Page 137 of Knot Like Other Girls

Always so defensive. I raise my hand in a placating gesture. "Just that when Roman told us we were protecting some rich asshole's omega fiancée, I pictured... I don't know. Someone different. Someone who matched Braxley."

"Fake," Cole supplies.

"Yeah." I nod. "Someone with too much money and too little sense. Not..."

"Not Bella," Cole finishes for me.

"Not Bella," I agree. "She's..."

I struggle to find the right words. How do you describe someone who's walked into your life and instantly become essential? Someone whose scent feels like coming home to a place you didn't know you were missing?

"Real," Cole says softly, the word carrying a weight that fills the spaces between us. "She's real."

And that's it exactly. In a world full of people wearing masks—including us, especially us—Bella is genuinely herself. No pretenses. No walls. Just a woman with a gentle heart and unexpected strength who somehow managed to see past all of our defenses to the men beneath.

"You're good for her," I tell him, watching the way his arm curls protectively around her small frame. "She needs someone who sees her. Really sees her."

Cole's expression darkens. "She deserves better."

"Than what?" I challenge him quietly. "Better than a man who would die to protect her? Better than someone who looks at her like she's the most precious thing in the world? Better than someone who's never going to take her for granted the way that entitled prick did?"

Cole's silent for a long moment, his eye fixed on Bella's sleeping face. "Better than a fucking monster," he finally says, so quietly I almost don't hear it.

And there it is. The core of Cole's self-loathing.

"You're not a monster, Cole." I keep my voice firm but quiet. "Never have been."

"Look at me, Troy." His voice is flat, emotionless.

I do. I look at the scars that twist across his face, the empty socket where his eye should be, the permanent snarl where scar tissue pulls his lip back to expose a few teeth. I look at the man who's saved my life more times than I can count, who's had my back in firefights and bar brawls, who carves beauty out of wood with hands that can kill other alphas without hesitation.

"I'm looking," I tell him. "I see my brother. I see a man who survived hell and came out the other side. I see someone who's taken more hits than anyone should have to and still gets up every morning and keeps fighting."

Cole's jaw tightens, eye shifting away from mine. "Poetic bullshit."

"Maybe," I concede with a small shrug. "Doesn't make it less true."

Silence falls between us, broken only by the soft sounds of our sleeping packmates and Bella's gentle breathing. Outside, the loon calls again across the lake, that eerie wailing laugh that sounds like sorrow.

Cole just keeps watching Bella, studying the gentle rise and fall of her breath, the way her hand rests over his heart. For a moment, his expression is so unguarded, so full of wonder and fragile hope, it makes my throat tighten up.

Shit. I've gotten way too fucking emotional.

Then, as if sensing my gaze, he shutters it again. Not completely—not like before—but enough that I know he's reached his limit for emotional vulnerability.

"You need to sleep," he tells me, reverting to the practical.

I stretch slightly, careful not to disturb Roman beside me. "Probably. You too."

"I'm fine."

"You haven't slept in what, thirty-six hours?" I raise an eyebrow. "Even you need rest, Cole."

He shrugs the shoulder that isn't supporting Bella. "I'll sleep when I need to."

Typical Cole answer. Always pushing himself, always believing he needs to be the one standing watch while others rest. As if he doesn't deserve the same comforts as everyone else.

"We're safe here," I remind him. "Home turf. Roman's security systems would alert us if anyone came within five miles."

---