41. Cole
Chapter forty-one
Cole
Me: S.O.S. I royally fucked up and I think Jenna needs you.
Cassandra: I’m on my way.
“Cole, wait,” Mara shouts over my shoulder as I shove past her to get to my bedroom. I slept in my car last night, too intoxicated to drive anywhere. I knew that if I stayed in the building, I would’ve slept on the welcome mat at Jenna’s front door after begging for her to hear me out.
In hindsight, I probably should’ve done that.
When she left her apartment on her way to find me, she would’ve found me waiting for her there, not-half naked in my apartment with a woman who’s been hell-bent on ruining my life since day one. The same woman who thought it was a good idea to occupy my empty bed while I wasn’t in it, even though her own fucking apartment is directly across the hall.
Not to mention walking out of my bedroom in the top Jenna had seen me wearing when Mara was straddling me.
When I got home, bright and early this morning, I went into my room and found Mara passed out cold, wearing absolutely nothing, with my sheet covering her from the waist down.
I ripped my t-shirt off, threw it on the floor and took a shower instead.
Nothing has ever happened between us.
Certainly not last night.
And I can say, with absolute clarity, that it never will.
“I didn’t expect her to be so dramatic about it,” she huffs, following behind me with heavy footsteps.
Does she even hear the words coming out of her own mouth?
I turn to face her. Her hands are on her hips, leaving my shirt more open than it was, and I quickly whip back around. “Dramatic?” I let out an obnoxious laugh. “You really couldn’t help yourself, could you? You saw a man who wanted nothing to do with you, a man who was happy being with someone else, and took it into your own hands.” I rummage through my walk-in-robe, pull a clean t-shirt off the hanger, and sling it over my head. I collect a pair of clean jeans hanging directly across from it.
Pushing past her, I fetch a pair of boxer briefs from my drawer, and stalk my way to the bathroom, locking myself inside.
“Get over it, Cole. All in the name of fun,” she shouts from behind the door. I dress in a hurry to hopefully make it to Jenna’s apartment before Cassandra does.
“You need to leave,” I tell her, finding her clothes on the ground scattered across every surface in my apartment, bunching them into one big ball. “Keep the shirt.” I open my door for her. “I mean this in the least respectful way possible: stay the fuck away from me, and stay the fuck away from Jenna. After word gets out about the stunt you pulled last night, Mara, I’ll be very surprised if you have a career waiting for you when this is done.” She turns ghost white.
I collect my phone and keys while throwing back a couple of Tylenol, and slam the door shut behind me.
Growing impatient while I wait for the elevator, I run down the stairs as though a masked killer is behind me with a knife in his hand and I’m his prey.
When I finally make it to the ground floor, I hunch over, hands on my knees to catch my breath while giving myself a pep talk on how the fuck I’m going to get out of this mess.
What am I going to say?
How am I going to say it?
Just do it, I scold myself. My hangover is trying its hardest to render me useless, but I shake it off.
My fist hovers over her door, but I don’t get the chance for it to connect when I hear a familiar voice from over my shoulder call out my name.
When I turn, I see Harley Wingrove seated on the black couch in the foyer, laptop open in front of him on the glass coffee table, with his phone placed beside it.
“Wingrove,” I say with a curt nod, hoping he doesn’t find it rude that I turn and continue to stare at the closed door in front of me.
I just need to do this before I chicken out.
“You don’t want to do that, man,” he tells me, and I hear his footsteps behind me on the hardwood floors, my body stiffening the closer he gets.
“I have to see if she’s OK.” I sigh, running my hands down my face, the headache forcing itself to my temples.
“The girls are all in there with her. They’ve got it under control. When Cassandra and Jenna are going through something, they’re the only people who can fix it.” He chuckles lightheartedly. “They call each other their ‘platonic soulmates’—whatever the hell that means.” This time, we both laugh, and my shoulders soften.
“I just don’t know what else to do,” I admit, defeat washing over me.
“Come on.” He walks back to the couch, shutting his laptop and putting it in the black bag on the couch. “Let’s go back to my place. We can talk about it over a glass of scotch. Let me just text my wife.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket, taps his screen, locks it, and puts it away. “We’ll take my car.”
He places two empty crystal glasses down on the table in front of us, along with a bottle of amber liquid without a label, only a sticker with handwritten words: Golden Girl . “You trying to poison me, Wingrove?” I ask, picking it up for further inspection, but nothing else is printed on the bottle anywhere.
He laughs with a shake of his head. “No. We’re about to branch out with Wingrove Estates, and are opening a distillery over Christmas,” he says. “This will be the first release.” Twisting the cap, he pours us a glass before sliding one across the table toward me.
“Thanks.” I nod, and I bring it to my lips to take a sip. “I’m more of a beer guy, but damn, that shit is smooth.” I place it back down onto the table, my fingers tracing every little indent designed into this expensive crystal.
He nods in agreement. “It took us a while to get it right, but I think we’ve nailed it now.” He pulls his seat out across from me while the two of us sit awkwardly. He’s the one who breaks the silence. “Cassandra filled me in on the way to Jenna’s apartment.” His brows pinch together.
“I fucked up.” I shake my head knowingly.
“Did you actually fuck up, or did it just look like you did?” he asks me.
“I guess that depends on how you view it.” I slouch into my chair. “Did I drunkenly hook up with Mara? God, no. But did I stop her while she said horrible shit to Jenna? Also, no.” Running my hands down my face, I lean forward and rest my elbows on the table.
“I’ve been in the picture for over a year, and know Jenna really fucking well. While she’s so incredibly stubborn, I know she loves with her whole heart.” He sips his drink, and I nod, pulling my hands away from my face. “I also know I could lose my fucking balls for telling you this—”
“Don’t say it.” I cut him off, because I don’t deserve to hear what he’s about to tell me.
“Alright. How about a different approach? Do you love her?” He shoots a dagger straight into my chest, and I feel it triple in size rather than wither away.
“Yeah. I think I do.” I chug back the rest of my drink at my admission, and pour myself another glass.
“That’s not going to cut it, I’m afraid.” He twists the cap, and glides the bottle back over to him. I tilt my head to the side. “I can’t have you fighting for someone important to me if you think you love her. I need you to be sure, Cole.”
I want to tell him I’m so fucking sure, but the words can’t seem to form.
He watches me closely, and I’m not sure how much time passes before I drink what’s left in my glass, and tap my fingers against the side for a refill.
He does, albeit reluctantly, but I think he knows I need something to take the edge off.
“What if you’re just swept up in the moment?” he asks as he rises from his chair, taking the bottle of whiskey with him to put back on his drink cart.
Point taken.
“Look, I get it. I’ve never been unsure about wanting Cassandra. I wanted her my whole life. But I do know what it’s like to watch her walk away without telling her how I really felt,” he says, and I dip my head with a heavy sigh.
“So, tell me how I’ll know for sure, Wingrove, because I won’t be the reason her heart breaks.”
“You’re the only person who can figure that part out. But let me just ask you this. You guys live near each other in California, right?” he asks, and I nod in response.
“I think we do.”
“And say she was to walk past you, hand in hand with someone else. How would that make you feel?”
“Like knocking every single one of his teeth out one by one, until he’s unconscious and physically cannot walk away with my girl,” I say through gritted teeth as my jaw ticks, my knuckles clenched shut. Harley’s face is obviously entertained by my response.
“And what if she told you that this new guy made her happy? That you should leave her be?” His voice is calmer now, less matter of fact.
I pause, staring at my glass, picturing Jenna genuinely happy with someone else. While my heart breaks knowing I’m not the one who made her feel that way, I'm relieved knowing she got the ending she should have. “I would tell her she deserves all the happiness in the world. And if she’s happy with someone who isn’t me, then I would learn to live without her.” The confession makes my stomach flip and my chest constrict, because her happiness means more to me than my own. And while that may be the truth, it’s also how I know for sure that she’s who I’m always going to belong to.
Even if she doesn’t want me.
“That, my friend, sounds a lot like love to me.” He raises his empty glass to cheers, and I raise mine, gently tapping the rim.
“Women,” I say with a huff.
“Will never be able to fully understand them, but I refuse to live without mine.”
“Cheers to that.”