25. Flight Risk
FLIGHT RISK
JUNIE
Run.
That’s my first thought when I wake up with my head plastered to a very naked chest. A chest that smells like cedar and laundry and something achingly familiar.
Don’t run.
That’s my second thought when I register the weight of a heavy arm draped over my waist with a large hand pressed into my back, holding me close, even in sleep.
Think.
The clock on the nightstand says 7:45. Holy shit. We both slept in.
I take inventory of myself.
I’m still in my dress from last night, even if it has ridden up around my hips in sleep. Heat curls my toes when I recall the way Cole reacted to seeing it for the first time.
But a freak-out is on the horizon. It starts deep in my chest. Old habits attempt to protect me—I could sneak out, leave a pile of shaving cream in my place, and hope he rolls over in it.
Is that who I want to be?
Reacting poorly is what led me here in the first place—My knee-jerk reaction to Grace and her lies.
Retaliate before they can break me.
Strike first. Ask questions later.
My thumb twirls the ring I still haven’t removed, and something shifts—a slight change of perspective.
Or maybe it’s me that’s changed.
I don’t know when it happened. The day I stopped fucking with Cole’s coffee? When I stopped calling him Whittaker? When I let him in?
I let him in.
Last night, we talked about my mom after he acknowledged we were on a date.
I just…gave in.
I took that first step.
I told him things about my mother I haven’t said out loud in years. And Cole—he listened the way I’ve always needed someone to, without trying to fix it.
But while I was expelling ghosts, he held on to his. He still hasn’t told me about Natalie, or what’s keeping him in a glass cage.
Maybe I’ve been too selfish. Maybe I’ve been scared to ask. Now, not asking feels like a character flaw too, and I file it away the way Cole does everything else—for later. Not today, but soon.
I wasn’t a crier before I landed in The Haven, but moisture burns my eyes, and it’s starting to feel like a betrayal too.
The reality is, I’m finally getting to know myself without all the…armor. Without the walls and anger.
With Cole, I’m a version of myself that’s almost hard to recognize, mostly because I think I might even like her.
I’m not sure I’ve ever liked myself before.
Is this what growth feels like? Painful but necessary?
Six months ago, knowing that someone was keeping a secret from me would’ve sent me spiraling, running, and setting off bombs before their secret could hurt me.
Last night, I sat at dinner with a man who has already hurt me, who acknowledged he’s keeping a secret, and I…stayed.
Somehow, I knew it was different than all the betrayals of my past because when Cole causes pain, he hurts himself too.
I’m sure of it.
He has his own demons—ones he isn’t willing to share yet—just like I do.
Twisting in Cole’s arms, I find my phone charging on the nightstand. Not only did he carry me to bed, but he also…took care of me.
Warmth spreads through my limbs, uncomfortable and unfamiliar.
I need a distraction. My brain is trying to spiral the way it does when it can’t solve a problem—and right now, I have many to choose from.
I can’t force Cole to tell me his secrets.
But I can fix the issue with Devin.
I glance over my shoulder at Cole, who has adjusted his grip and now has his forearm pressed to my belly, his hand loosely curled around my sternum. He’s cocooned around me like a spider monkey, and I don’t hate it.
I never would’ve guessed that Cole Whittaker was a cuddler—or that I’d welcome it.
What would it be like to just…stay here forever?
Jesus. For the first time ever, the pull to stay is stronger than my need for answers.
I don’t want to go to Charleston.
I want to stay here.
With him.
Wrapped in his arms.
Having the kind of morning that happy, content lovers get to have.
My mind swirls through possible solutions, and I can only come up with one.
In order to stay here, to face the morning with this man and all that will come from that decision, I need help locating Devin.
And there’s only one person with the resources and willingness to help me—regardless of how many times I fuck up his day—who can make it happen.
I open my text thread with Hudson.
Junie: I need a favor.
Hudson: Shocking.
Junie: It’s not only for me.
Junie: It’s for Cole.
Junie: He needs help, and I
Junie: …
Junie: I don’t want to do this alone.
Junie: I’ve unraveled the paper trail. Mae’s nephew was stealing from him.
Junie: Cole gave me the green light to track this guy down. I have an address in Charleston. But I need someone to prove that Devin’s there, collecting money that’s not his.
Junie: Hud?
Hudson: You’re choosing not to follow through on this yourself?
Freaking Hudson. Why does he always have to read between the lines?
Junie: I want to be here.
Hudson: With Cole.
It’s not a question. It’s an acknowledgment.
Junie: Yes.
I stare at the screen for long minutes. Hudson’s an asshole who sleeps for less than five hours a night. He always has on principle. So he’s probably already been in his office for at least a couple hours.
Three dots finally appear.
Hudson: Send me everything.
Hudson: And I can’t stress this enough, Juniper: DON’T do anything stupid before I call you back.
Hudson: …
Great. What’s he going to accuse me of now?
Hudson: I’m proud of you, Spite-Berry.
I stare at the screen until my eyes are so dry I fear they’re stuck. Proud of you is not a phrase that regularly comes out of Hudson’s mouth, and it strikes my chest in a location I didn’t know I had real estate for.
Cole groans behind me, and it spurs me into action.
Opening my Google Drive, I forward Hudson everything. The LLC files. The shell structure. The address. The property management company I’d found. I send him the timeline, the dates, the forged signatures. It’s all laid out in so much detail that not a single piece of evidence could be refuted.
I made sure of it.
And Hudson will know exactly what to do with all of it—he always does.
I put the phone down on the nightstand, and my spine unknots by about 15 percent.
Huh.
A deep breath, and another 15 percent relaxes.
I asked Hudson for help, and he…showed up. Even knowing he would, I’m still surprised. Is that another character flaw? Not only did he agree to help, it took him less than ninety seconds to do so.
I’ve spent a lifetime thinking of these guys as a hindrance to my life, but what if I got it all wrong? What if they’re an asset I refused to lean on because of my own stubborn insecurities?
This is definitely growth.
Cole’s hand wraps around my left breast in his sleep—a tether tying us together—and I nearly jolt in place.
Not from his touch.
But because now that I’ve acknowledged my fault line, I know Cole suffers the same affliction—he doesn’t ask for help either.
Not even from friends he’s had since elementary school—even when they show up day after day.
Fen runs PR for The Haven.
Hudson’s firm handles their legal matters.
Nolan calls him on his shit because that’s what brothers and best friends do.
But they do it all in spite of him, not because he asked.
I can’t even recall a single instance where he’s asked them for help.
I just did the one thing he’s never done.
“Oh, Cole. How did we fall so astray?” I whisper, rolling once again to study his peaceful sleeping form.
We’ve been doing things all wrong, and I don’t know if I’m strong enough to make him see that.
Asking for help might be the Achilles heel that finally does us in for good.
“Your thoughts are louder than Stanley’s megaphone,” he rumbles without opening his eyes. “Why are you awake?”
This close, I memorize the texture of his face, the start of crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes, the freckles that show how often he spends time in the sun.
“It’s late,” I whisper. “You didn’t set an alarm.”
As if he followed my voice to my mouth, he leans in and swipes his nose against mine with a sigh that feels like forever.
“No,” he rumbles. “I didn’t.”
“On purpose?”
He nods.
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to know what it felt like.”
“What what felt like?”
“This.” He pulls me flush against him. “Waking up with you without the pressure of everything coming at us.”
His hand slides down my spine, landing on my ass, but he doesn’t do more.
I want him to do more.
So. Much. More.
And I’ve never been very good about waiting.
With surprising speed, I sit upright and climb onto his lap.
His eyes are open now. Open and hungry. Flames dance in his irises as I lift my dress over my head.
“Juniper.”
I can almost feel the growl in my core.
“Shh.” I toss my dress to the side and unclasp my bra, allowing the straps to slip down my arms, but I don’t remove it completely. It just…dangles there.
“You don’t know what you look like.” Cole’s breathing is shallow, and the muscles in his chest and arms strain to be set free. I like that he’s having a hard time controlling himself.
Cole Whittaker unleashed is a powerful thing—and disastrous for my ovaries.
“I don’t. But I know what you look like staring at me right now. Trust me, that’s a much better view.”
His mouth curves, barely, before he clamps his lips. For a man whose whole identity is built on saying too little, he’s uniquely capable of saying everything without uttering a single word when the moment calls for it.
His silence now is an entire thesaurus of kinky endeavors.
I lean in. His lips are warm. His hand at my back is warm. The whole damn room is warm, and it has nothing to do with the temperature of the air.
It’s the fire that ignites between us—unburdened and unrivaled, destined for destruction and rebirth.
His free hand twitches at his side, and I lift it with mine. While his gaze tracks my every move, I press his hand to my body.
Exactly where I want it.
No guessing.
No question.
Just right.
His breath breaks against my collarbone as he sits up, pressing my chest to his, and his body is harder than I’ve ever felt it.