Chapter 1 Cole #10
The room goes still. Dad looks rattled. Mom looks sharper than a kitchen knife.
“Already paid him a visit,” Willard chimes. “Just a friendly reminder Baywood’s respectable.” He says it looking straight at me.
And although I despise the man Xaden has become, I can’t help it.
Defending him is in my blood, and for once I don’t freeze. “Xaden has never caused trouble here.”
“Not yet,” Willard says smoothly. “But with the company he keeps? Just a matter of time.”
“You can always tell by the tattoos,” Mrs. Stone sniffs.
I make a silent vow to tattoo every inch of my skin. Then I remember I’m terrified of needles. I could maybe draw something.
“I heard he and his gang planned to steal one of Earl’s pies,” she continues, looking scandalized as if she didn’t know it was silly gossip. “Poor Earl was beside himself.”
I’m getting beside myself with anger.
Mr. Stone smirks at me. “Weren’t you friends with him?”
Mrs. Stone cuts in, delighted. “Oh yes. What was that dreadful drama after his father’s accident? Poor boy unraveled faster than a ball of yarn.”
“Enough,” Mom says suddenly, voice quiet and deadly.
The table goes silent.
For once, I don’t feel like arguing.
But I don’t miss my father’s furtive glance at Willard. Something unspoken passes between them, sharp and ugly.
For the first time all night, I forget to be angry. Because whatever that glance was, it felt dangerous.
XADEN
It’s almost midnight when I hit send on my report to Keller. I shut the laptop, too restless for sleep.
“You still got those weights out back?” I ask Frankie, who’s glued to some grainy baseball documentary on the matchbox-sized TV he refuses to upgrade.
“Haven’t touched ’em in years.”
“Really? Could hardly tell,” I deadpan. He grunts. I head to the back, load the bar, and start lifting. Repetition. Breath. Burn. Again.
But the noise in my head doesn’t quiet.
All I see is Cole in that parking lot, hands shaking, eyes brimming with tears. Looking at me like I was something rotten. Behind him? JJ and Ronnie laughing, like humiliating him was some damn joke.
And I was part of it.
I push through the last rep, arms trembling.
Cole thinks I’m a sleazebag who’s spent four years fucking and forgetting. Truth is, I haven’t done either.
Will he ever believe that? Would he even want to?
Then jealousy slams into me like a sucker punch: does he look at Caspian the same way — from under his lashes, cheeks flushed, like a goddamn dream?
I imagine Caspian’s hands on him. Steady, confident. The kind of hands Cole would trust. I see Cole tilting his head back, green eyes soft, mouth parting — only this time for someone else. Has Caspian kissed him deeper, touched him longer?
God, the thought burns, way worse than the workout.
Now I’m picturing them in Cole’s bed. Caspian brushing his curls back.
Cole saying yes without hesitation. Giving Caspian the part I was never allowed to have.
The part I spent years dreaming of but never pressed him for, because I loved him too much to push.
Now someone else has heard the sound of his breath when he’s close.
Someone else gets to know how he moves when he finally lets go.
The thought rips me apart. I want to claw these images out of my brain.
But I can’t.
And under all of it, the truth I’m desperately clinging into: he hasn’t moved on. Not completely. Even when his eyes burned with fury, the connection was there. I saw it.
I rack the bar, breathing hard.
“Juniper stopped by,” Frankie calls from the doorway, pulling me out of the pit in my head. ”Brought you a muffin.”
“Where is it?”
He pats his stomach. “Where do you think?”
“That was my muffin.”
“You weren’t here.”
Frankie leans in the frame, beer in one hand, cigarette in the other. “I’ve been digging these past four years. Following threads. Listening when people thought I wasn’t. The deeper it goes, the darker it gets.”
“We’ll get the bastard,” I mutter.
He shakes his head slowly. “I hope you’re ready for what you find, son. Because I’ve got a bad feeling it ain’t just rot at the edges. It’s rot in the bones.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
Frankie exhales smoke, gaze going somewhere past me. “Before Eli died, he mentioned Andrew Hudson once or twice.” His jaw tightens. “You know your dad. Not a talker. Just muttered it under his breath like it weighed on him.”
My chest goes cold. Cole’s dad?
Suddenly I remember a conversation I had with Dad after I came out to him. How he said Cole’s a good lad, but he’s not so sure about Andrew.
I thought he meant his snobbish ways. Not something more sinister.
Frankie fixes me with a hard look. “You start tugging at threads, you better be ready for what unravels. Even if it ain’t what you want to see.”
I breathe steady. Meet his eyes.
“I’m ready.”
COLE
“I’m never doing this again,” I pant, trying to keep up with Caspian, who’s running ahead like a show-off gazelle. I’m barely breathing. He’s barely winded. God, it’s annoying to be friends with an athletic person. Someone whose idea of fun is dragging me forward in agony.
“You should be grateful,” Caspian says in his upbeat manner. “I’m the only thing standing between you and early-onset heart disease.”
“You’re an early-onset pain in the ass,” I huff.
He smiles like I’m a child who needs mollifying. “Running helps clear your head. Especially if it’s haunted. By smoldering ghosts from the past. Or more polished ghosts of the future. You know, the ones with bargain yachts and a very specific kink for discipline.”
I groan. “Stop. I agreed to go on one date with James to get Mom off my back.”
“Excellent. That’ll be a lovely detail to share with your grandchildren. FYI, he’ll order for you. And you’ll hate it.”
“Wait, he took you out?” I ask, delighted.
“A long time ago. Pre-vineyard era. Back when he was still slumming it.”
“You never told me! Please tell me he broke your heart.”
“No, but he broke my will to live. Before dessert.”
I wheeze out something that barely qualifies as laughter. “Any survival tips?”
“None. I’m still in recovery. Also, mutual lack of attraction. You, however…” Caspian wiggles his eyebrows. “Your cuteness will absolutely tickle his champagne-soaked heart.”
“I hate that you might be right,” I mutter.
We dodge a rogue stroller and pass a shop window with a hand-lettered sign taped to the glass: Psychic Readings — Walk-Ins Welcome .
We take a turn towards the park.
“Did you know Justin’s mom runs that psychic place?” Caspian asks.
“No way,” I grin.
“Yep. She bought the shop with her settlement money. Lives upstairs. I wonder if she sensed us running past.”
“How’s Justin? Still such a…” I trail off.
“Jackass? Probably. I don’t keep in touch with him anymore. Or any of the jocks, really. Not after everything that went down with Xaden. It still pisses me off how they treated him when Lisa outed him.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I haven’t forgiven them either. Not that anyone’s asked.”
We fall silent then, both deep in thought.
***
The ball whips through the air, skimming the new kid’s shoulder. He flinches but doesn’t run. Justin and his crew crack up like it’s harmless fun and not bullying.
I’m at the picnic tables, pretending not to watch. But I am.
Every smirk on Justin’s face. Every time the kid’s shoulders fold tighter.
But I don’t do anything, no one does.
Then Xaden steps in. He catches the ball one-handed without flinching. Drops it in the nearest trash bin.
Silence. “Still got that arm, huh?” Xaden says lightly to Justin. “Too bad it only works when the target can’t fight back.”
Justin stiffens. “Just playing around, man.”
“Yeah? Looked like you wanted him to cry.” Xaden turns to the new kid. “You good?” He offers his hand. “C’mon. You’re probably late for registration.”
Off they go, like it’s nothing.
I just stand there. Heart thumping. Watching him. Thinking: I love everything about him. The way he sees people. The way he acts like justice is part of his wiring.
When he glances back, just for a moment, and meets my eyes, the whole world tilts.
And I know, even if I can’t say it yet — I’m his. Have been for quite some time.
***
“Did we just disassociate for a full minute?” Caspian asks when we finally stop to cool down. I give him a small smile. “I blame the running.”
XADEN
The scent of grease and sugar hits me the second I step into the garage. I welcome the smell, hell, I’d even buy one of those ridiculous Baywood-scented candles at this point. Spending the day with JJ and Ronnie is not a feast for the senses.
Frankie’s got the hood propped on an old Chevy. A jar of painkillers sits on the bench.
“Your joints giving you trouble?” I ask, grabbing the rest of the apple pie in a takeout box.
Frankie raises an eyebrow without looking up. “Help yourself. And there ain’t nothing wrong with my joints.”
I grin, wipe my mouth. “Earl brought you pie?”
“He sure did. Came with a hefty serving of drama. A disturbance at the bakery, something so bad it made his cinnamon rolls shake.”
“Is there something that doesn’t make them shake?” I joke, but after seeing Frankie’s face, I add, careful: “Did he elaborate?”
“Your friends paid him a visit.”
My voice stays even. “Did they do something?”
“Knocked over the tip jar. Shouted at each other.”
“Arguing?”
“Solitaire. Versus Mahjong.”
I almost don’t laugh. Almost. “And Earl?”
“Suggested they try Candy Crush.”
The humor fades quickly. JJ and Ronnie aren’t just killing time anymore. They’re testing boundaries. Keeping me out of it.
Frankie’s voice drops. “JJ also made a crude comment about the ‘pretty singer boy.’ Said golden boys don’t stay clean forever. I think Cole rubs them the wrong way.”
The words stick like barbed wire. I can take their shit aimed at me, but Cole? He doesn’t deserve to be a target. Yet here we are. My jaw tightens.
I toss the empty box and mutter something about going for a run.
Because if I don’t move, I’ll drag JJ out by the throat and blow the whole operation.