30. Cole
COLE
What do girls even want for Valentine’s Day?
I pop my hand behind my head, scrolling through page after page of gift ideas that somehow keep getting worse. Half this crap looks like it was dragged straight out of a drugstore clearance bin.
None of it feels like her.
I drop onto my chest and stare at the ceiling.
I am so far out of my depth here.
I don’t even know why I’m looking for gifts for her. We’re not dating. I made that painfully clear about an hour ago, when she looked at me with those sharp blue eyes and said she was going to see her ex.
I wanted to tell her not to go. Wanted to tell her to take me with her so I could make it very clear to him that whatever claim he thinks he still has on her is dead.
I didn’t want her in a room alone with him. Didn’t want him near her. Didn’t want him looking at her, talking to her, touching her, acting like he still has access to any part of her.
But I didn’t say any of it.
I acted like I didn’t care, and I let her walk out.
My thumb pauses over a silver necklace before I scroll past it.
Aurora only wears gold. I know that because she’s almost always got those little gold hoops in, and once I notice something about her, apparently my brain decides to keep it forever.
I wonder if she wears rings. I stop on a gold one with a carved heart and stare at it for a second too long.
Maybe I could get her a ring.
Which is an insane thought to have, considering she’s not my girlfriend, and as far as I know, she’s currently in some hotel room with her ex while I’m lying here looking up Valentine’s gifts for her.
I hear a knock at my door and exit the page, my gaze dropping to Aurora’s overnight bag still sitting on the floor. My whole body tightens. For half a second, I think maybe she’s just here to grab it and leave again.
I push off the couch, cross the room, and pull the door open. But I stop when I see Aurora standing there soaked through, wet strands stuck to her cheeks and neck. Water catches on her lashes, trails down her throat, and my heart stops dead in my chest when I glance up and see her red, glossy eyes.
My grip tightens on the door. “What happened?”
She doesn’t answer. She just shakes her head and pushes past me into the apartment, dripping rainwater across the floor, and before I can even shut the door, her bag hits the ground and her hands are on me. She grabs at the front of my shirt, trying to shove it up.
“What are you doing?” I ask when she goes straight for the button of my jeans.
“Want you to fuck me.”
I can’t do anything but stare at her, because there’s no way she actually means that.
But I can see the determination in her eyes the way she’s trying to undress me as quickly as possible. Normally I’m all for it, but something feels wrong.
“Wait.” I catch her wrists. “Hold up.”
She makes this frustrated sound and tries to pull free. “Cole—”
“No.” My other hand tips her chin up so she has to look at me. “Tell me what happened.”
Her eyes flash. “I don’t want to talk,” she snaps, jerking her face out of my hand. “I want you to fuck me. That’s what we do, right?” She looks up at me with those red-rimmed eyes. “We’re just fucking.”
My jaw tightens.
I don’t make a habit of letting people get close to me.
I don’t talk about my sister. I don’t talk about my dad.
I don’t let girls stay the night, and I definitely don’t cuddle them.
I don’t blow stupid amounts of money on concert tickets for a band I don’t even like.
I don’t lie in bed staring at Valentine’s gifts and consider buying a ring for someone I’m ‘just fucking’.
This stopped being just sex a while ago.
And the fact that she thinks I’d just sleep with her to help her cover up whatever happened before she came through my door makes my stomach drop.
The worst part is, I know exactly why she thinks that.
Because I made it easy for her to.
Because she was going to see her ex, and I couldn’t make myself tell her not to go.
I couldn’t say any of it, because I was too busy being jealous and pissed off and scared out of my mind that she’d get in that room with him and remember every reason we don’t work.
Every reason we hate each other. All the history between us.
That she’d look at me after and decide I was never anything more than a distraction before going back to what she knew.
I hate feeling scared, hate not being in control even more. And somehow, with her, I’d gotten to the point where I was willing to give that up. Because all I wanted was her.
I catch both her wrists in one hand. “We’re not fucking until you tell me what happened.”
She glares at me, breathing hard, still trying to hold herself together with anger and sheer stubbornness, but then her eyes go glassy, filling with tears.
My gaze drops, and my stomach does too.
I don’t know how I missed it before. Maybe because she was soaked through, because her hair was stuck to her face, because her eyes were so red, they pulled all my focus. But now she’s standing under the hallway light, and there’s no missing the red mark on her cheek.
Everything in me goes tight. The sound in the room drops out until all I can hear is my own breathing and the blood pounding in my ears.
“Tell me he didn’t.” My voice comes out rough, the words gritted through my teeth. “Tell me I’m seeing shit and that asshole didn’t put his hands on you.”
Her glassy eyes lift to mine, desperation in her gaze, and when I notice her blotchy red lips part and nothing comes out, my chest burns.
I let go of her and turn, reaching for my keys. I don’t have a plan beyond getting in my car and finding him. I don’t need one. I know what hotel he’s staying in. I’ll figure out the rest when I get there.
I’ll wreck his face. I’ll wreck his life. Mine too, if that’s what it takes.
But her hand catches my wrist before I make it to the door, stilling me.
“Don’t.”
Her voice cracks on the word, and I turn to see her panicked expression, her fingers digging into my arm as tears slide down her cheeks.
“Please, Cole, don’t.” Her grip tightens. “It’ll only make it worse. I don’t want—” Her voice catches. “I don’t want another guy standing up for me. I should’ve done that myself. I should have—”
A broken sound rips out of her, and I drop the keys, catching her before she hits the floor. The second I wrap my arms around her, she falls apart.
Her whole body shakes as she fists my shirt and buries her face in my chest. I can feel the heat of her tears through my shirt, feel every rough, broken breath, and I swear I’ve never hated another man the way I hate him in this moment.
“Fuck,” I breathe, my own voice cracking as one hand slides up her back and the other cups the back of her head. I pull her closer, tucking her tight against my chest, my chin resting over her wet hair. “Fuck, baby. I’m sorry.”
She keeps crying into me, and all I can do is sit there on the floor and hold her through it. My hand keeps moving over her back, then into her damp hair, then down again, hoping I can ease some of the pain she feels.
I can’t—I know that—but I keep trying anyway.
I pull back just enough to look at her, and the sight of her damn near guts me. I brush the damp strands back, my thumb grazing the side of her cheek.
“What can I do?” I ask, hating this helpless feeling. “Tell me what you need, Aurora. Anything. Just say it.”
Her lip trembles when she shakes her head. “I just want to be here with you.”
My heart fucking breaks and I stand slowly, adjusting my hold on her before I lift her, and the fact that she doesn’t argue makes this even worse.
Aurora always has something to say. Always has some sharp little comment loaded behind her teeth. Even half asleep, she usually has enough bite left in her. But right now she just lets me carry her, folding into me as I take her to the bathroom.
I set her on her feet in front of the shower and reach past her to turn the water on. Then I pull my shirt over my head and let it drop to the floor before reaching for the hem of hers. I strip her out of her clothes piece by piece, dropping her jeans and underwear to the tile until she’s bare.
I strip off my own jeans but leave my boxers on, then step in first and test the water with my hand before guiding her under it.
I reach for the shampoo and work it between my palms.
“Tip your head back for me, baby,” I murmur.
She slowly leans her head back and I slide my fingers into her hair, working the shampoo through it while the water runs warm over her skin. She leans back into me and when her eyes drift shut, my stomach twists hard.
I should’ve gone with her. I should’ve stopped acting like I didn’t care. Should’ve stopped being such a coward and told her the truth—that I wanted more, wanted to be the person she could confide in.
That I just want her.
I rinse the shampoo from her hair, then reach for the body wash, squeezing some into my palm before my hands move over her skin.
I notice the red marks on her arm, and I stiffen. I want to tear him apart for putting those marks on her.
I blink and suddenly I’m fourteen again, standing between my father and Sophie, desperately trying not to be terrified.
I still remember the first time I hit him—it was the first and only time he put his hands on her. I stopped being scared and all I could think about was protecting my sister. He gave me a black eye for it, but I didn’t care, because he never touched her again.
The fear never really left. It just buried itself somewhere deep, waiting. And now it’s here, crawling back under my skin.
Only this time, it isn’t Sophie in my arms.
It’s Aurora.
She starts shivering the second I shut the water off, so I grab a towel and wrap it around her as soon as we step out. I dry her hair with one of my old T-shirts because it’s softer than a towel, and apparently that’s important to girls, I think. I remember Sophie telling me that once.