Page 24 of Unspoken Rules

“Doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“You’re probably right,” I say. “But it’s how I feel.”

He holds my stare, and I swear his gaze dips to my lips for a split second before darting back to my eyes. I could have imagined it. Probably did. Wishful thinking, and all.

“I am right, Bryson. You need to be good to yourself. Take care of yourself.”

I close my eyes. “I know,” I whisper, gritting my teeth.

Cole pulls me to him, wrapping his strong arms around me. I don’t hesitate to wrap mine around his waist. There is nothing sexual about this. Not at all.

He did this a lot when I was a kid. He’s always been an affectionate parent to Chris, and to me too. He was never afraid to show anyone how he felt, yet at the same time, he’d knock someone to the ground if they disrespected him or someone he cared for.

But right now, this feels different.

It doesn’t feel like the type of hug a father gives his son to comfort him. Still, there’s nothing sexual, it’s just more.

Cole is holding me, and he’s holding me tight. Our bodies are pressed together so closely I feel the ridges of his abs, the cut of his pecs. Feel his heartbeat against my chest. I can hear him breathing, this slow rhythmic sound that could lull me to sleep. Hell, I could fall asleep, right here, right now, in his arms…

It’s safe, and warm, and comforting—and so much more than what it was when I was a teenager.

Yet… it can’t possibly be. It’s just the alcohol making me think that.

He lets go, taking a small step back. Nothing in his gaze tells me that it was meant to be more than just a comforting hug.

Maybe I’m just so fucked up in the head I can’t tell the difference between comfort, intimate, sexual, and all that other stuff. I’m so desperate and starved for attention that I see things for more than they are.

Fucking pathetic.

As much as I wish it could be more with Cole, it’s obvious it’s just me being me. Because I’m drinking, my ex is an asshole, and I have hardcore daddy issues.

But… imagine having the freedom to fall into his arms whenever I needed? Imagine being able to ask him to hold me whenever I felt like this, and it not be weird? Imagine having a place I can go to, that is safe, all the time?

Cole’s arms would be my safe place always.

But they can’t be. Because he’s Cole. My best friend’s father.

That reminder, though it’s still like a bucket of ice water over my head, doesn’t hit as harshly as it did in the beginning. But we grow tolerant to the same punishment over and over, until eventually, it isn’t punishment at all. It’s just the norm you learn to live with.

“I meant what I said about you staying here, Bryson. For as long as you need. If you need anything, I don’t care what it is, you tell me, okay?” I nod, unable to form words. My throat is tight, and my eyes are burning. I refuse to let him see me cry though. “Come on, let’s get your drunk ass to bed,” he says with a laugh.

I chuckle, not wanting to tell him I’m not drunk. At least I can use that as cover if he noticed how emotional I am—which I’m sure he did because he doesn’t miss a thing. He keeps his arm around my shoulders and guides me toward the house. He locks up, walks me to the stairs, and watches as I go up. I pause halfway, wondering why he isn’t following me. It’s got to be nearly three am. What are his plans this time of night?

“Get to bed. We’ve got breakfast plans in the morning, remember?”

I frown, holding onto the railing so I don’t topple down. I put the pieces together, recalling tomorrow is Sunday, and huff out a disbelieving laugh. “You still do that shit?”

He grins. “Traditions don’t die in this house.”

Chapter Eleven

Bryson

12 years old…

Curling my beat-up drawing pad in half, I shove it into my back pocket. I slam my locker shut just as the bell rings, signaling there are two minutes until class starts. If I don’t hurry, I’m going to be late. Again.

“Bry!” I look over my shoulder and stop when I see Chris jogging my way. He gives me a fist bump and we walk to homeroom together. Thankfully we get there before the bell signals we’re tardy.

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