Chapter Eleven Cole #2
“Before we wrap up for today,” Tracey says as the hour draws to a close, “I want to highlight an important point from our discussion. Several of you mentioned justifying surveillance behaviors as protection or appreciation of the other person. This is a common rationalization—the belief that your behavior serves a positive purpose for the person being observed.”
She looks around the circle, making brief, uncomfortable eye contact with each of us.
It takes everything in me not to drop my gaze when she looks at me.
“The reality is that true protection respects independence. True appreciation respects boundaries. When we watch others without their knowledge or consent, we’re not protecting or appreciating them—we’re controlling our own anxiety about uncertainty. ”
Her words slice through me with scalpel-like precision. I almost question whether or not she’s been watching me this week.
“For next week,” Tracey continues, “I’d like you all to continue your awareness practice, but with special attention to the justifications that arise. What stories do you tell yourself about why your behavior is necessary or beneficial? Write these down, and we’ll discuss them at our next meeting.”
She glances at her watch. “Let’s end with our commitment statements for the week ahead.”
One by one, we recite our intentions for the coming week. When my turn comes, I say simply, “I will respect the boundaries Hailey sets, even when it’s hard.”
The words come out feeling more like a lie than the truth. I’ll try to respect Hailey’s boundaries, but I can’t promise I won’t act to protect her if Lars Winters continues to be a problem.
As the meeting disperses, Tyler approaches me. “Got time for coffee? The place across the street isn’t half bad.”
I consider declining. Our scheduled check-in isn’t until later in the week, and I’ve already used up my quota of personal disclosure for the day. But there’s something about Tyler’s expression that tells me this isn’t a casual invitation.
“Sure,” I agree with a shrug. “One cup shouldn’t keep me up all night.”
The coffee shop is small but not crowded, with mismatched furniture and local art on the walls. We order coffee and then find a table near the back, away from the handful of other customers tapping on laptops or engaged in quiet conversation.
Tyler doesn’t touch his overcomplicated espresso concoction. He just watches me for a long moment, his fingers laced together on the table.
“So,” he finally says. “You want to tell me what’s actually going on?”
I raise an eyebrow, bringing my black coffee to my lips. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Bullshit.” Tyler’s voice is quiet but firm.
“I’ve been in those meetings for six months, Cole.
I know what a man looks like when he’s white-knuckling it through a share.
You gave Tracey exactly what she wanted to hear tonight.
All the right words, all the right insights.
” He leans forward. “But your knee was bouncing the entire time. You kept clenching your jaw. And you couldn’t look anyone in the eye when you talked about Hailey. ”
Damn. Sometimes I forget that I’m not the only hypervigilant guy in the room.
“I’m fine,” I say, the lie tasting stale even as it leaves my mouth.
Tyler just stares at me.
The silence stretches. He doesn’t fill it. Doesn’t prompt. Just waits with the patience of a man who’s heard every deflection in the book and has all night to sit through mine.
“Spill it,” he says finally. “Whatever it is. I’m not Tracey—I’m not going to write it in a file or adjust your plan. But I am going to stay here until you give me something real.”
My mind races through options, calculating which truth to offer up. Because Tyler’s right—he’s too observant to accept another polished non-answer. He needs something genuine.
Option one: Tell him about Lars Winters. About the footage I found. About the address currently burning a hole in my brain. About how every instinct I have is screaming at me to pay the man a visit and make sure he understands exactly what happens to people who threaten women I care about.
Option two: Tell him about Emma.
The choice is easy. Emma’s incident is in the past, and it’s the real reason I’m in the program. Lars Winters is a problem I haven’t solved yet. No one has to know about it.
I drag a hand over my face and let out a slow breath.
“I haven’t mentioned my sister yet, have I?”
Tyler’s eyebrows rise slightly. “Didn’t know you had one.”
“Emma. She’s four years younger than me.” I stare at my coffee, watching the steam curl upward. “Four months ago, she showed up at my apartment in the middle of the night. Her boyfriend had beaten the shit out of her. Split lip, black eye, bruised ribs. She could barely stand.”
Tyler’s expression shifts. He knows where this is going. Of course he does.
“I wanted to kill him,” I continue, my voice flat.
“Right then. That night. I could have ripped him to shreds. But Emma begged me not to. She needed me, not”—I gesture vaguely—“whatever I was about to become. So I stayed. I held her while she cried. Helped her with the police report and legal paperwork. Did everything right.”
“But?”
“But three weeks later…” I finally look up at Tyler. “He found her and put her in the ICU. She almost died.”
Tyler is quiet for a long moment. “What did you do?”
The question hangs in the air. He already knows the answer, but he’s giving me the space to say it out loud.
“I found him.” My jaw tightens at the memory. “Tracked him down and confronted him outside one of the dive bars downtown.”
“And?”
“And I beat him the way he beat my sister.” I meet Tyler’s eyes without flinching. “I made sure he felt every single thing he did to her.”
Tyler doesn’t look shocked. Doesn’t look disgusted. If anything, he looks like a man who understands the math I was doing in that moment.
“How’d you avoid charges?”
“He didn’t press them. I made it clear that if he did, I’d make sure every cop, every prosecutor, and every journalist in the state knew exactly what he’d done.”
Tyler starts to nod, but I hold up a hand.
“He did, however, hire a lawyer to sue NextGen, the security firm I worked for at the time, because he figured out I used company resources to track him. I got fired, and… The only reason I have my current job is because I agreed to participate in the group.”
Tyler lets out a long breath, but…that’s it.
The irony of the bad guy using the very system designed to hold him accountable against the person who stopped him doesn’t seem to faze Tyler.
Almost like this is a story he’s heard before.
If I think about that too hard, rage might burn me up from the inside out.
“And Emma?”
“She’s okay. Physically, anyway.” My chest feels tight. “Sometimes I worry that I remind her of that night. Of all of it.”
Tyler finally takes a sip of his espresso, processing everything I’ve told him. “That’s heavy, man. Thanks for trusting me with it.”
I nod, something loosening in my chest. Not relief, exactly—more like the release of pressure from a stuck valve.
“So that’s what’s eating at you?” Tyler asks carefully. “The stuff with Emma?”
I hesitate for just a fraction of a second. “Yeah,” I lie more easily. “Being around Hailey… It’s bringing up a lot of old feelings. That need to protect. To make sure what happened to Emma doesn’t happen to someone else.”
It’s not untrue. It’s just not the whole truth.
Tyler studies me, and for a moment, I think he’s going to push harder. But then he nods slowly.
“Okay. I get it.” He leans back in his chair.
“But here’s the thing, Cole. What happened with your sister—that wasn’t you slipping.
That was a one-time reaction to an extreme situation.
It was revenge. The fact that you’re aware of those protective instincts now?
That you can name them? That’s progress. ”
I nod along, letting him believe he’s helped me reach some breakthrough. We make small talk for the next fifteen minutes while we finish our coffee, then call it a night.
“Same time Thursday for our check-in?” Tyler asks as we reach our cars.
“Sure,” I agree. “The diner again?”
“Works for me.” He pauses beside his car, expression serious. “And Cole? Thanks for opening up tonight. I know that wasn’t easy.”
“Thanks for pushing,” I say. And I mean it, even if I didn’t give him the full picture.
As I drive home, I think about the confession I made versus the one I didn’t. Tyler’s right that what happened with Shitbag Steve was different. That was revenge, pure and simple. Justice served outside a system that had already failed.
But what’s happening with Lars Winters…
I’m taking preventative measures, to ensure what happened to Emma won’t happen to Hailey. Just the thought of someone putting a hand on her makes my knuckles go white on the steering wheel.
More than once, I’ve wondered whether Shitbag Steve is alive because some part of my innate humanity spared his life, or because stone-cold logic wanted to keep my ass out of jail. Would I have the presence of mind to make the same decision if Winters puts his hands on Hailey?
That I don’t know the answer should have me worried. But worry is the last thing I feel.
Not when rage takes up all the space left in my heart.