Chapter 10 – Cole-Past #2
I park in the driveway and sit for a moment before I even get out of the car.
My heart is hammering in my chest, and my mind is a swirl of concern and guilt.
Why didn’t I notice sooner that she wasn’t here?
That something was off? Why do I always have to play catch-up with Kenna?
I want to do more than just show up with a care package.
I want to fix things for her, but I don’t even know what’s wrong.
It makes me feel powerless, and I hate it.
I stare out the windshield at the quiet street, trying to steady myself. The basket beside me feels heavy, like a promise I’m not sure I can keep. What if she pushes me away? What if I’m too late?
But as I grab the basket from the passenger seat, the weight of it in my hands somehow grounds me. This is something I can do. Maybe it’s small, maybe it’s not enough, but it’s something. I can be there for her. I can be the one thing in her life that stays constant, no matter what.
I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. This isn’t just about snacks or care packages. It’s about showing her she’s not alone, even when everything feels like it’s falling apart.
I walk up to the front door, the sound of my footsteps muffled on the porch. I take a deep breath and knock softly, my heart thumping in my ears. Claire answers almost immediately, her face lighting up in surprise when she sees me standing there.
“Oh, Cole,” she says, her voice kind but cautious. “What brings you by?”
I hold up the basket, a little sheepish. “Kenna’s not feeling great, and I thought I’d bring her something. I wasn’t sure what she’d want, but I figured...I don’t know. Something to cheer her up.”
Claire’s eyes soften, the concern clear on her face. “That’s sweet of you. She could use some cheering up. Kenna’s in her room. Even though she’s not feeling well, I’m certain she will still appreciate the gesture.”
“Thanks, Claire,” I mumble, trying to keep my voice steady. I’m scared to ask how long Kenna’s been like this, scared of the answer.
The smell of home hits me as I walk through the door, familiar and comforting in a way that I didn’t realize I needed.
The house feels warm, lived-in. I glance around the hallway, my mind flickering back to memories of sitting in the living room, Kenna curled up beside me with a blanket, her hair falling over her face, that soft, content smile she gets when she’s not worried about anything. I haven’t seen that smile in a while.
I feel like I’ve been a stranger in her life for too long, and it eats at me every damn day. But maybe today I can fix that. Maybe today, I can be the one to take care of her, even if it’s just for a little while.
I make my way up the stairs, the house eerily quiet. It feels too still. Normally, the noise of her older brothers and sisters moving about would fill the space. But today, it’s almost like the air itself is holding its breath.
The wooden steps creak softly under my feet, a lonely sound in the heavy silence. I pause halfway up, listening for any sounds coming from her room like laughter, music, or footsteps, but there’s nothing. Just the steady beat of my heart, and the faint hum of the heater.
I stop in front of her door. The weight of the moment settles in, heavy on my shoulders.
I knock gently. “Kenna?” My voice is low, uncertain. “It’s me.”
There’s a pause, and then I hear a faint shuffle of movement inside. She doesn’t say anything, but I can hear her shift under the blankets, a soft sigh escaping her lips. I push the door open a little, just enough to peek inside, and my heart drops into my stomach.
She’s curled up in a ball, her back facing me, her knees tucked up against her chest, her shoulders shaking in time with her quiet sobs.
The sight of her like this hits me harder than anything else I’ve ever seen.
I’ve always known Kenna to be strong. Stronger than anyone I know.
Right now she looks small, fragile, like she’s barely holding it together. And it breaks me.
I swallow the lump in my throat, feeling like I want to disappear and hold her at the same time. I’ve never seen her like this. The Kenna who laughs too loud, who challenges everyone, who never backs down. Where did she go?
I step into the room, my voice soft, almost a whisper. “Sunshine, please tell me how I can help you.”
She doesn’t immediately look up. For a moment, I stand there, unsure what to do. Her breathing is shaky, uneven, like she’s trying to keep herself together, but it’s not working. My chest tightens with every sound she makes, the quiet sobs breaking me a little more with each one.
I want to say something smart, something that’ll fix this. But all I can do is stand there, feeling the weight of her pain fill the small room.
When she finally lifts her head, her eyes are red and swollen from crying.
There’s a rawness to her expression, something fragile and vulnerable that I’m not used to seeing.
And even though I’ve always known Kenna to be strong, I can’t deny how much it hurts to see her like this.
She’s never been one to ask for help, to show weakness, but here she is—showing me everything she’s been hiding.
“Please,” she whispers, her voice rough. “Just hold me. Don’t leave.”
A hard swallow tightens my throat, and my heart aches for her. Whatever’s going on in her head is a mystery to me. I wish I could take it all away, wish I could fix whatever this is, but I know I can’t. If all I can do is hold her, that’s what I do.
I walk over to her bed and sit down next to her.
She doesn’t say anything else, just reaches for me, and I pull her into my arms. She presses her face into my chest, the tears still coming, wetting my shirt.
I hold her as tight as I can, like I can somehow hold all her pain at bay, like if I squeeze hard enough, it’ll all go away.
But nothing works. All I can do is hold her. Hold her and let her cry, let her get whatever’s breaking her out. And I’m fine with that. I’ll do whatever it takes to make her feel even a little better.
Her body trembles against mine, and I can feel the ragged edges of her breath against my skin. I want to tell her it’s going to be okay, but I don’t know if that’s true. So I just stay quiet, letting my presence speak instead.
I wish I could be the one to tell her everything’s going to be okay, but I don’t know that it will be. Not yet. All I know is that she’s here in my arms, and she’s hurting, and I’m going to do everything I can to help her get through it.
I can feel the weight of her on me. The way her body trembles against mine, and all I can do is hold on, tighter, because that’s the only thing I can offer her. The only thing that seems to make sense right now.
“Kenna,” I whisper, my voice barely above a murmur. “I have you, Sunshine. I’m right here. You’re not alone in this. I’m not going anywhere.”
She doesn’t respond immediately, but I can feel the tension in her body ease. Slowly, she relaxes into me, her sobs tapering off, her breathing becoming more even. It’s like she’s letting go of something. Something she’s been holding on to for too long.
I hold her close, her head resting on my chest as my fingers softly trace through her hair. Time stretches endlessly around us, but I don’t mind. I’ll stay for as long as she needs me. And for now, maybe that’s all that really matters.
But when she looks up at me, her eyes searching mine, I can’t help but feel this pull between us. It’s familiar. The connection. The way we’ve always been able to understand each other without saying a word.
She swallows, her voice still shaky but softer. “I got my period a few months ago. Every month they get worse and worse. The pain is unbearable. So this morning when I woke up, I tried getting out of bed to get ready, and I couldn’t even bear standing up. It hurt too much."
I close my eyes for a moment, my heart aching for her.
“Kenna,” I whisper. “If you’d only told me sooner, I would’ve been beside you through it all.
My heart wouldn’t have faltered, not for a moment.
No matter how heavy the truth, I wouldn’t have turned away.
I’m here now, Kenna, and I’m not going anywhere. Not today. Never.”
She bites her lip, the vulnerability in her eyes raw and unguarded. “I didn’t want to be a burden,” she says quietly. “I didn’t want anyone to think I was weak.”
She nods slowly, her eyes meeting mine with a quiet intensity that makes my chest tighten all over again. She doesn’t say anything more, but in that moment, I know she’s heard me. I’ve said the words she needed to hear, and that’s enough. For now.
I stay with her for hours, just holding her, not saying much. The world outside seems to fade away, and it’s just the two of us, in her room, in this space where nothing else matters. All that matters is the way she feels, that I’m here for her, and that we’re not alone anymore.
And that’s all I need to know.