,” J?rgen nods solemnly.
I snort. “I love how they always quote Earl, and then Earl always brings up Maija. Oh my God, what is this about my cheekbones? ‘Cole Hudson has the cheekbones for fame.’”
J?rgen tilts his head, dead serious. “Yes. That was also my first thought when I saw you. There goes a man with cheekbones for fame.”
I laugh so hard my ribs hurt. And when I get to Earl’s final flourish, ‘I believe my velvety cakes have given Cole Hudson’s voice its signature softness,’ I’m howling. For once, I don’t even care about the curious glances thrown my way from the Baywood mom group.
I manage to calm down when Juniper starts reading. After the story, she claps her hands, informing she has a surprise: her husband Eliot, The Fun Fact Man.
J?rgen leans over. “Bet you coffee and a donut Becky interrupts by fact three.”
“Deal.”
Eliot sits down in the story-telling chair and begins: “Did you know cockroaches can live for weeks without their heads?”
The kids squeal. Becky goes pale.
I’m going to lose this bet.
“Also, starfish can push their stomachs out, digest food, and suck them back in.” The kids almost levitate off the mat in excitement. Becky looks horrified.
“Frogs can be frozen and alive at the same time,” Eliot adds.
Before he can move on to the fourth fun fact, Becky makes a choking sound and storms over. “This is inappropriate! These are children!”
I sigh. “What kind of donut?”
As we leave the library, I realize how good it felt to laugh. To really laugh.
Even if tears about Xaden hover dangerously close, relentless and ready to undo me the moment I let my guard down.
XADEN
I’m still raw from yesterday. From Cole’s outburst. It’s not like I haven’t heard worse in my life, but nothing’s ever cut deeper.
Now I’m stuck between JJ and Ronnie again, cornered in broad daylight like this is my penance.
JJ’s picking his teeth. Ronnie’s picking his nose. I’m picking my last nerve not to slam their heads together. JJ’s bragging about tormenting an old man at the trailer park first thing in the morning. Ronnie’s smirking about a waiter I supposedly hooked up with.
That’s my cover, handcrafted by SBI to make me blend in: ex-con, sleepless, morally loose. The kind of guy who only gives a damn if it’s about getting off.
The truth? I haven’t touched anyone since Cole. I haven’t wanted to. I’m still in love with him. That won’t change, ever. But with these two circling, waiting for weakness, I don’t get to be the guy who still aches for him.
I get to be the asshole they expect.
Just then, I spot him stepping out of Baywood Beans, smoothie in hand, curls windblown, looking so fucking pretty it hurts. He waves at some big, blonde fellow who starts walking in the opposite direction with two kids in tow, the other looking a lot like the one I saw with Cole on Sunday.
I turn my head but then Ronnie elbows me, menace and glee evident on his pockmarked face: “Ain’t that the singer?”
And this is how the shit hits the fan.
“It sure is,” JJ drawls.
When Cole gets closer, he steps forward. “Yo, sweetheart! Got a minute?”
Cole startles. His eyes flick to me, then dart away. His spine stiffens. “I don’t,” he says, voice even.
Ronnie grins. “You sure? Your old friend Bailey has gone a whole day without hookin’-up. He’s gettin’ all antsy and shit. Wanna help him out?”
Cole’s eyes dart back to me, and in one blink I see it all: the disbelief. The betrayal. The grief that says how dare you become this.
And I do what I always do. I ruin it more.
I push off the truck, slow and lazy. Swaggering like I don’t care. “What do you say, pretty boy?” I say, laying it on thick. “A guaranteed happy ending.”
Ronnie howls, JJ snickers.
Cole’s eyes blaze. His hands shake.
I want to beg him to see through it. But I can’t.
Not with JJ and Ronnie watching, testing me. “I’ll catch up,” I mutter to them, nodding toward the gas station.
JJ looks at me sideways. Suspicious. But then he shrugs. “Whatever.”
Ronnie winks at Cole as he turns. “You’re prettier than the guys he usually fucks.”
Cole flinches like Ronnie slapped him. He looks at Ronnie and JJ like they’re something disgusting stuck to the bottom of his shoe, but I can see the fury and hurt underneath.
All I want is to pull him close. Beg for forgiveness.
Instead I stay silent and rooted on the spot until JJ and Ronnie finally wander off, catcalling and leering as they go.
I let my shoulders fall for just a second. Just long enough to look at Cole the way I want to.
But he doesn’t give me the chance. “Your definition of a happy ending,” he says, voice shaking, “is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
He takes a step closer. Drops his voice. His eyes flick down my arms, over the tattoos I got when missing him nearly split me in two. For a heartbeat, I swear I see it: recognition, the kind that means he knows they’re all for him.
My chest tightens, stupid hope clawing its way up. Maybe—
Then his gaze hardens. “You used to look at me like I was your whole world. Now you’re the saddest thing I’ve ever seen.”
The words hit harder than any punch would. I wanted him to be angry. Anger keeps him safe. But I didn’t want this. I didn’t want him looking at me like I’ve broken something we can’t ever fix.
“What part of ‘stay away from me’ didn’t you understand?” His voice cracks. “I meant it, Xaden. Leave me the fuck alone.”
His eyes brim with tears. “Go back to your hook-ups.”
I want to tell him everything. I want to say none of this is real. That I never stopped loving him. But he turns away, and I have to let him go.
I can’t afford to explain myself, nor do I even deserve to, after hurting him over and over.
I think about the first time he whispered I love you.
Now those same lips told me I’m the saddest thing he’s ever seen.
COLE
I walk home so fast, it feels like fury’s given me wings. Everything stings — the heat, the silence, the memory of Xaden’s crude voice. “What do you say, pretty boy?”
He’s called me pretty before. So many times. And now every single one of those times feels like a lie. A cruel joke.
At home, I don’t stop. I head straight for the bathroom, shoes still on, heart pounding in my throat. I strip like I’m shedding skin, like I could peel the day off and make it mean less.
I need to pretend all that didn’t just happen.
The water’s hot. Too hot. It scalds my shoulders, but I don’t turn it down. I need the sting. I need something sharper than the hollow ache inside me.
I tell myself I’m angry. Furious even. And I am. But that’s not what’s eating me alive. It’s him. The version of him I saw today. That empty smile. Those words. That leer. It didn’t feel like an act. It felt real.
Like the boy who loved me was gone, replaced by a cruel stranger.