Chapter 5 Cole
Cole
Work usually clears my head. Today… it doesn’t.
Frost rims the porta-john, the mountains are a smudge of blue behind a bank of cloud, and my breath comes out in icy puffs.
“Sixteens on the ledger, tens on the joists,” I remind the crew, flipping my pencil behind my ear. “If I find a ten where a sixteen goes, I’m pulling it with your teeth and making you redo the row.”
“Yessir,” Jake mutters, cheeks pink, hoodie up. Kid’s a decent framer with a talent for spacing out. Under normal circumstances I’d be working right alongside the guys. But today, I keep losing my place, staring through the skeletal second floor.
I shake it off and scan the plans on my clipboard.
Roof trusses tomorrow. Subfloor inspection this afternoon.
The east wall needs a shoring brace before the wind picks up.
I know all of this the way I know my own name, but every time I try to lock into it, my brain slides back to Hailey’s eyes going glassy at the airport and the way her chin quivered in the truck.
“Cole?” Travis waves a hand in front of my face. “You want us to snap line here or take it to the post first?”
“Post first,” I reply. “Then line. Keep your spacing tight.” I’m not looking. I’m seeing her on that air mattress with Maddie, giggling in the dark just like they always did when they’d camp out in my parents’ living room and whisper about boys.
I tuck my chin in my collar and walk the perimeter, boots grinding frost on plywood. The wind cuts through the studs and whistles up the stairwell void. I check the heel of a king stud, nudge a cripple an eighth with my hammer face, and tell myself to be a professional for five goddamn minutes.
It’s not like me to get wrapped around an axle. Not anymore. Not after love almost cost me everything.
“Generator’s coughing,” Travis calls.
“Because you flooded it,” I say, heading down. “Stop babying the choke.” I crouch by the unit, flick the switch, and listen to the sputter. She catches on the second try, purring rough. “See? She wants a firm hand.”
“Like my ex.” Jake laughs, nudging me as the guys behind us laugh.
Back in the construction office, I pour shitty coffee into a paper cup and brace a hip against the table covered in plans.
I should be comparing the window delivery against the change order where the client swapped to black-clad frames at the last second.
Instead, I’m picturing that stupid sweatshirt of hers, hanging off one shoulder, her collarbone peeking out.
When I steadied her on the stairs yesterday, her waist felt so delicate against my hand.
I take a gulp of coffee that tastes like it’s been sitting on the burner all morning.
She’s alone here.
That’s the thought I’m wrapped around. I know that feeling.
The silence after you drop someone at departures and drive home to a place where no one’s waiting.
I remember the first month I moved out here like it’s tattooed under my skin—sleeping in my truck in a Walmart lot off Kipling and showering at a rec center where the water never even got warm.
I rub at my chest like I can smooth the tightness out.
She’s not in the same situation I was. She’s got a job that pays actual money and a place with a view and I'm sure a friends list that will adopt her if she lets them. But she’s new.
And I watched her try to be brave at the curb with her cheeks pink and her hands tucked in her sleeves.
I don’t like the thought of her going home to an echoey, unfurnished apartment.
“Inspection at two,” I say out loud to myself, to the coffee maker, to the walls. I jot it on the whiteboard anyway because my head’s a sieve this morning. I scribble a reminder to call the window rep.
My phone buzzes across the table, skittering over blueprints and invoices like it’s got somewhere to be. I smile when I see Maddie’s name on the screen.
I thumb the screen and lean back against the counter. “Hey, kid.”
Her laugh bursts through the line, warm and bright enough to melt the frost on my boots. “You can’t still call me that. I’m a full-fledged adult woman now. I pay rent and buy my own toilet paper.”
“Wow. Truly living the dream.”
“I even assembled an IKEA bookshelf by myself.”
“I’m impressed.” I whistle. “You still have all ten fingers?”
“Barely.”
“So?” she asks after a beat, too casual. “You check in on Hailey yet?”
I huff out a laugh. “You mean the fully grown woman who’s been in Denver a whole forty-eight hours? No. I’m pretty sure she remembers how to feed herself.”
“You remember what it’s like being new out there? No friends, no clue where the hell you’re going half the time?”
“Different situation.”
“And? You still told me how lonely it was for you.”
I rub a hand over my jaw, fighting a smile. “Do you always have to be right?”
She laughs again, the sound looping between us like it used to when she was a kid trailing behind me everywhere. Then her tone softens. “She’s just… you know Hailey. She’ll never admit if she’s lonely; she’ll just hole up in her apartment and be sad.”
That lands. I stare at the scribbles on the whiteboard, the line that still says Inspection at two, pretending it takes all my focus. “She’s fine, Mads.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I helped her move in. Place is nice. Secure building, good neighborhood. She’ll be okay.”
“Cole.”
Her voice is quieter now, the way it gets when she’s not teasing—when she means something. “Just do me the favor. Please?”
I sink into the rickety office chair. I lean back, staring out the trailer window. “Yeah,” I say finally. “I’ll look in on her.”
“Promise?”
“You already got it once, you want it notarized?”
She squeals like she’s five again. “Knew it. You’re secretly a softie.”
“Only for you, kid. Look.” I grab a scrap of paper and a pen. “I’m even writing it down. Check on Hailey.” I say the words aloud as I write them.
“Thank you.” There’s a rustle, a muffled curse, and then her voice again. “Okay, gotta go. My oven mitts are literally on fire.”
“Jesus Christ, Mads—”
Click.
Sometimes I worry about the man that ends up with Maddie. I’m not sure I know a man brave enough to take her on. I glance at the scribbled note and drag a hand down my face.
Later, I tell myself. I’ll check on her later.
By the time I get home, the sun has sunk below the mountains, leaving the bitter cold biting through everything. I toss my tool belt onto the bench by the door, toe off my boots, and step into the quiet.
I crack open a beer, light the fire, and drop into the leather chair by the fireplace. The flames snap, throwing a pulse of orange light across the room. I should be doing invoices. Or zoning out to SportsCenter. Anything but sitting here thinking about a woman I have no business thinking about.
One beer becomes two. I tell myself it’s just because it’s Friday, because the job’s ahead of schedule, because I deserve it. But I know the truth. I’m trying to drown the quiet before it talks back. Just like I do every year around this time.
What’s that phrase again? Bah humbug?
I take a pull and stare at the fire until the edges blur.
When Hailey knew me, I was a mess. Nineteen, pissed at the world, running from everything and nothing.
I didn’t have a bad childhood, I was just young, dumb, and chose the shittiest group of friends.
The exact ragtag group your parents warned you about getting involved with.
She was just Maddie’s friend then, always hanging around the house.
I ran from that small town like it was on fire.
Took the first construction gig that didn’t care about background checks.
I slept in my truck and ate vending machine dinners.
I worked my way up, poured every ounce of myself into building something from the ground up.
And when I finally had it, my company, my house, my life, I let a woman walk in and tear it all down anyway.
Jess.
Even thinking her name tastes bitter. She was supposed to be it.
The one who made all the years of grinding worth it.
And then one day she looked at me like I was a stranger.
Said she didn’t love me anymore. Packed her things in silence.
I never even got a real explanation, just the echo of a door closing and a ring sitting on the dresser.
Maddie told me I should forgive her, that forgiveness would help me heal. That love’s still worth trying for. I told her I’d rather work myself into the ground than risk that kind of pain again. But here I am, thinking about Hailey Simpson.
I scrub a hand over my face, then grab my phone off the table. I need to check in, I promised Maddie I would. My thumb hovers over the screen.
Instead, I picture her curled up on some couch, wearing that oversized sweatshirt again, hair up in that messy bun. I imagine her voice soft from sleep, telling me how she misses the snow back home. How she’s getting by.
Then my brain betrays me, quickly sliding from innocent to indecent. Her lips parting when she laughs. The curve of her waist fitting in my hand as I back her against that hallway wall. The sound she’d make if—
I curse under my breath and set the phone down hard enough to rattle the bottle caps on the table.
Jesus Christ, man. Get a grip. She’s Maddie’s best friend. Practically family. You don’t get to think about her like that.
I lean back in the chair, drag a hand through my hair, stare at the fire until the shapes dance and mingle together. The phone screen lights up with the time—11:04. I should sleep. I should stop thinking.
I’ll check in on her tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.