Chapter 32 Cole
COLE
Dad
How long do you intend to delay your engagement announcement?
My thumb hovered over the screen, rage and exhaustion warring in my chest. How was I supposed to convince my father I was all in on my future while maintaining my hockey obligations and investigating the bastard?
Between studying the business, digging through his connections, school, and practice, I didn’t have time to breathe, much less sleep.
On the plus side, staying busy meant the pain of Eva’s absence remained an ever-present ache rather than the sharp agony of loneliness.
Me
I’ll take her to the team’s charity fundraiser this week.
We can tell the paps we’re dating.
Nausea roiled in my gut. I’d seen Eva’s face the first time Delaney attended a game. I knew the team thought what I’d done to her was bullshit. And I knew my engagement hurt Tristan, even if Tristan understood it was the price to pay for getting close to my father.
Dad
Several board members will be attending.
I expect you to impress them.
Carter Industries was a major donor to the children’s literacy charity the fundraiser supported, which made me laugh, since my father’s media empire was all about getting people addicted to their screens.
But the board members? They were the key to taking my father down.
Me
Understood.
While my housemates got dressed, I hurried downstairs, intending to slip out without notice, only to find Haruto blocking my path.
“Where are you going?”
“To pick up my date,” I snarled. Delaney had flown in from New York for this.
“You know Eva’s going to be there, right?”
Yeah, as Tristan’s date. I ignored the hot slice of pain. “She’s made her opinion of me clear,” I snarled.
“You haven’t done anything to change it,” Haruto snarled back.
I squared off, violence radiating off me. “You don’t know shit, you fucking asshole.” I was doing my fucking best, and fuck, I knew it wasn’t enough, it’d never be enough, but it killed me for him to point it out. It wasn’t like he’d believe me if I said I was doing it to protect her.
Haruto raised an eyebrow. “I know she watches you every practice and every game but avoids working with you for PT. I know you’re paying for every single one of those sweet moves Tristan makes on her. And I know you fucked up a really good thing.”
“Wrong. It wasn’t good. It was fucked up.” I clacked my teeth shut. Tristan and I had never shared what we’d done to Eva, and I sure as fuck wouldn’t start sharing now. That felt perilously close to betraying her again, and I’d jump in front of a moving train before doing that.
Haruto’s expression softened. “Give her time.”
“If I were her, I wouldn’t forgive me either.”
He cocked his head, as if trying to figure me out. “Is that why you’re sucking up to your father all of a sudden?”
Oh, fuck him.
I shouldered past, only for him to shout, “It’s still self-destructive bullshit, Cole.”
Fuck him, fuck his insight, and—
He grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me around. “You’re going to hurt her tonight,” he said. “Again.”
That knife in my soul twisted and twisted and twisted some more. But what choice did I have?
“I know.”
The ballroom glittered with Yorkfield’s elite, all of them dressed to impress and eager to be seen supporting children’s literacy. I’d been to a hundred of these events since I was old enough to be trotted out as an accessory for my father, and I knew exactly how to work them.
Delaney’s hand rested lightly on my arm as we moved through the crowd.
She looked perfect. Her long, blonde hair curled over a dress that was painted on but somehow still looked elegant.
Her jewelry was understated and expensive.
And she’d already charmed three board members’ spouses while I worked the board.
“Soda water with lime,” I told the bartender. I could do this sober. I had to.
“Cole!” Richard Samson clapped me on the shoulder, his face already flushed from what was probably his third scotch.
According to my research, he was increasingly nervous about federal oversight of Carter Industries’ offshore arrangements.
“Good to see you finally taking an interest in the business. Your father must be pleased.”
“Learning a lot,” I said, keeping my tone light. “The international side is fascinating. All those regulatory considerations.”
“Regulatory nightmares, you mean.” Samson laughed, but there was an edge to it. “Half my time is spent dealing with compliance issues. Your father’s got the right idea, keeping things flexible.”
“Oh yeah? I’d love to hear more about that,” I lied. “I’m learning as much as I can, as quickly as I can. Should’ve done this years ago.”
Delaney laughed, warm and conspiratorial. “Cole’s been studying the business nonstop. I’m lucky I got him to come out tonight!”
Samson looked over her with appreciation, his eyes sliding up and down her body. Disgusting. “Well, let’s get together for a drink one day when you’re not playing or studying,” he said. “I’ll walk you through the issues in Moscow and Riyadh.”
Two more conversations yielded similar offers. I couldn’t stop the warmth I felt from the board members’ obvious delight that I was on board. My father apparently spoke well of me, no matter how he might treat me in private.
Then, Eva walked through the door on Tristan’s arm, and the air left my lungs in a rush.
She wore a slinky green dress that hugged every fucking curve, her red hair pinned up except for a few curls that fell across her face.
God, she looked good on Tristan’s arm. She was glowing, smiling, happy, as his hand settled possessively on her lower back, guiding her through the crowd.
He wore a tuxedo, cut perfectly. I’d bought it for him, and he must have had it tailored this year to reflect his broader shoulders.
Everything I ever wanted and couldn’t have.
Both of them.
Goddammit.
The craving hit hard. Not for Eva—though, fuck, I wanted her—but for a drink, for something to dull the razor edge of watching them together, to make the next two hours of dinner and socializing survivable.
I forced myself to turn away, to focus on the board member in front of me, some vice president droning about quarterly earnings.
But my eyes kept finding her—them—the way Tristan leaned down to whisper in her ear, the way they fit together, easy and natural, while I stood here playing the dutiful son with my fake fiancée, serving my father’s empire even as I flailed around desperately looking for a way to destroy it.
“—don’t you think, Cole?”
I had no idea what the man had asked.
“Absolutely,” I said.
He looked confused. Delaney smoothly redirected the conversation then guided me away.
“Cole, focus,” she murmured.
One drink wouldn’t hurt, just enough to take the edge off, to get through the night.
The first one burned going down. The second one dulled the edges. By the third, the pain receded to something manageable.
The board members didn’t notice the shift. Or maybe they liked me better loose and laughing. I kept gathering intel, even as the alcohol blurred my edges—more mentions of offshore accounts, someone’s nervous joke about keeping politicians happy.
“Cole.” Delaney appeared at my elbow, her expression carefully neutral. “Maybe we should get some food.”
“I’m fine.” I wasn’t fine, but the alcohol made it easier to pretend I didn’t see Eva across the room, easier to laugh at board members’ jokes, easier to be the dutiful son of a billionaire that everyone expected.
After dinner, I pulled Delaney closer when a photographer circled, then pressed a kiss to her temple that I knew would look perfect in photos.
Eva saw it. Fuck. Her expression splintered for an instant, vulnerable and hurt, before settling into that neutral calm I used to love breaking so fucking much.
The room tilted slightly. Delaney steadied me with a hand on my arm, her expression a careful mask of concern rather than judgment. A perfect fiancée worried about her man having a little too much fun.
But when we passed Eva and Tristan on the way out the door, Delaney leaned close to Eva.
“I’ll get him home safe,” she murmured, soft enough that only the four of us could hear. “I know he’s yours.”
Eva’s breath caught. A tear streaked down her face.
I turned away so I wouldn’t have to see it.
The drive home passed in fragments as I fought shame and despair and misery.
“No,” I snapped at the driver. “Take me to Declan’s club.”
The bouncers let me in the back door this time. I could still hear the pounding bass, but at least this time, I didn’t have to wade through them in my tux.
“Absolutely fucking not.” Declan looked me up and down, taking in my disheveled tux and the alcohol on my breath. “You’re in no condition.”
“I make you a fucking fortune every time I get in the ring,” I snarled. “Three fights for one phone call about a girl, and I’ve earned you how many tens of thousands of dollars already? Let me fucking fight when I feel like fucking fighting.”
The room tilted slightly, and I steadied myself against the wall.
“Your funeral,” Declan answered. “You have clothes to wear?”
“Nope.”
He sighed then led me back to a small, utilitarian office, where he handed me shorts. I stumbled into his desk after changing, and he shook his head, taking my hands into his and taping them carefully. “What are you punishing yourself for?”
I shrugged. Why should I bare my soul to Declan, who, like everyone else, was using me to make money?
“Your father’s been pissing people off,” he murmured. I stared at our hands while he wrapped mine. “I hear it’s because a couple of hockey games didn’t go the way he expected.”
My eyes flew to his.
“I don’t know shit about shit,” he said, “but be careful.”
The audience ranged from men in custom suits to Irish dockworkers like Eva’s father, all placing bets on men beating each other up in the ring.
Jameson was waiting when I climbed through the ropes—bigger than me, experienced, fresh off a win, with carrot-colored curls and green eyes that made me think of Eva for a second before I blinked her memory away. He took one look at me and grinned, his hand held out to me. “Cole fuckin’ Carter.”
“Fuck you,” I said, shaking his hand. I’d fought him before, when I was fighting regularly, and won.
The bell rang.
I came out swinging, all rage and no control. Jameson slipped my first punch easily then countered with a jab that snapped my head back. The crowd cheered.
Everything blurred together after that, pain and blood and the sick satisfaction of my fist connecting with flesh. He was better than me now—faster, more technical, definitely not drunk off his ass.
He dropped me twice. I got back up both times, vision swimming, ears ringing.
Somewhere in the chaos, I heard Declan yelling. The ref asked if I wanted to stop.
Fuck no.
Jameson caught me with a hook that sent me sprawling. This time, I didn’t get up fast enough. The ref called it.
I lay on the canvas, blood in my mouth, and felt nothing—no relief, no catharsis, just the same hollowness in my chest since I made Eva cry earlier tonight.
Hands hauled me up. Someone pressed a towel to my face and helped me out of the ring. The next fighters were already climbing in.
I stumbled to the locker room—or tried to. I made it halfway before my legs gave out.
“Jesus Christ, Carter.” Declan caught me, his expression grim. “Sit. Don’t move.”
“Carter’s my dad,” I muttered, sinking down to the floor where he left me.
Declan disappeared. I sat on the floor with blood drying on my face, my hands shaking and Eva’s tears playing on repeat in my head.
“Who do you need me to call, kiddo?” I didn’t know if Tristan had dropped her off yet, if he was back at the house.
Didn’t fucking matter.
I couldn’t keep doing this.
“Give me my phone,” I rasped. A moment later, Declan crouched in front of me, flashing a light into my eyes, then handed me my phone.
I swallowed hard before gathering my courage.
He answered on the second ring. “Cole?”
“I fucked up,” I said, my voice breaking. “I drank. At the gala. I was sober and then I—I saw her with Tristan, and I couldn’t—”
“Where are you?” Alek’s voice was a lifeline—calm, controlled, not taking any shit.
“Declan Flannigan’s fight club,” I said.
“Why are you calling me?” he asked.
“Because—” Fuck, this was hard. “Because you’re the only person who knows everything.” About what we’d done to Eva. About my addiction. “I—”
He waited on the other end of the line.
“I need help,” I finally admitted.
“We’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Alek said. “Don’t do anything stupid in the meantime.”
He hung up. I dropped my head between my knees and stared at the floor, dreading the confrontation about to come but knowing it was about fucking time.
Wait.
We?