Page 62 of Only Ever His

But another part of me—the louder part—said I needed to figure this out on my own.

Cole had been patient. More patient than I probably deserved.

But how long would that patience last? And what would happen if he decided I was too much?

The thought sent a pang through my chest, and I inhaled sharply, gripping the balcony railing for support.

I was overthinking everything—I knew that. But knowing didn’t make it any easier to stop.

Meanwhile, Cole’s message replayed in my mind, over and over:Just… let me know if you’re okay, Tori.

The worry in those words, the quiet plea—it was so different from Marcus, who never would have cared about my wellbeing unless it somehow affected his own.

Cole cared. He genuinely cared.

And that scared me more than anything, because it meant I had something to lose.

I sat down on the balcony chair, pulling my knees up to my chest.

I thought about the way Cole had looked at me earlier, his eyes searching mine for something—reassurance, maybe? Understanding?

And I wondered if I’d given him any of that. Or if I’d only pushed him further away.

Hours passed, and I still hadn’t moved. The night grew colder, and I wrapped a blanket around myself, staring out at the stars.

My mind was a tangled mess of doubts and fears, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to untangle it.

I thought about Marcus, about the control he’d had over me for so long.

About how I’d fought to reclaim my independence, only to feel like I was losing it again now.

But this was different—wasn’t it? Cole wasn’t trying to control me. He was trying to protect me. And yet, it still felt like too much.

I reached for my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen as I debated whether to text him again.

I didn’t know what I’d say, but I felt an overwhelming urge to connect with him, even if just for a moment.

But in the end, I set the phone down, my heart heavy with indecision.

The night stretched on, and sleep remained elusive.

My thoughts churned, a relentless storm of what-ifs and maybes.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, I realized something: I didn’t want to push him away.

But I didn’t know how to let him in, either.

COLE/ TORI

COLE

I couldn’t just sit there.

The minutes stretched into hours, and every second felt like a lifetime. Tori’s message had been clear: she needed space.

But giving her that space felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing the ground beneath me was crumbling.

I paced my apartment, running a hand through my hair for what felt like the hundredth time.

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