33. Cole
Chapter thirty-three
Cole
I find Dorian sitting on a bench near the competition area, reviewing notes on a clipboard. He looks up as I approach, a silent question in his eyes.
The grim set of my jaw is apparently answer enough.
"It went that well, I take it?" He sets his clipboard aside as he frowns.
"Catastrophic," I confirm with a sigh. "Where's James?"
Dorian jerks his head toward the competition area. "Still at his station, trying to make the most out of the workshop."
Truth is, we’re all probably trying to look less like bewildered puppies and more like the competent alphas we’re supposed to be.
"Let’s go get him."
We navigate toward James, consciously giving Elena’s workstation a wide berth.
James spots us approaching. He makes a rather unconvincing show of checking his watch, then excuses himself from the workshop with a casual air that doesn’t quite mask the tension humming in his shoulders.
He meets us near a quiet cluster of empty vendor tents, the faint scent of burnt sugar and anxiety clinging to him.
"Well?" he asks the moment we’re out of earshot of the crowd. "What’s the verdict? Did you talk to her? Did you tell her? Is she on board?"
I exhale slowly, only now realizing I’d been holding my breath. The words feel dry, bitter. "She shut down. Completely," I say, the memory of her reaction twisting something in my gut. "Denied being an omega. Said we were wrong about the scent match. That we were just... projecting."
James’s eyebrows shoot skyward. "Projecting? But that’s—"
"Impossible, yes," Dorian interjects. "Our individual reactions, the specificity of the scent notes we all detected… it’s too congruent to be a 'projection'."
"She’s scared," I say, the image of her face vivid in my mind. "Terrified, more like. This is all hitting her at once… It’s a hell of a lot to process in one go. Especially with the final tomorrow."
James runs a hand through his hair, dislodging several artful waves and looking decidedly less like a charming rogue and more like a startled colt. "Okay. So… what’s Plan B? Because Plan A just went down in flames. Spectacularly, from the sound of it."
"I don't know," I admit, a fresh wave of failure washing over me. "I told her we should all talk tonight, but she declined. Vehemently. Said she needs to focus on the competition. Demanded space."
Dorian nods slowly, his expression thoughtful, though I can see a flicker of concern in his eyes. "Understandable, from her perspective. But, given the potential biological imperatives at play, hardly optimal."
"The point is, she’s not buying it. Or, at least, that’s the story she’s sticking to. Adamantly."
"Maybe I should speak with her," Dorian suggests after a moment, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "I have been… meaning to discuss a separate matter with her anyway. It might provide a more… natural opening."
The almost imperceptible tightening around Dorian’s mouth, the slightly evasive shift of his gaze, makes it clear he’s not about to elaborate on this ‘separate matter’ right now.
Fine. Secrets. We all have them. Instead, my mind, true to form, starts mapping out contingency plans, escape routes, worst-case scenarios.
Old habits die hard, especially when your instincts are screaming that you’re walking into a burning house.
"She might refuse to talk to you too," I warn. "She seemed really emphatic about wanting to be left alone."
"Then we adapt," Dorian replies with a calm assurance that should be my trademark. "We regroup. We strategize."
"She’s stubborn as all hell," James mutters, though there’s a grudging note of admiration in his voice.
"But she’s also pragmatic. If she is just starting to present, if she is about to…
you know…" He makes a vague, slightly panicked gesture.
"She’ll need to really understand what that means for tomorrow. "
Dorian and James launch into a frantic discussion of approach strategies, alternative scenarios, potential logistical nightmares.
Their voices fade into a murmur as my own thoughts begin to spiral.
Elena’s face when I told her. That flicker of raw fear, quickly masked by anger, defiance.
The way she completely shut down... I recognize that self-protective instinct.
It’s the same one I’ve relied on my entire career.
Don’t get too close. Don’t get distracted. Focus on the job at hand.
And that's when it hits me. Maybe this is a sign.
Maybe the universe is giving me an out. The festival ends tomorrow.
I'm going back to the city soon after. A clean break. I can just go back to my normal life: saving people, doing what I’m good at, what I understand.
No distractions. No emotional entanglements. No messy feelings.
No Elena.
The thought is surprisingly painful. A dull, hollow ache that spreads through my chest, making it hard to breathe. Is this… is this what meeting your scent match feels like? This terrifying mixture of yearning and uncertainty?
And if it is… how the hell am I supposed to do my job? How can I be the firefighter I need to be, the leader my crew depends on, when a significant part of my brain is constantly orienting itself toward her like a compass needle?
I can’t do both. I can’t serve the public, can’t fulfill my duty, and serve… her . Someone would get shortchanged. And in my line of work, a single misjudgment, a moment of distraction, could be fatal.
"Cole?" James’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. "You with us, man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."
I blink, forcing myself to refocus, to shove the fear, the confusion, back down where it belongs. "Yeah. Sorry. Just… thinking through contingencies."
Dorian studies me for a long, unnervingly perceptive moment. "You’re considering leaving, aren’t you?" he asks quietly, his voice devoid of judgment. "After the festival."
"It… it crossed my mind," I admit, the words feeling like a betrayal, even as I say them. "That was the plan when I first came here anyway."
"Running away won’t solve anything," Dorian says, his voice still quiet.
"It’s not running," I retort, my own voice harsher than I intend. "It’s being practical. Realistic. I have responsibilities in the city. A career. People who are counting on me to be focused, to be… present."
"And what about your responsibility to yourself?" James challenges. "To your own happiness? Does that not factor into your equation?"
"I’m a firefighter," I say flatly. "Personal happiness isn’t exactly in the job description."
James lets out a snort that’s surprisingly loud and derisive. "That, my friend, is the biggest, steaming pile of self-sacrificing bullshit I have ever had the misfortune of hearing."
I'm ready to glare him into submission, to put him back in his pretty-boy place, but he meets my gaze unflinchingly, his own blue eyes blazing with an unexpected fire.
"You think you’re the only one here with something to lose, Cole?
" he challenges, stepping closer, his usual playful charm replaced by an aggressive honesty. "You think you’re the only one who’s terrified?
I’ve spent my whole goddamn life trying to prove myself, trying to live up to impossible expectations.
I am this close ," he holds up his thumb and forefinger a hair's breadth apart, "to getting everything I’ve ever worked for, everything I’ve ever wanted. And yeah, this whole situation… it complicates things. Spectacularly. But running away? Turning your back and pretending it’s not happening?
That’s the coward’s way out, Cole. And I didn’t peg you for a coward. "
"James," Dorian warns, his voice a low, soothing rumble, trying to diffuse the sudden tension crackling between us.
"No, he needs to hear this," James insists, his gaze still locked on mine, unwavering, almost accusatory. "You’re not the only one who’s scared, Cole. We all are. Deeply, profoundly, shit- your-pants terrified. But at least I’m willing to admit it.
At least I’m not hiding behind some bullshit notion of duty and responsibility to avoid facing what’s right in front of me. "
His words hit with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel. The kid… damn it, the kid is more perceptive than I ever gave him credit for.
"I'm not—"
"Save it," James interrupts, his voice gentler now, anger giving way to something like weary understanding.
"We all have our go-to defense mechanisms, right? Mine's charm. Wit. Acting like I don’t have a care in the world. Dorian’s," he adds, glancing at him, "is control. And yours, Cole? Yours is duty. Carrying the weight of the world on those big, strong shoulders. But in the end, they’re all just armor, aren’t they?
Different ways to avoid getting hurt. Different ways to run. "
A heavy, loaded silence falls between the three of us, punctuated only by the distant, cheerful sounds of the festival. But in our small bubble, something fundamental is being negotiated. Not just about Elena. But about us. About who we are, and who we might become… possibly together.
"Let’s focus on tonight," Dorian says finally, his voice a soothing balm on our nerves. "Let's stick to my original idea. I will try to speak with Elena. After that…" He shrugs, a small, elegant gesture of acceptance. "We'll see."
With that regal evasion, he turns and heads back to the competition area, his posture radiating an unshakeable determination that I can’t help but admire. James and I watch him go in silence.
"For the record," James says quietly, his gaze still fixed on Dorian’s retreating figure, his earlier bravado replaced by a surprising, vulnerable sincerity, "I… I think you’d regret leaving, Cole. We all would."