Page 3 of Touchdowns and Tinsel

Someone snorts from the back, cutting through the tension, but I don’t glance away from Cole. “I’ve got no choice but to keep going, Cole. Just like you do. But if you’re here to keep stirring the pot, we’re going to keep butting heads.”

With that, I turn and walk away, feeling the weight of his stare boring into my back—even through the oversized sweater I’m wearing—as I retreat to the sanctuary of my kitchen. I pour myself another cup of coffee, needing the warmth and comfort as I think about the unnerving shadows lingering around me—real or imagined, they’re all too close.

I may have momentarily pushed him back, but the battle lines have been drawn, and I can feel the jagged edges of our grief tearing us further apart. I can only wonder: how much longer will this standoff continue? And what will be left of either of us when that breaking point finally arrives?

Things weren't always this bad between Cole and me—but they were never great either. When his father was alive, the three of us did things together, and he didn't resent me like he does now. It's been two years since the home invasion that took my husband—his father—away, and he still blames me for it to this day.

I still remember it like it was yesterday, of course. It was Christmas Eve, and the three of us were doing last-minute decorations on the tree we had picked out later than usual. Out of nowhere, our front door was kicked in, and three masked men barged in and changed our lives forever.

Nicholas was well known in the community for his many accomplishments, and with the amount of money he was sitting on, he knew he had a target on his back. Being the best defense attorney in Hyde Park, he defended some of the worst criminals—the high-profile ones—and almost daily he'd receive death threats and hate mail because of it. We never took any of them seriously, though. But we should've.

To this day we don't know who broke in, murdered him, and raped me, and two years later the investigation is still ongoing. But I’ve given up hope that the police will ever solve it; it’s like we’re another statistic, forgotten about. But it’s just too painful to relive the haunting memories and carry on with the investigation.

Cole, being the stubborn twenty-one-year-old that he is, thinks that I set his father up and had him killed for his money—money that I still haven't touched to this day. Our relationship went even further downhill than what it had been, and I have no idea how to fix it. I often wonder if it’s worth fixing, but then I remember that any part of Nicholas is still a part of me—including Cole.

The air in the kitchen feels heavy—suffocating almost—as I wrestle with the tangled web of memories and emotions that swirl around me, each thread tightening its grip. I take another sip of my coffee, relishing the familiar warmth, a stark contrast to the coldness that Cole seems to radiate.

As if on cue, I hear footsteps approaching, the unmistakable sound of Cole’s heavy boots making their way down the hallway. I brace myself, uncertain whether to stand my ground or retreatagain into the safety of my room. A part of me wants to confront the pain head-on, while another wants to avoid the inevitable clash that seems poised to erupt.

When he steps into the kitchen, I keep my gaze downcast, pouring another cup of coffee as if the act could somehow shield me from the impending confrontation.

“You said you were going to the store,” he states, his tone begrudging, almost accusatory. “Are you just going to ignore everything that was said back there?”

I set the coffee cup down with a quiet clink, feeling the heat radiate through my skin, almost as hot as the brewing tension. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t go, just... I need a moment to breathe first.”

“Breathe?” His laugh is incredulous. “Is that what you call it? You’re acting like you belong to a different world right now, like nothing from that night even matters.” The edge in his voice pierces through me, and I risk stealing a glance at him, my heart thumping in my chest.

“It does fucking matter, Cole. More than you know.” The words spill out before I can rein them in. “But I can’t live in the shadows of that night forever. Every day is a struggle, and I’m trying to—”

“Trying to what?” He interrupts, stepping closer.

The gap between us shrinks, and I can feel the pulse of anger mixed with something else timing the air. “Forget? Move on? Because you can’t expect me to do that just because you want it. I wasn’t the one who had the most to lose that night.”

With that, he shuts his mouth tight, his brows furrowed in anger. The defensiveness deepening in his posture makes it clear that he’s ready for a fight, one that I know I have to engage in, even though every fiber in my being is screaming to back down.

“I never said I wanted you to forget, Cole. But I need you to understand that what happened doesn’t define who I am or what I can be. Just like it doesn’t define you!” My voice waversslightly, but I hold my ground, forcing myself to look him in the eye. “We’re not enemies, and if we keep treating each other like this, we’ll lose what little we have left.”

His expression softens just for a moment; again, the mask starts to slip. “You don’t know what it’s like to feel like this, to feel anger and betrayal in every corner of your fucking soul.”

“Then let’s talk about it. You can’t just keep throwing accusations at me without giving me a chance,” I plea, my voice urgent but fraught with vulnerability. “You think this is easy for me? I’ve lost not just your father but the life we had, the hopes and dreams we shared.”

Cole’s shoulders slump, surrendering just a fraction of his defiance. “It’s just—” he halts, his voice thickening with emotion. “It’s painful. I don’t want to feel like this, but how can I not? Seeing you here, living in this house... it feels wrong. Like you’re just waiting for the right time to take everything from me.”

“I’m not here to take anything from you! I’m trying to survive, just like you,” I reply, my heartbeat steadying, connecting with the flicker of empathy I now see in his eyes. “And do you think this was easy for me? The scorn, the whispers—the all-consuming sense of guilt? You know they still ask questions. You know they think I’m a suspect too.”

Cole’s breath catches as he processes my words, and I can tell he’s torn. “Then why don’t you move away?” He challenges softly. “Why do you insist on tormenting yourself in the place where it all happened? None of this feels like home anymore.”

“Because it was once our home,” I admit, the weight of the truth pulling me down. “And somewhere beneath the pain, the memories are worth fighting for. You’re still here, and I want to fight for us, Cole. For the family we both lost, to find a way to remember him together instead of apart.”

He blinks, taking in what I’ve said, and for a heartbeat, the distance between us feels like it could shatter. “It’s not that easy." His voice trails off, revealing the cracks in his facade.

“I know it isn’t,” I whisper, feeling the bond between us like a fragile strand, almost ready to snap but still tethered. “But nothing worth fighting for ever is. You have every right to be angry—to be hurt. But we can’t let that anger destroy what little is left of us. I won’t allow it.”

His green eyes find mine, raw with emotion, complete human vulnerability now casting aside the hurt shields he’s built. “Things will never be the fucking same, Noelle. There’s no use trying."

In the corners of my mind, doubts still lurk, shadows spawned from the past. “We could start with something small,” I suggest, my heart beating slowly back to a rhythm of cautious optimism.

But as he turns to leave, a shiver travels down my spine, the awareness of our lingering scars echoing in the silent space between us. Yes, we’ve taken one small step forward, but I know the battles ahead could be just as turbulent as the ones we’ve already faced.

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