4. Cole
Chapter four
Cole
By the time dinner ends, I have spent too long pretending I am not watching Avery.
She sits between Tessa and Maris, laughing at something Grayson says from the other end of the table, her shoulders relaxed in a way I never see in doctor mode. Surrounded by family, she looks rooted, like Stone Ridge shaped part of her and waited patiently for the rest to come home.
The meal passes in noise, passing plates, Scout begging beneath the table like a starving criminal, and family arguments that sound serious until someone laughs. Avery listens more than she talks. Now and then, her gaze finds mine, and every time, I feel it.
After dinner, people scatter. Grayson and Lena step outside with Scout before he steals anything else. Tessa disappears into the kitchen with Declan trailing after her like she might break if he stops hovering. Preston takes a call near the hall, his voice low and lawyerly sharp.
Avery carries two glasses of tea onto the porch and sets them near the swing. The evening has cooled enough to soften the day’s edges. Crickets start up beyond the yard, and the mountains sit dark against the last stretch of blue sky.
I should head for the cabins, but I step onto the porch.
Avery looks over. “You survived dinner.”
“Barely. Your brothers treat rolls like a competitive sport.”
“That’s because Grayson cheats.”
“By taking the last one?”
“By pretending he doesn’t know it’s the last one.”
We laugh at the same time.
I look toward the yard before the sound turns dangerous. “Can we talk?”
Her expression softens, but she only nods toward the swing. “Sure.”
I sit next to her. Avery tucks one foot under her, the swing shifting beneath our weight. For a minute, neither of us says anything. The porch boards creak. Someone laughs inside the house. A dog barks once near the barn, then goes quiet.
I stare at my hands. They look too big for this moment. Too scarred. Too used to holding tools, not truths.
I glance at her, then away. “There’s something I keep trying to place.”
Her brow lifts. “That sounds ominous.”
“It isn’t. I don’t think.” I rub my thumb over my palm. “You look familiar.”
Avery goes still for half a second, then her mouth curves. “Please tell me it wasn’t the billboard with the ridiculous red dress.”
I turn toward her. “Billboard?”
“Oh, good. Fantastic. That means there may be more than one embarrassing option.”
For the first time all day, the pressure in my chest eases. “Should I be worried?”
“Probably.” She leans back against the swing. “I modeled before medical school. During it too, when I could make the schedule work.”
That is not what I expected. “You modeled.”
“I know. Shocking. A woman can own a stethoscope and a tube of lipstick.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No, but plenty of people did.” Her voice stays light, but something beneath it changes. “Medical school was expensive. I had a face agencies liked, a body they could sell clothes on, and a stubborn refusal to drown in debt.”
The porch swing rocks gently beneath us.
“Was that what you wanted?” I ask.
“To model?” She shakes her head. “Not really. It was useful. Sometimes fun. Sometimes awful. Mostly, it was a tool. People saw my face and body before they saw my brain, and I learned how to use that without letting it define me.”
Something in me stills because we both know the weight of being seen wrong, even for different reasons and with the same ugly truth underneath.
“Most people assume I left medicine for modeling,” she says. “Truth is, modeling helped me survive long enough to become a doctor.”
I look at her and understand why she has been bothering the back of my mind. The face I half-remember was polished and distant, built for strangers to stare at. This Avery is warm skin, tired eyes, ranch dust, sharp humor, and hands that know how to heal.
“You hated people deciding who you were by looking,” I say.
Her gaze comes to mine. “Yes.”
The thing inside me that has been braced for months loosens.
“I worked at an auto body shop,” I say.
Avery does not move or pounce on the opening. She waits, and that is the part that gets me.
“I was good at it. Frame work, welding, paint, repairs. I liked taking something smashed up and making it useful again.”
I look toward the yard because looking at her might make this impossible. “Then money went missing. Expensive parts. Changed invoices. Altered inventory numbers. A few receipts and work orders were in my name.”
“Your login?”
“I left a terminal open once. Maybe more than once. Stupid.” My jaw tightens. “I trusted people I worked with. One of them used that.”
“You didn’t take anything.”
I turn my head. “No.”
Avery holds my gaze. “Okay.”
My throat feels rough. “You should ask how you know.”
“I don’t know. Not for certain.”
That should sting, but it does not. The honesty steadies me.
“But I know what it looks like when someone is performing innocence,” she says. “People trying too hard to convince me before I’ve even asked. You don’t perform innocence, Cole. You carry hurt.”
I look away before she sees too much.
“They pressed charges,” I say. “Nothing violent. No grand confession. Just paperwork, suspicion, and my name tied to theft I did not commit. I lost the job, the apartment, and a few people who were never mine to begin with.”
Avery’s breath leaves her slowly.
“Preston thinks he can prove someone set me up. Old invoices, files, things that don’t line up. I don’t know what comes next, and I don’t want people here looking at me like I’m waiting for a judge to decide whether I’m worth feeding.”
Her eyes sharpen. “No one here thinks that.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know my family.”
“I know people.”
The words come out harsher than I mean them to. Avery does not flinch.
“Fair,” she says. “Then know this. I don’t need a judge to tell me whether you’re worth kindness.”
I can’t answer. The porch swing creaks beneath us, and then I realize Avery’s hand is in mine.
I do not know when it happened. Maybe she reached for me, or maybe I reached for her. Her fingers are warm, curled gently around mine, not holding me in place.
I look down at our joined hands.
Avery follows my gaze. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“Don’t.” My throat works. “Don’t let go.”
Her fingers tighten, barely. “Okay.”
This time, it feels like permission to stay, and Avery looks out over the yard.
“Thank you for telling me.”
“That’s it?”
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Pity, maybe. Doubt dressed up as concern. A careful step back.”
She nods like that makes sense. “I’m angry for you. I’m glad Preston is helping. I’m tempted to ask a hundred questions, but I won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you gave me trust. I’m not going to grab for more than you handed me.”
For the first time in longer than I can remember, I breathe deeply.
Avery’s thumb brushes once over mine, so light I might have imagined it if my whole body had not noticed.
“You know,” she says, “for what it’s worth, I still think you’re good with your hands.”
Heat climbs the back of my neck. “You say things like that to all your patients?”
“Only the ones who keep holding my hand.”
I should let go, but I do not.
The porch swing moves beneath us, slow and quiet, carrying us nowhere and somehow farther than I have been in months.
Inside, someone calls Avery’s name, but she does not answer right away. She keeps her hand in mine, her shoulder close enough that I feel the warmth of her through the evening air.
The world does not end. No one steps outside and decides I am too much trouble. No one looks at me like the worst version of my story is the only one worth believing.
Avery sits beside me in the dark, holding my hand like it is the simplest thing in the world.
To me, it feels like a future.