Chapter Twenty-Four Cole #2
“No.” I lean hard on the word, because it’s the one piece of this I can say confidently. “Only him. Only ever him. I swear on my sister’s life.”
“You swear on your sister’s life.” The laugh comes out broken. “The sister whose ex-boyfriend you beat unconscious? Jesus, Cole.”
“Hailey, please—”
“I don’t know what to do with this.” Her voice shakes.
Her hands are trembling. “I don’t know what to do with you.
You lied to me. You could have cost me my career.
And I’m supposed to feel better, I guess, because you did it out of—” She cuts herself off, but we both know what she almost said.
You did it out of love. Neither one of us is ready to hear that.
“Because you say you wanted to keep me safe.”
“Hailey—”
“It doesn’t feel better, Cole. It feels worse.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, Hailey. I do.”
She closes her eyes, and a lone tear slips down her cheek. She doesn’t bother to wipe it away.
“I need space,” she says, and the words land as hard as a slap. “I need time to think about all of this, and I cannot do that with you standing in my hallway telling me about your fucking support group.”
“Hailey—”
“Please, Cole. Just leave.”
Every cell in my body begs me to stay. To explain more. To find the right words that will fix this before she walks back inside and closes the door between us. Maybe for good.
But the reality is, the right words don’t exist. I don’t think they ever did.
I take a step back, giving us both room to breathe.
“Okay,” I say, lifting my hands in defeat. “Okay. I’m going.”
Her eyes open, and I can see the surprise there. Like she expected me to fight her, which almost makes it sting worse. I want to fight for her. I do. But I also know I need to respect this boundary after I steamrollered all the other ones, if I want a sliver of a chance at saving this.
Saving us.
“I’ll give you whatever space you need,” I say.
“All of it. However long it takes. When you’re ready—if you’re ever ready—” The prospect that she may never be chokes me where I stand.
I swallow against a lump in my throat. “I’m here.
And if Lars comes back, you call me. Please promise me that much. ”
She stares at me for a long second. Then she nods. It’s one small motion, but it’s enough.
“Okay,” I say again.
I step back another foot. Tyler is already a few steps down the hallway, giving us the closest thing to privacy a public stairwell can give.
“Hailey,” I plead while I wait for her to look at me. “Whatever you decide. Whatever you need. I’ll do it.”
She nods again, another tear falling down her face, and then she closes the door.
The deadbolt clicks on the other side.
…
I don’t remember walking down the stairs.
I come back to myself in the passenger seat with Tyler driving. At some point, I must have handed him the keys. He’s pulled us off Hailey’s street and parked a few blocks over, under a dying streetlight. He’s watching me like he’s waiting for me to crack.
“That went about as well as it was going to go,” he says finally, breaking our silence.
“She didn’t say it was over.”
“No. She didn’t.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair.
“She said she needed space.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s better than it being over, right?”
“Yeah, Cole.”
I drop my head back against the headrest and close my eyes.
There’s a fucked-up part of me that actually wants to ask him to drive me back. To park across from her building and watch her door until sunrise. I want to be the last line between her and every bad thing out there.
I don’t say it. I can’t.
I broke her trust. I’m not going to rebuild it by doing the same shit over again.
“Take me home.”
“Yeah.” Tyler puts the truck in drive. “Yeah, man. I got you.”
It’s after midnight by the time I get inside my apartment, and I don’t bother with the lights. I sit on the couch in the dark with my phone in my hand, staring at the screen, waiting for a notification I know isn’t coming.
At some point, I pull up the tracking app on Lars. The red dot is at his apartment complex. He’s stagnant. He went home.
I should delete the app. Tracey would tell me to delete it. Hailey is going to tell me to delete it the next time she talks to me, if she ever does. The right answer is to be ahead of her on mending what I broke.
But… I don’t delete the app.
Instead, I tell myself it’s about her safety. At least that part’s even true.
Even if it isn’t the whole truth.
My phone dings at 1:47 a.m., and I lunge for it.
It’s an email. Not her.
FROM: jack@
TO: cmatthews@
CC: humanresources@
Cole,
After receiving a disappointing email from your Interpersonal Boundaries Support Group therapist, you are being placed on indefinite unpaid leave, pending an internal investigation.
HR has a call scheduled with Tracey Doyle to discuss your lack of participation in the program, and then we’ll be in touch.
At your earliest convenience, please stop by the office to surrender any and all company equipment.
Best regards,
Jack Morrison
A second email from Jack’s personal address comes through a minute later.
I’m sorry. I hope we can work things out once you’ve pulled your shit together. I’m here whenever you need me.
I set the phone face down on the coffee table and stare at the ceiling.
Fuck.