Page 78 of Chokehold
“It’s okay,” she says, eyes downcast. “He can eat it lat?—”
“Stop making excuses for that boy!”
“Enough!” I bite out, fisting the fork in my hand. “That’s fucking enough!”
Dad’s eyes slowly skate in my direction, and I meet his glare dead-on. It’s not the first time we’ve clashed like this over Cole, and it sure as hell won’t be the last.
“Excuse me?” he asks, and I know I’m in trouble when he wipes his mouth with his napkin before tossing it onto the table.
“You heard me. Leave Cole alone. I’m sick and fucking tired of you treating him and your wife”—I tip my chin in her direction—“like shit.”
I swear his eye twitches when he glares at me, but unlike the woman at his side, I don’t fear him. Cole’s dad might have been physically abusive, but my dad won’t win a ‘husband-of-the-year award’ any time soon either. Scooting my chair back, I rise to my feet and turn to leave but hesitate. Smiling at Cole’s mom, I thank her for the meal, which I still haven’t touched because of my complicated emotions where her son is concerned, and then make my way upstairs.
I pause outside his door, wondering if this is a good idea. It’s not. None of this is a good idea. Why do I break myself open again and again on Cole’s blade? Glancing past his door to mine, I debate walking away, but I can’t get my feet to move no matter how tempting the thought is. I stay rooted in place with nothing but a thin piece of wood between me and the boy I can’t get out of my fucking head.
My own stepbrother. My verybrokenstepbrother. My father would flay me alive if he knew how deep my emotions run for another man—his wife’s son.
As my heart thuds, I push down on the handle, and the door creaks open with a soft click. I hold my breath as his navy walls and messy desk come into view. There’s no sign of him. His bed is empty. Standing in the doorway, I stare at the creasedbedsheets. Where is he? Did he leave the house? No, I would have heard him.
I drop my gaze to the space underneath his bed, my heart squeezing tight. It’s the only place in the world where Cole feels safe when the nightmares and haunted memories crawl out from the shadows to torment him. Anyone else would think it’s weird that a twenty-year-old man hides under his bed, but I get it.
Crossing the threshold, I shut the door behind me. His smell surrounds me—citrus and leather, as always. I breathe it in. I’ve never known a scent to calm me like this, and it gives me the courage to step closer to his bed. “Cole?” I ask, swallowing. “It’s me…”
When there’s no response, I briefly close my eyes as I try to steady my shaky breaths. Why am I here? As the seconds turn into minutes, I come up with a million reasons why I should walk out and leave him alone.Fuck it.
Before I can change my mind, I lower myself down and then crawl beneath the bed to find Cole on his back, staring at the slats. He doesn’t acknowledge me as I lie beside him and try to go as unnoticeable as I can so that I don’t spook him. I’ve been scared before, sure, but nothing like this, not even close. My heart beats so hard that I struggle to hear his soft breaths. His woodsy scent surrounds me while I think of a thousand things to say, yet come up short.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
“I never slept with Jackson,” I admit in the ensuing silence.
Thud.
Thud.
“He tried, but…fuck…” I drag a hand down my face before lowering it back down dangerously close to Cole’s fingers. “I…” My throat constricts, and I turn my head to look at him. Hiseyes stay locked on the bed. “All I could think about was you,” I whisper. “I wished it was you.”
When he shows no sign of listening, I sigh and look up at the slats. I guess it’s a good thing he hasn’t told me to leave—at least he’s allowing me in his sacred space. That accounts for something, right? He could have told me to fuck off by now, but instead, he’s letting me see this vulnerable side of him.
I’m torn from my thoughts when his calloused fingers slide through mine. He clasps my hand in his, and my breath catches. It’s just something as innocent as hand holding, but my heart is clawing its way out of my chest. I can’t breathe. I don’t dare to move. Is this real life? Am I dreaming? Is he touching me?
“Cole?”
“Don’t talk,” he whispers, and I snap my lips shut.
Fuck me. Cole is holding my hand. My heart is too big for my chest. Every nerve ending in my body screams at me to pull him to me and kiss the living daylights out of him, to wrangle his demons and put a fucking end to his torment, but I don’t move a muscle as I home in on the feel of his hand in mine. I’ve kissed and fucked and lost myself in others, but none of those experiences hold a candle to the electric connection between me and Cole.
Is he feeling it too, or is it just me?
He has to feel it, right? I can’t be alone in this.
“I know you want me to stay silent, and I will…as soon as I get this off my chest.” I swallow hard. “I need you to know, Cole, that I will never let anyone hurt you again.” My head rolls on the hard floor, and I gaze at his side profile. “Your father will never come close to you or your mom again. I swear it.”
He doesn’t reply, but that’s fine. I don’t need him to. His hand in mine is enough for now. I’d live and die a thousand lifetimes to relive this moment, and if this is his only surrender, I’ll take it.
