Chapter 6 – Kenna-Present #3
The sound of Cole’s voice cuts through the bar like a whip. Calm. Low. But loaded.
Nathan turns slowly, tension rolling off him in waves. I instinctively shift, stepping back a little. I don’t fear either of them, but I suddenly feel like the air has been sucked out of the room.
Cole’s eyes flick between us. He’s standing just a few feet away with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. His shoulders are tight. Alert. Ready.
“I didn’t realize this was a reunion,” Nathan mutters under his breath, jaw ticking.
“It wasn’t,” I say quickly, glancing between them. “Cole—”
“You looked upset,” Cole says, his gaze locking on mine. There’s something gentler in his voice now. Quieter. Protective. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, but it doesn’t feel true, and we all know it.
Nathan scoffs and takes a step back from the bar, his tone bitter now. “Yeah, clearly. Looks like I was just warming the bench until the star showed up.”
Cole’s posture stiffens, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. Not yet.
“Nathan, please don’t,” I say softly.
But Nathan doesn’t stop. “You should’ve just said you weren’t over him. Would’ve saved us both a lot of time.”
“I tried.” I whisper. “Tried to let go and start over. When he came back, everything I’d buried resurfaced. I didn’t see it coming. I wish I had.”
Cole’s eyes flick to me again—his jaw tightens—but he stays quiet, letting me speak.
Nathan shakes his head, eyes sharp with frustration. “I met your whole family, Kenna. Your whole family. Except the one person who matters most. And now I get why. Deep down, you knew this would happen. You were never going to let me get close.”
His words cut deep.
Cole shifts slightly beside me, as if he’s not sure whether to intervene or give me space. But I can feel the energy flowing off him.
Nathan exhales a hard breath and throws some cash on the bar. “Good luck, Kenna,” he mutters, glancing sideways at Cole. “Hope you’ve got more than timing on your side.”
He leaves without waiting for a reply.
The silence he leaves behind feels sharp and strangely heavy. Like something final just happened.
I stand there staring at the drink in front of me. I never even touched it.
Cole clears his throat. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”
I glance at him, and my voice is quieter than I intend. “You didn’t.”
He shifts closer, his voice soft. “I wasn’t going to come up. I just…the way he looked at you didn’t sit right with me.”
I don’t respond right away, and when I do, it comes out barely above a whisper. “Why are you always showing up when I’m trying to move on from you?”
His expression falters. For a moment, he doesn’t have an answer.
Then, finally: “Because I can’t forget you either.”
Neither of us says a word. We just stand there while the bar hums around us. Laughter, clinking glasses, bits of conversation drift by, somehow muted. It feels like we’re cut off from everything except the silence hanging between us.
Finally, I pull in a breath and nod toward the door. “I should get going.”
He nods, stepping back to give me space, but his eyes linger on mine, unreadable. “I didn’t mean to mess things up for you.”
“You didn’t.” My voice is quiet. Honest. “They were already a mess.”
We walk to the door together in silence. Outside, the air is cool against my skin, the night sky deep and endless. He stops near the curb, hands stuffed in his pockets.
“Thanks for checking on me,” I say, hugging my arms around myself. “Even if it was…complicated.”
“Always,” he says, and there’s something final in the way he says it. Something that wraps around my ribs and won’t let go. “Goodnight, Kenna.”
I nod. “Goodnight, Cole.”
He looks at me for a moment longer, like there’s something else on his mind, like he might offer to walk me to my car. But then he just turns around and walks away.
I stand there for a beat, staring after him, heart heavy in my chest. Then I pull out my keys and make my way to the car, trying to ignore the sting behind my eyes.
The drive home is quiet. No music, just the faint trill of the tires on the road and the soft click of the turn signal at the empty intersections.
I keep replaying the night in my head. Nathan’s voice.
The look on Cole’s face. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. I just know I feel everything at once.
When I finally pull into the driveway, I see the glow of the porch light and Hallie’s car still parked along the curb. I exhale slowly, gripping the steering wheel for a second longer before stepping out.
Inside, the house is quiet but still warm with signs of life. Hallie looks up from the couch as I walk in, a blanket draped across her lap and a half-eaten bowl of popcorn beside her.
“Hey,” she says, giving me a sleepy smile. “You’re back earlier than I thought.”
I force a smile and hang my purse by the door. “Yeah, the date didn’t exactly go as planned.”
Her brows lift. “Want to talk about it?”
I shake my head gently. “Not tonight. Thanks again for watching him.”
She studies me for a second, clearly not picking up on the tension I’m trying to hide, but she doesn’t push. “Cohen’s out cold. We watched half of a movie. He did his homework like a champ, then crashed with a comic on his chest.”
I smile at that. “Sounds exactly like him.”
Hallie stands, grabbing her jacket. “You okay?”
“I will be,” I mumble. “Eventually.”
She nods, giving my arm a quick squeeze before slipping out the door. I lock it behind her, and for a second I just stand there alone in the stillness of the house.
Upstairs, Cohen’s door is slightly ajar. I peek in and find him curled under the covers, one arm flopped over his pillow, hair a mess, the comic book still tucked in beside him.
I walk in and kneel beside the bed, gently brushing back his hair. His face is so peaceful, unaware of the storm inside me. I envy him that.
“Hey, lovebug,” I whisper, kissing his forehead. “Sweet dreams, my sweet boy. I love you to the moon.”
He doesn’t stir. He’s deep in his dreams, and I wonder if they’re full of superheroes and secret lairs and the kinds of battles that always end with the good guys winning.
Back in my room, I kick off my shoes and sit on the edge of the bed. My dress feels too tight now, like it doesn’t belong to the version of me sitting here. I slip out of it and pull on an old hoodie.
As I move to hang up the dress, my eyes land on it. The art set.
Still pristine. Still untouched. The one Cole sent me just days ago.
I walk over slowly, my fingers barely touching the box.
I haven’t found the courage to open it yet.
Maybe I was scared of what it could mean, of what picking up a pencil again might stir inside me.
But now, after tonight, there’s something gentle pulling at me, a quiet hum, like maybe it’s finally time.
I sit down and lift the lid. Everything inside is neatly arranged. It’s like he knew what I’d need, down to the weight of the sketchpad paper and the brand of charcoal sticks I used to steal from the studio at school.
A small folded note rests on top. I didn’t notice it before. My fingers tremble slightly as I open it.
You used to draw the way some people smile. I hope this helps you find your way back to that.
Yours always, Cole
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. Not because I’m sad, but because I’m not sure how to feel at all.
I set the note down and close the lid gently.
I curl into bed and think of Cohen’s soft laughter from earlier echoing in my mind, and I realize something.
I’m standing in the in-between.
Between what was and what could be.
And I don’t know which way to go.