Chapter Nineteen Hailey #3
His thumbs brush the underside of my bra, a question and a promise all at once. I arch into the touch, desperate for more, and he accepts the invitation, his hands sliding higher to cup me through the thin fabric.
“Oh God,” I breathe.
“Cole,” he corrects, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. “But I appreciate the comparison.”
“Did you just—” I start to laugh, but it turns into a moan as his thumb finds my nipple through the lace, circling slowly. “That was so—ah—so cheesy.”
“You loved it.”
I did. God help me, I really did.
He lowers me just enough that my feet touch the ground, then his hands are at the hem of my sweater, pulling it up and over my head.
The cool air hits my skin, and I should probably feel self-conscious, standing here in my bra while he drinks me in like I’m an ice-cold beer on the hottest day of summer.
“Hailey,” he says, and my name sounds like a prayer in his mouth. “You’re…”
“If you say ‘beautiful,’ I’m going to—”
“Breathtaking.”
Fuck.
That works, too.
He kisses me again, and this time his hands roam freely—my back, my waist, the curve of my hips. Every touch leaves a trail of fire in its wake. I’m burning up from the inside out, and I never want it to stop.
My own hands aren’t idle. I explore the planes of his chest, the ridges of his abs, the way his muscles tense and flex under my fingertips. When I reach his belt buckle, he hisses through his teeth.
“Hailey—”
“I want you,” I say, surprising myself with how steady my voice sounds. “I want—”
The sound of shattering glass explodes through the apartment.
For one horrible, frozen second, I don’t understand what’s happening. Cole moves before I can process it—shoving me behind him, his body becoming a shield between me and the living room.
“Get down,” he orders, his voice completely different now. Sharp. Military.
“What the fuck—”
And then I see it.
A brick. Sitting in the middle of my living room floor, surrounded by a halo of broken glass from my now-shattered window. Cold night air pours through the jagged hole, making the curtains billow like ghosts.
My brain refuses to accept what I’m seeing.
“Is that…” I can’t finish the sentence.
Cole is already moving, crouching low as he approaches the brick. There’s something wrapped around it—paper, secured with a rubber band. He pulls it free, reads it, and his entire body goes rigid.
“What does it say?” My voice sounds distant, like it’s coming from someone else.
He doesn’t answer immediately. When he turns back to me, his expression is murderous.
“Cole. What does it say?”
He hands me the paper, and I read the words scrawled in messy handwriting:
WATCH YOUR BACK. I’M COMING.
The world tilts.
I’m suddenly very aware that I’m standing in my destroyed living room, in my bra, holding a note from my stalker.
He was watching. Has he been watching us all night? Was he just…watching…while we…?
“Oh God.” The words come out choked. “Oh God, oh God, oh God—”
Cole’s arms are around me instantly, holding me against his chest. “Breathe. Hailey, look at me. Breathe.”
“He was here.” I’m shaking now, my whole body trembling. “He was right outside. He saw—he was watching—”
“I know. I know.” Cole’s voice is steady, but I can feel the tension in his body, the barely restrained violence coiled beneath his calm exterior. “We need to call the police.”
“Again,” I laugh, but it comes out wrong—too high, too sharp. “We’re calling the police again. How many times do I have to call before they actually do something?”
“As many times as it takes.” He guides me away from the broken glass, scooping up my sweater from where I tossed it on the floor.
He re-dresses me, his hands gentle but full of tension, and walks us to the kitchen where my phone is charging.
“This is evidence and vandalism. They have to take it seriously.”
Do they, though? The hospital didn’t. Sharon didn’t. My parents wouldn’t—would they?
But Rachel thinks it’s serious. So does Cole. And dammit, so do I.
Cole dials 911 while I stand there, staring at the brick like a ticking time bomb.
He’s coming.
“Hailey.” Cole’s hand cups my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Stay with me. You’re spiraling.”
“How can you tell?”
“You stopped breathing.” He strokes his thumb across my cheekbone. “The police are on their way. We’re going to document everything. And then you’re coming home with me, because you’re not staying here tonight.”
“I can’t just—”
“You can. You will.” His voice leaves no room for argument. “This isn’t up for debate. He knows where you live, and he just proved he’s willing to escalate. You’re not safe here.”
I want to argue. I want to insist that I can take care of myself, that I don’t need to be rescued, that I’m not some damsel in distress.
But I look at the brick on my floor, the glass glittering like deadly confetti, the words burned into my memory…and I can’t find the energy to protest.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay.”
Cole pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “We’re going to figure this out. I promise.”
I want to believe him.
I really, really want to believe him.