Chapter 8
Cole
Cole lay flat on his back, staring at the bland white ceiling of the unloved apartment, the dim street lights of their abandoned neighborhood painting uneasy patterns across the walls.
He was exhausted, but his mind refused to shut the hell up.
Every time he closed his eyes, he was back in that damn storage closet with Travis’s body pressed against his, the sharp scent of his cologne, the iron grip around his waist. The second their cover was clear, Travis had shoved him away like he was dirty, a thing to be discarded.
Like the heat between them had been his fault. Yeah, he’d have had to be crazy to miss the intensity in the way Travis clung to him too.
Cole shifted onto his side. He told himself he wasn’t hurt that he was frustrated. That’s what he needed to believe. Because some stupid, masochistic part of him had wanted— fuck—expected more.
It wasn’t even just the shove. It was all of it.
The way Travis had blamed him, like it was his fault the op had nearly gone sideways.
As if Travis hadn’t put them in such close proximity, as if he hadn’t stood there, frozen, his breath ragged against Cole’s skin, his grip tight like he hadn’t wanted to let go.
But he had let go. Hard. Like Cole was disgusting.
Cole’s stomach twisted, the memory was sharp and stung right in his chest.
It wasn’t fair. He hadn’t done anything wrong, hadn’t asked for the way Travis had grabbed him, hadn’t asked for his heat to brand itself into his skin like some sick joke. And yet, somehow, he was the one who had to sit here and dissect every second of it, feeling like he was losing his mind.
And that was the worst part.
Because it wasn’t the first time he’d been in this position.
Not the first time he’d been left alone with a weight that never should have existed in the first place. Not the first time a straight guy had taken up too much space in his head, too much room under his skin.
He knew better. He knew better.
But his body didn’t seem to care about logic, and his heart—his stupid, reckless heart—still hadn’t learned its lesson.
Cole gritted his teeth, pressing his face into the pillow. He was done. Done thinking about it. Done letting Travis get to him.
Tomorrow, things would be normal again.
They had to be.
Cole groaned, rolling onto his stomach, punching his pillow for good measure. It wasn’t enough. He still felt wired, still felt that stupid tingling all over his skin.
◆◆◆
The next morning, what even was this, day six or day seven?
He let himself lie there, blinking up at the ceiling, his body was stiff, his head foggy because he hadn’t slept much at all. Not with his brain stuck in a damned glitch all night, replaying every second in that storage closet.
By the time he rolled out of bed and padded into the kitchen, Travis was already there, standing by the counter, his back a wall of tense muscle beneath a gray T-shirt. He was staring down into his mug like it had personally offended him, his entire body taut, shoulders stiff enough to snap.
Right.
Cole wasn’t about to let things get awkward.
“Jesus, you look like you slept worse than me.” He leaned against the counter, stealing a glance at Travis’s face. “Which, honestly, is impressive considering I spent half the night wondering if you were gonna come and smother me to death in my sleep for just existing.”
Travis didn’t react. Didn’t smirk, didn’t roll his eyes, didn’t even acknowledge him. He just took a slow sip of coffee, blue gaze locked somewhere in the distance, straining his whole face.
Cole frowned.
Alright. That was new.
He pushed off the counter, stepping a little closer. “C’mon, Captain. Gimme something. A grunt? A glare? A vague threat against my sugar addiction?”
Nothing.
Travis set his mug down, moving around Cole like he wasn’t even there, opening the fridge and pulling out a protein shake with the kind of quiet efficiency that made Cole want to throw things just to make noise.
“Oh, okay.” Cole folded his arms. “So we’re doing this today.”
Travis didn’t reply.
The pain of rejection squeezed Cole’s insides, twisting with sharp, painful memories.
This wasn’t their usual dynamic. This wasn’t the back-and-forth, the jabs, the barely-contained exasperation. This was so much colder. Cold enough to sting.
“Are we gonna talk about yesterday,” he snapped, “or are you just gonna keep pretending I don’t exist?”
That got a reaction.
Travis’s whole body strained, he gripped the protein shake hard before he twisted the cap off a little too forcefully. He didn’t look up. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
Cole scoffed. “Bullshit.”
Travis let out a slow breath like he was forcing himself to stay calm. “You almost compromised the mission.”
Cole’s hands curled into angry, shaky fists at his sides. “Oh, that’s rich. You shoved me into that shelf which nearly got us caught. And guess what? That nearly compromised the mission.”
Travis’s gaze flicked sharply to him. “Not the point.”
“Oh? Enlighten me, Captain, what is the point?”
Travis didn’t answer.
Cole’s heart beat too fast with the anger that was festering into rage in his gut.
“You’re acting like I shoved you into that shelf,” he snapped.
Travis’s entire body went stiff.
And that was it. That was the moment.
Because to Cole, the unmistakable flash in Travis’s eyes, the moment of hesitation, the way his mouth pressed into a thin line…fear plain and simple.
Cole hesitated, not sure if he should push any harder.
Because this wasn’t about the mission.
And Cole knew it but he still couldn’t put his fingers on it.
Travis didn’t speak.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t do anything except stand there, rigid and unreadable, his hands braced against the counter like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will. Like he was about to pop at any moment.
The pressure was squeezing Cole. The silence stretched between them, thick with every heavy unspoken word. And fuck, it wasn’t just frustration anymore, it was so much deeper, and Cole wished he could name it because it was hurting him.
Instead, Travis was standing there like he was about to blow, all tension and sharp edges. He looked away fast like looking Cole in the eye would be admitting some kind of defeat.
And that pissed Cole off more than anything else.
“Travis.” His voice was quieter now, more controlled, but no less insistent. “What the hell is this really about?”
Travis’s lips moved like he was about to say something; like he wanted to—
And for the first time since this whole mess started, Cole saw the cracks in his armor.
Travis’s fingers twitched against the counter, tightening and then releasing, like he didn’t know what to do with them.
His jaw, always set like stone, shifted just enough for Cole to catch the tenderness in his expression.
And his eyes—steel-blue, sharp, always so controlled—weren’t steady anymore.
He wasn’t angry.
He was conflicted.
For the longest moment, Travis looked like he wasn’t sure whether to run or fight.
There it was. Proof. That this wasn’t about a botched mission, or a knocked-over pipe, or anything that could be fixed with a debriefing report.
Travis felt it too. Whatever that was in the tight space next to the factory.
Cole took a step forward, body trembling subtly, his voice quieter but more determined. “Travis.”
Travis inhaled slowly, his composure on the verge of crumbling.
His hands trying to find something to grasp.
And then—
BEEP.
The sound of the encrypted channel on Cole’s laptop on the kitchen table shattered the moment.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then Travis exhaled sharply, stepping back like a door had just slammed shut inside him. He grabbed his coffee, posture stiff like he hadn’t just been on the verge of a huge emotional breakthrough.
Cole bit back a curse and turned toward the laptop.
The second he accepted the encrypted call, Commander Harris’s face appeared on the screen.
“Good work, gentlemen,” Harris said, his voice all business. “We ran the photos through the database—Denton’s associate in the leather jacket is Julian Ashford. He’s a damn big fish. He’s one of the major suppliers running product through half the city. Those photos will look great in court.”
Harris ran through a few more minor details and then almost as quickly as he popped up on screen, he dismissed himself.
Cole barely processed the words even once the call was over, his body was still buzzing from whatever the hell had just happened between him and Travis.
Across the room, Travis stood rigid, arms crossed over his chest, his face a perfect mask of professionalism. Like the last twenty-four hours hadn’t even happened.
Cole fidgeted.
Tension hung over them heavily, like a thick noxious gas was filling all the available space, making it harder to breathe.
Cole tried to hang around but he couldn’t take it.
His skin was tensed too tight, his thoughts were spiraling. The air in the apartment was suffocating, thick with everything that had happened.
He needed out.
He eyed the door.
Travis had been nagging him about exercise since day one. Maybe he had a point. Maybe Cole did need to move, to sweat out the frustration clawing at his ribs. Or maybe he just couldn’t spend another goddamn second in this space, watching Travis pretend nothing was wrong.
He pushed off the counter and went to his room and quickly changed into some loose-fitting clothes. “I’m going for a run,” he declared as he headed to the door.
Travis turned to him, hyper-serious. “You’re not allowed out unless we’re ordered out.”
Cole flipped him off on the way out.
◆◆◆
The crisp morning air hit him like a slap to the face.
Cole took off at a steady pace, sneakers hitting the pavement in a regular rhythm, arms pumping.
Travis was right about one thing, moving his body felt damned good.
It wasn’t about his crazy, straight fake-boyfriend Travis, or the tension choking the air between them, or the way Cole’s entire body still tingled, still felt too aware of every little shift in Travis’s expression.
Nope.