Chapter 13 ELLA
ELLA
I wake up warm. Not sweating, choking on the tail-end of a nightmare, or clawing my way out of some memory I can’t outrun. But warm, with strong arms wrapped around me, making me feel the safest I’ve felt in a really long time.
A smile graces my lips as I recognize the room and the scent that surrounds me. I might have been tipsy yesterday, but not enough to erase my memory. I remember everything that happened. Every. Single. Detail.
Cole’s chest rises against my back in slow, even breaths, his arm heavy around my waist, his fingers curved gently against my stomach, gently cradling me.
His body radiates heat, and I melt back into it without thinking.
My cheek rests on his forearm, the scent of him—cedar, a hint of whiskey, and last night—soaking into my lungs.
For the first time in months, maybe years, I didn’t wake up shaking, in the dark, heart hammering, choking on guilt. I just… slept.
I sigh, eyes still half closed, letting the weight of last night wash over me—his hands, mouth, and voice calling me beautiful in places I’ve hated since I was bullied for my weight in high school.
He touched me like he wasn’t afraid of any part of me, and looked at me like I was the one doing him a favor by existing.
I stretch slightly, and his arm tightens instinctively. That’s when it hits. Last night. Oh God. Last night.
Slowly, horrifyingly, the warm post-sex bliss cracks open, and my insecurities slink right in.
He was drunk, I was too, we were emotional, he’d just gotten arrested and released, after winning the biggest project of his career.
Of course, he slept with me. It was gratitude sex. Stress sex. Convenience sex.
An awful sinking feeling fills my stomach. I blink hard at the ceiling, willing the tears back. “What did you do, Ella?” I whisper to myself.
Cole lets out a sleepy groan behind me. My body tenses as guilt floods my system. I need to get out of here. If I don’t make too much noise, maybe he won’t wake up. Then I can slip out quietly, go home, gather my dignity, and pretend I didn’t maul the man last night like I was starved.
I carefully lift his arm and begin inching out from under it.
He doesn’t stir. Good. I manage to wiggle out without waking him, though it takes every ounce of stealth I possess.
His grip loosens on a sleepy exhale, and I freeze, waiting.
When he doesn’t move again, I roll out of bed, putting my ninja skills to use.
I find my bra tangled in the blankets, tug his huge shirt on since he tore mine, and shimmy into my jeans as quietly as humanly possible. My shoes are on the far side of the room, and I tiptoe across the carpet, moving slow enough that even a mouse would be impressed.
I crack the bedroom door open and tiptoe to my freedom. The living room is still dim, lit only by a strip of early morning sun cutting through the blinds. Perfect. I can make it. I can escape without having to face—
Creak.
The front door swings wide open, followed by light footsteps. “DADDY? I’M HOME!”
I freeze mid-step, whole body seizing as Aria barrels into the living room, backpack bouncing, hair wild, talking a mile a minute. “Yaya said I could come in because she has a doctor’s appointment, and also I had waffles AND ice cream, but maybe that’s not healthy, but—“
She stops, and we lock eyes. She sees me, I see her, and the whole world stops.
“Miss Ella?” she asks, bewildered.
Panic detonates in my skull. “I—uh—hi—bye!”
I spin around so fast I nearly trip over a pair of boots, sprint down the hall barefoot, crash back into the bedroom, and slam the door with enough force to wake the dead. Or, in this case, Cole.
He jolts upright, hair sticking everywhere, voice raspy with sleep. “What? What’s going on?”
I’m plastered against the door, panting, eyes wide. “She’s here,” I whisper.
“Who?”
“Aria.”
His expression shifts from sleepy confusion to dawning horror. “Oh,” he mumbles. “Oh.”
Then there’s a knock on the bedroom door. A tiny, familiar, sweet, terrifying knock. “Daddy? Yaya dropped me off.”
I freeze. Oh no. Oh no no no.
I dive back under the comforter and flop into the exact position I woke up in, heart pounding so hard I swear the mattress shakes. Cole sits up, rakes a hand through his hair, and whispers, “Stay here.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” I mutter back. “I’m not doing the walk of shame past a child.”
He shoots me a look—half-amused, half-exasperated—then swings out of bed, pulling on the nearest pair of sweatpants.
His voice softens at the door. “Coming, sweetheart.”
I bury my face in his pillow. It smells like him, and everything we did last night. My entire body goes hot.
The door opens, and I hear Aria’s small voice rush in immediately. “Daddy! Yaya let me have waffles AND ice cream for breakfast.”
“She did, did she?”
“Uh-huh. She said it’s okay on weekends because she’s the fun one.”
Cole chuckles. “I’ll have to talk to her about that.”
“Are you sick? Your door was locked.”
“No. Just… sleeping.”
“Was that Miss Ella I saw?”
I shove the comforter over my head and pray for death. Cole tries to deflect. “Uh—give me a sec and then we’ll make breakfast, okay?”
“Okay!”
She skips away, humming. Cole closes the door, turns back to me, and smirks. How the hell is he finding this amusing?
“So,” he murmurs, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, “you were sneaking out?”
Heat floods my cheeks. “No. I was… adjusting.”
“Adjusting?” he repeats, eyebrows raised.
I sit up, hair wild, blanket clutched to my chest. “Yes. Adjusting. To life. To choices. To decisions I may or may not have made under the influence of tequila and questionable judgment.”
His eyes soften with amusement, and something warmer. “So you were running?”
“No!” I squeak. “I was strategically retreating!”
He laughs. God, he laughs—low, warm, amused—as he walks toward me. He drops onto the edge of the bed, leans in, and tucks a stray curl behind my ear. His fingers linger on my cheek. My stomach flips.
“You don’t have to run from me,” he says quietly.
My throat goes tight. “I wasn’t—“
“Shiloh.” His voice is gentle but firm. “I remember everything from last night. I wasn’t drunk enough to not know what I was doing. I was lucid for every single moment of it.”
I look down at my hands, twisting the blanket. “I just… don’t want you to think I’m some girl who throws herself—“
“I don’t,” he interrupts softly. “Not for a second.”
That almost undoes me. Instead, I clear my throat. “Okay. Well. Um. I should probably take a shower.”
He nods and stands, grabbing a T-shirt from his closet. “Here. You can change into this.”
I blink. “That’s huge.”
“It’ll look good on you. The one you’re wearing already does,” he winks at me, reminding me that I’m already dressed in his T-shirt.
He gives me a pair of sweats next.
“They’ll fall off,” I point out.
He smirks again. “Then hold them up.”
I glare, but it has absolutely no effect on him whatsoever.
While he goes to distract Aria, I shower, very quickly, because the last thing I want is to be caught half-naked by a nine-year-old, and throw on his clothes.
The shirt hangs off one shoulder, and the sweats are rolled three times.
I look like I’m wearing clothing stolen off a giant, and weirdly enough, I like it.
When I come out, Cole is flipping pancakes while Aria chatters about a boy in her class who cried during math.
Then she spots me and gasps dramatically. “I knew it was you, Miss Ella.”
I freeze, and Cole nearly drops the spatula.
“Hi, Aria. Good morning,” I smile through the panic, sliding onto the stool next to her.
“Good morning, Miss Ella.”
Cole distracts her by sliding a plate of pancakes in front of her.
I sit, eat a pancake while smiling and trying not to die of embarrassment.
Breakfast is… strangely nice. Cozy, domestic, like a tiny family moment I have absolutely no right to enjoy. Which is exactly why I have to get out of here. It’s getting too real too fast.
“Okay, I have to go,” I announce, wiping my hands and standing.
“You do?” Aria pouts.
“Yes,” I lie. “Work stuff. Lots of work stuff.”
Cole gives me a look—one eyebrow lifted, that same amused, doubtful expression. “Shiloh—“
“I’ll see you at the ranch,” I cut in quickly. “Since you’re moving in. Temporarily. Professionally,” I stutter.
Aria brightens. “We are? We’re living at Aunt Ella’s ranch?”
Cole coughs. “Not her ranch.”
“Well, Yaya says she runs the money, so technically it’s hers,” she argues.
Cole groans. I grab my bag. “Okay—bye!”
I flee before he can say another word because if he looks at me softly one more damn time, I’m going to melt into the floor.
I have no idea how I make it out of his house, back to the bar to get my car, and all the way home. All I know is that I’m mortified the whole journey.
My heart is still racing from the disaster that was this morning. From Aria walking in on me wearing her father’s clothes, Cole teasing me as I panicked, and the fact that I had to sprint back into his bedroom.
By the time I pull into Iron Stallion, the embarrassment has settled deep in my bones. I steal one last look at myself in the rearview mirror, wearing Cole’s shirt, inhale his scent like an idiot, and then I walk up the porch steps on silent feet.
The house is quiet, which is perfect for my sneaking back in. If I can just make it inside, shower, and pretend last night never happened, that will be perfect. I turn the knob quietly, push the door open, and walk straight into Zane and Ava’s stares.
Ava gasps so loudly I actually jump. Zane’s face goes flat—suspicious, big-brother mode activated.
“Oh my GOD,” Ava whispers, eyes widening. “You look—what is—Ella. Where were you?”
I freeze, caught like a deer in headlights. “Me? Out. With… friends.”
“Name one,” Ava deadpans.
I freeze.
She crosses her arms. “Ella. I am your only friend.”
“Wow,” I say, voice cracking. “That’s rude.”
She’s not wrong, but she doesn’t have to say it like that.
Zane folds his arms. “You were at the station with Cole yesterday, then you vanished. The whole family was panicked; even Ava could barely sleep. I had to calm her down.”
“You did NOT calm me down,” Ava snaps. “You poured whiskey in my tea!”
“It worked, didn’t it?” Zane mutters.
Ava ignores him, planting both hands on my shoulders. “Where. Were. You.”
I trip over my own words. “I—well—it’s not—not like that—I wasn’t with Cole.”
Ava gasps again. Zane raises one perfect accusatory eyebrow.
I panic. I am not ready for their questions. “OKAY, LOVE YOU BYE!”
And then I dart up the stairs.
“ELLA SHILOH MORGAN COME BACK HERE!” Ava yells after me.
Zane mutters, “She’s definitely lying.”
“Obviously!” Ava retorts.
I dart down the hall like a criminal sprinting from the law. When I get to my room, I slam the door closed and lock it. Only then do I let out a squeal I will deny until my death. I face plant onto my bed, bury my burning face in my pillow, and kick my feet like a teenager.
I had sex with Cole Dawson.
Again.
And it was so good that my brain is still floating somewhere above the atmosphere.
He made me feel seen, beautiful, wanted in ways I didn’t know I needed.
And now, after that morning of sheer humiliation and secret smiles, I’m certain of one thing: I want more, and when he moves into the ranch full-time for the project, I’m going to win him properly.
Now that I know what he feels like, what he sounds like when he whispers my name, I’m not running. Not anymore. I’m going to make him mine, one slow, steady, intentional step at a time.