Chapter 8 – Cole-Present
Chapter Eight
SEEING RED
COLE-PRESENT
I still see red.
Not the red that comes with fists and chaos. Not the kind that explodes in a flash and then fades into bruises and regret.
This is slower. Hotter. Heavier.
The kind that simmers just beneath your skin until it’s impossible to ignore.
It crawls along my spine like wildfire, pulses behind my eyes.
When I walked into that bar and saw Kenna sitting there with her eyes darting and her body tight like a spring, and Nathan looming over her, looking at her like she owed him something?
That was enough. That was all it took.
That image hit me like a freight train. Her shoulders hunching inward, her arms crossed like she was trying to make herself smaller. And Nathan? His stance was all dominance. Not physical, not overt. But insidious. Possessive. Like he had the right to her space, her time, and her attention.
He hadn’t touched her. Not really.
But it didn’t matter.
There was something in the way he stood over her, the way her voice wavered when she said she was fine. I knew that tone. I remembered it from a hundred late-night phone calls.
She was lying.
And I knew it with the certainty that makes your breath catch. The kind that doesn’t ask questions. It just knows.
I could see it in her eyes. She was trying to hold it together, not for herself but for him, for his ego.
I saw the mask she was wearing. The brave-girl act. I saw how carefully she controlled her posture, her breath, her expression. Like she’d been here before. She knew how to survive this kind of moment by disappearing inside herself.
Something inside me snaps, and it feels like everything in me shuts off except for one thought:
Don’t you dare touch her again.
I didn’t grab him. I didn’t raise my voice. Hell, I didn’t even move fast.
Because rage like this doesn’t need to scream. It doesn’t need to flail or shout. It just moves, silent and heavy, like a storm gathering behind your ribs.
I just stepped up beside them, close enough for Nathan to feel the shift in the air.
“Everything okay here?” I asked. Not loud. Not aggressive. Just enough.
And it worked.
The second I spoke, the illusion broke. His little power trip ended.
The look Nathan gave me was one I’d seen before in guys who thought they could push people around until someone finally stood up to them.
A flicker of something passed over his face. Annoyance, maybe shame. But mostly the raw surprise of being interrupted. Of having someone say, “No, not this time.”
He got irritated. Defensive.
Like I’d ruined his moment.
Good.
I can feel the protectiveness surge through me like a tidal wave.
It’s more than instinct. It’s deeper.
Like I’ve been waiting the last nine years for this moment where I get to step in and say no more.
It’s time to stop standing on the sidelines. Silence ends here. People like him won’t be allowed to intimidate someone like her without facing consequences.
No one else will hurt her or make her feel small and unsafe.
I’ve been in fights before. Dumb ones, reckless ones.
But this isn’t that. This isn’t about pride or ego.
This is about her.
About how she stiffened in her seat, how her voice changed when she lied and said she was fine, and how I caught a flicker of fear flash behind her eyes for just a second.
That second was all I needed. That second rewrote my entire night.
I don’t think I’ll ever not feel this way about her.
If we never get back together or she no longer wants me in her life, there will always be a protective instinct toward Kenna.
And maybe she doesn’t want me in her life right now. Maybe she has every reason to keep me at arm’s length. But that doesn’t matter in a moment like this. Whether or not she forgives me, I will always feel responsible for protecting her.
That won’t ever change. It’s not a choice. It’s a part of who I am. It’s hard-wired into me.
And I won’t apologize for it.
Once I know Nathan’s gone, I can’t just walk away. I can’t let her go home alone after that. Not when I know she’s shaken up. Not when I know she’s probably still replaying that moment in her head, wondering if I’m just another guy in the line of people who let her down.
So I follow her.
I keep my distance, staying a few blocks behind her, just in case. I need to make sure she gets home safe. She pulls into her driveway and walks inside.
I exhale.
But I don’t leave. I park a few houses down and sit in silence. Keeping watch like some overprotective idiot.
A part of me tells myself it’s stupid, unnecessary, and that she would hate knowing I followed her. But the louder part, the part that still hears the shake in her voice, won’t let me walk away.
I don’t sleep. I can’t.
Every time I close my eyes, I see her pulling away from Nathan, her voice tight and too polite. I could tell she was trying not to make a scene despite not being in the wrong.
It makes me sick, because this is what I left her to.
A world that asks women to make themselves palatable instead of protected. A world that demands they stay nice even when they’re scared.
A world that teaches women to stay quiet. To smile through the discomfort and apologize for the way other people mistreat them.
Not on my watch. Never again.
I wish I could just go to her, pull her close, and tell her everything’s going to be okay. But I know I can’t do that. Not like this. Not when everything between us is so...broken.
Not when I’m the ghost who reappeared after nearly a decade and expected things to be simple.
And then, when the first threads of pink creep into the sky, bleeding over the rooftops like watercolor, I finally close my eyes for a second. Falling asleep in the driver’s seat.
A soft knock jolts me awake.
My neck is stiff. My eyes burn. And standing outside my window, her breath visible in the cool morning air, is Kenna.
She’s barefoot on the driveway wearing a hoodie that hangs off one shoulder and a pair of old leggings I remember from when she was in high school.
Her hair is in a messy bun, the kind she always wears when she doesn’t care how she looks. But somehow she looks more beautiful than ever.
Like something out of a memory I forgot to grieve.
“What are you doing here, Cole?” she asks, wrapping her arms around herself.
Her voice isn’t angry. It’s confused and guarded. But not cold.
I swallow hard. Pushing the door open, I stretch my arms and rub the sleep from my eyes.
“There’s no way I could live with the guilt if something happened to you. The need to know you’re okay was too strong. Walking away after something like that wasn’t an option for me.”
It sounds like I’m making excuses, but it’s the truth. The only thing on my mind last night, throughout the night, was her safety. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to be sure she was all right.
She looks at me for a long moment, her eyes softening, and I wonder if she can see the sincerity in mine. But then, her gaze flickers, and she looks away. She sighs, taking a step back from the car.
“I’m fine,” she says a little too quickly.
Too clipped, too final. Like she’s trying to shut the conversation down before it opens something vulnerable,
I know she’s not fine. I know better than that.
“You didn’t have to do this, Cole. I can take care of myself, and I didn’t ask you to follow me. Honestly, you shouldn’t have.”
I can’t stop myself from responding.
“Yes, I did.” My voice is firm now, a little more certain.
“But I wasn’t doing it because you asked. I did it because I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you and I didn’t do anything to help you. Plus, I’ll never not look out for you. Not ever.”
Even if it kills me. Even if it means standing in the shadows while someone else holds her hand.
I don’t know whether she understands the depth of what I’m saying.
I don’t even know if she wants to hear it right now, but I need her to know that I won’t ever stop caring for her.
No matter how much distance we put between us, I’ll always be here for her, always looking out for her, no matter what.
She looks back at me then, and there’s a shift in her expression, like she’s fighting with herself over what to say. Finally, she gives me a small, reluctant smile.
“Thank you,” she says softly. “Really.”
I nod but don’t say anything else. This isn’t about making her feel like she owes me or asking for forgiveness. All I want is to know she’s safe. I just want her to see that someone cares.
When I finally get back to my mom’s house later that morning, I can barely keep my eyes open. I park my truck in the driveway, crawl into bed, and close my eyes, but I can’t stop thinking about Kenna.
I know I don’t have a place of my own. Hell, I never even got the chance to move out. But right now, in this small bedroom at my mom’s house, I feel restless. This house, these walls, they don’t feel like mine anymore. They never really did, at least not the way I wanted them to.
They’re a museum of my mistakes. A cage with clean sheets and the smell of familiarity that I’ve outgrown.
Still living here has been something that’s been weighing on me since I got out. There’s never really been a space that’s truly mine, never a chance to put down roots and make a home of my own.
I used to tell myself it didn’t matter, that having a place of my own wasn’t important. But now, every time I see Kenna and think about what we lost, what I lost, I want to change. I want to offer her more than this—a life still tied to my mom’s house.
I can’t even explain it, but the idea of her seeing me stuck here, in the same place I was before prison, makes me feel small. Like I’m not the man I want to be, the man I need to be for her, the man she deserves.
My phone buzzes, pulling me out of my thoughts. I grab it, blinking at the screen as I see my girl’s name.
That name. It still lights something within me. Hope, maybe. Maybe a little pain.
I’ve been waiting for this, wondering if she’ll even want to talk to me after last night.
Me
Hey, Kenna. I was thinking…if you’re free on Friday night, maybe we could do something? Just the two of us?
I stare at the screen, unsure. What if she doesn’t want to spend time with me? What if I’m pushing too hard? But I hit send anyway.
I don’t expect her response to come so quickly, but my phone buzzes again almost immediately.
Sunshine
Friday sounds good. We’ll figure something out.
I stare at the message for a second. There’s no yes, so it’s not a definite answer. But she didn’t say no, and that’s enough for me.
That one message feels like oxygen. Like maybe the door’s not locked after all.
I close my eyes for a moment, leaning back on my bed. A part of me feels like I’m getting through to her again, and the other part feels like I’m just stumbling through everything, hoping it all works out.
I think about what I’ll do when Friday rolls around. Where will we go? What will we do? And then it hits me: It’s not about the place, Cole. It’s about showing her you care. Showing her you’re here. That’s all she needs.
I push those thoughts to the back of my mind. There’s no need to stress about it yet. She’s agreed to see me, and that’s a good thing. The rest will work itself out.
For now, though, I can’t stop thinking about her. About how I couldn’t stand to see her uncomfortable last night. I hate I wasn’t there to protect her sooner.
Lying back on the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, there’s a promise to prove that the person who left is not the same one now. A determination to show she can trust again.
And maybe, just maybe, there’s still hope for us. Maybe this is the first step back to what we had.
But for now, I’ll take it one step at a time. I’ll show up for her. I’ll be the man she needs, whether she knows it or not.
Because I will always protect Kenna Feely.
That much, I know for sure.