CHAPTER 9
Quinn
My head throbs as I pry my eyes open, mouth dry and sour. I push myself up slowly, careful not to make the pounding worse, and reach for the glass of water on Sophie’s marble nightstand.
Half the glass is gone in seconds, but the relief is short-lived. Memories from last night rush back, hitting harder than the hangover. It had been one of the best nights I’d had in years, until it cracked in two.
Why does the universe always take its shot the second I let my guard down? I’m not a terrible person. I return shopping carts. I even pay it forward with coffee, even though I probably can’t afford it. Shouldn’t that count for something?
Instead, regret chews at me. Not asking Cole for his number sits at the top of the list, leaving me torn between wanting to track him down and being terrified of looking desperate.
And then, of course, there’s Josh. Because the night had to end with him, shattering whatever scraps of peace I had left. Was running into him some cosmic warning to stay away from boys in bars?
The thought churns my stomach, and nausea pushes me flat against the mattress. I groan, palm pressed to my forehead, eyes fixed on the ceiling until the wave passes. I’ve woken up like this before—after too much wine, a Gilmore Girls binge, bad choices. But this feels heavier.
When I’m sure I won’t throw up, I drag myself downstairs.
One hand trails along the polished railing, the other clutches my throbbing head.
Sophie’s house is the epitome of understated luxury, with its glass balustrades, marble floors, and a chandelier that throws fractured light across the stairwell.
No one hustles harder than Sophie. She’s fought for every win and is about to make partner at her firm next month. The only thing her dad ever really gave her was money, which she almost always declined, but she kept her grandparents’ house because it actually felt like family.
I helped her redesign it when she moved in, and somewhere between choosing tiles and wallpaper I fell headfirst in love with interior design.
The scent of coffee hits me halfway down, urging me forward. Sophie’s already in the kitchen, hair sleek and makeup perfect, cracking eggs into a pan like we didn’t consume half a bottle of tequila last night.
“How do you always look this fresh?” My voice is gravelly, accusing.
She smirks. “I know how to handle my alcohol. I can’t afford to be hungover after every date I go on.”
I slump onto a barstool and blink owlishly at her.
“Speaking of dates…” She slides a coffee toward me, exactly how I like it. “We need to get Cole’s number. I haven’t seen you smile like that in forever.”
I wrap both hands around the mug, letting the warmth soak into my bones, and take a much-needed sip. “Please. Give me a second before you launch into the ‘you need to get laid’ speech.”
“Fine,” she agrees reluctantly, “but you and I both know that I’m not going to let this go.”
“Ugh, I know.” I drop my head back on a strangled groan. “But if Cole wanted my number, wouldn’t he have asked?”
“Babe.” Sophie sighs. “He didn’t get the chance. We bolted, remember?”
“True.” I drag a finger through a crumb on the counter. “Have you heard from Chad? You could ask him.”
Sophie grimaces. “He ignored it and sent a ‘When can I see you again?’ text. Like I’d ever waste another night with a guy who spends more time on his hair than finding my clit.”
I snort into my coffee. “Not shocking. The last two guys you dated couldn’t find basic manners.”
“Shut up, Q.” She grins. “Do you want my help or not?”
“Obviously.”
Her phone buzzes, and she groans. “Speak of the devil. Thirty-one notifications. He’s liked old photos and tagged me in TikToks. Obsessed much?”
“And I’m worried about being too forward with Cole.” I shake my head, finishing the coffee.
“Of course. But don’t get stuck in the past, babe.” She slides over a green smoothie and two headache tablets.
I eye them like they might bite me, but swallow anyway.
The painkillers go down with another mouthful of the healthiest thing I’ve had in weeks.
Breakfast has been an afterthought lately.
Stress, Josh, and the mountain of paperwork for launching my interior design business don’t leave much room for eating.
I yawn into my hand. “It’s only been a year since Josh. Is that even long enough to think about someone else?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Sophie says gently. “But healing doesn’t follow rules, and you won’t know unless you try. And honestly? Guys like Cole don’t come around often. At least start as friends.”
She’s right. Is there ever a right time? Or do I just keep waiting for something that doesn’t exist? Cole seems real. Genuine. And yeah, gorgeous. But I once thought that about Josh too. Look where that got me.
I take a deep breath and try for a smile. “I guess… but can you still help me?”
“Of course. But you’ve got to promise me if I track down his number, you’ll actually text him.”
“Promise, as long as it’s legal.”
“I’m a lawyer. The law’s more of a suggestion.” She winks.
I laugh, though it’s rough. The ache behind my eyes throbs harder. “Keep me posted.”
I leave her to it and climb the stairs slowly, feeling heavy from both the tequila and the drama of last night.
Sunlight streams through the windows, bright but useless against the fog in my head.
The sooner I get this loan approved, the sooner I can leave that damn house—the last piece of my past still tethering me.
“Wait!” Sophie’s shout follows me. “You need to see what just popped up when I searched Cole and the bar!”
I drag myself back down the steps. “Show me.”
She shoves her phone at me, and one look makes my stomach drop. “Oh my God.”
“I know.”
The headline blares: Oil Tycoon Sons Set to Inherit a Fortune After Father Loses Battle to Cancer. My eyes race across the article, skimming until the photo makes me stop cold: two men in sharp black suits standing beside a gleaming casket draped in white roses. The article is dated six months ago.
Cole and Chad.
They don’t look alike. Stepbrothers, maybe. Chad looks like he’s posing for an ad campaign, not grieving. But Cole… His green eyes are shadowed, his jaw clenched, and his grief is carved deep into his face. He looks wrecked. Hollowed.
My chest aches. I picture him standing there, trying to be strong when everything inside him is splintering. Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t he mention that Chad was his brother?
I hand the phone back, stunned. “Wow.”
“Yeah. So… what now?”
“Nothing changes,” I say after a beat, though my voice is thin. “Let me know if you find his number.”
Sophie nods, and I manage a small smile. “Love you.”
“Love you more.”
Upstairs, I collapse onto the bed. My head still pounds, but my heart is caught between hope and hesitation. I squeeze my eyes shut and think about Cole.
There’s so much I don’t know. About his family. About what he’s facing, and whether I’ll ever get the chance to ask. The weight on my chest doesn’t lift, but for the first time since last night, there’s a flicker of something else: hope, however fragile.