Chapter Twenty-Seven

Cole

M ichele is curled against my chest, her leg hooked over mine beneath the blanket we never straightened before falling asleep right here on the couch. I’ve been awake for a while now, not wanting to disturb her sleep. My fingers brush down her spine slowly, like I’ve got all the time in the world. And for once, it feels like I do. Like time’s stretching for us instead of running away.

I did it. I told Michele that I love her, and by some miracle, she feels the same way. Thank fuck. I was so terrified of how she was going to react when I told her I was in love with her, it didn’t even cross my mind that she might also feel the same way about me. I wanted to be sure to find the perfect time to broach the subject, but it happened in the most natural way possible. It wasn’t in the heat-of-the-moment way or something that was uttered in between heated kisses and moans of pleasure. We whispered it to each other in the quiet moments after, staring deeply into each other's eyes, stripped bare in every way.

Last night was the first time since Dad died that I believed someone could feel that way about me. Not just saying the words because it was expected of them, but because they mean them. I could feel those three words deep in my soul with aching certainty I’d found something rare and real and worth everything I had left.

A soft meow breaks through the silence. Imhotep, Michele’s hairless little bodyguard, pads onto the couch and leaps up, clearly intent on reclaiming his territory as he settles next to Michele’s hip, glaring at me like he can see my soul.

“I get it,” I whisper, not moving. “She’s yours.”

The cat flicks his tail in my direction, curling up and relaxing into his spot, only to be disturbed by a loud noise. He startles off the couch as it morphs from a soft but patient knock to a demanding pounding. The kind of knock that doesn’t belong to a friend, neighbor, or someone stopping by to check on you. It’s the kind that announces itself like a threat.

Michele pops up from her spot on my chest, her head swiveling back and forth, looking for the threat. Her entire body stiffens against mine.

“Are you expecting someone?”

She shakes her head, slowly and small. Her mouth is pressed into a tight line as the knock echoes around the room. Michele sits up, tugging the blanket and wrapping it around her body like a shield.

“You want me to get it?” I ask, grabbing my boxers off the floor and slipping them over my naked flesh.

“No,” she murmurs, already walking toward the door. A third knock bangs against the door as she grabs the handle, pulling the door open a crack. Just enough to see out, but then her whole body stills. Breath hitched. Shoulders locked.

“Let me in, Michele.” The familiar, commanding voice reaches my ears, and I know our time of bliss has been interrupted.

“Give me a minute.” She pushes the door shut, her entire body trembling as she rushes back to the couch, grabbing her pajama pants from the floor and pulling them on.

Her skin turns pale as she drops onto the couch, her arms resting on her legs. “How did he find out?”

“I don’t know, and right now, it doesn’t matter. He’s here now, and I’m sure he wants answers.” I drop to my knees in front of her, eyes scanning her face, searching for how I can make this better for her.

“He’s going to kick you off the team.” Tears pool in her eyes as she reaches for my hands, grasping them tightly in hers. “What are you going to do?”

“It doesn’t matter, Trouble. None of that matters to me.” I bring her hand to my mouth, brushing my lips against the back of her hand. “What do you want to do?”

“Is that fucker in there?” he bellows, pounding on the door again, demanding to be let in, but he can wait.

“You don’t have to open that door.” I grab her hands, turning her away from the door so she’s looking at me. “He’s angry, which is understandable, but you can send him away. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”

“No, let's get this over with.” She forces a smile for my benefit before she pushes to her feet and heads right for the door, opening it slowly.

Coach Mercer brushes past her like he owns the place, eyes immediately zeroing in on me, shirtless and disheveled, standing a few inches away from his daughter.

“Dad—” Michele starts, voice strained as her fingers twist in the fabric of her pants.

“I got an email,” he barked, cutting her off. “From Jensen. Apparently, he’s not just a slimeball. He’s also got a knack for catching people with their pants down.”

My stomach drops, knowing that’s why Jensen was at the arena yesterday. I originally thought he was itching for a fight by bringing up Michele again, and he was. Just not in the way I was expecting. He didn’t want to just lash out at me; he wanted to take her down with him.

Coach inches closer to her, but I step between them. My shoulders square without thinking as his lips curl in disgust. “I told him he had the wrong girl. Because there’s no way my daughter would be that reckless. That’s goddamn stupid.”

Michele doesn’t even flinch at her father's words, but I do. He is her father and demands a certain level of respect, but I can’t let this slide. “You’re going to watch your mouth around her. If you can’t be respectful, you are going to need to leave, whether it be on your own or with help.”

“I wasn’t speaking to you, boy.” He turns on me like a viper ready to strike. “You don’t tell me how to speak to my daughter.”

“You’re damn right I do if this is how you treat her. She is not your verbal punching bag.”

Michele reaches for me, a hand on my arm, her grip trembling. Her eyes plead with me to keep my cool, but I can feel her trembling through her fingertips. She’s scared. Not of me, but of the storm her father’s bringing in with him.

“I care about her,” I said, leveling my voice. “This isn’t a one-night thing. I’m not some reckless kid trying to screw the boss’s daughter.”

A humorless laugh bubbles in his throat as he takes another step toward me, blinding fury curved in every part of his face. “You’re a walking headline, Hendrix. Hothead. Benched. Traded. Suspended. Want me to keep going?”

“Back up, Coach,” I growl, my voice low and strained as I fight to maintain control.

“You’re throwing away everything for him? ” He stabs a finger in my direction, his eyes remaining focused on my Michele. “You worked too damn hard to get where you are, and now you’re shacking up with a guy who can’t even keep his nose clean long enough to make it through a season.”

I freeze, my eyes widening in horror as she turns toward me, her eyes wide. “Cole…?”

“You didn’t tell her? That’s cute. Did you leave out the part where you can’t stop popping painkillers and Lord knows what fucking else like Tic Tacs? How Cooper begged for him to get a second chance without knowing the whole truth? That his brother is a fucking junkie?”

“It’s not like that,” I breathe, the words sticking in my throat. “I need them to keep focused. To keep my cool on the ice and deal with the pain. I’m not a junkie. I can stop whenever I want. I can!”

Coach turns his ire back to Michele, his voice bitter. “This? This is what you’re throwing it all away for?”

And that’s it. The last straw that causes me to fucking snap. The rage doesn’t explode all at once. It builds . First, behind my ribs. It feels like a pot boiling over, the lid rattling as it boils faster and faster before it explodes. Then it spreads, my jaw tensing as the heat spreads up my spine, my fist shaking with it. My heart pounds so hard it feels like it's going to burst from my chest. The pounding in my ears is loud enough that I can no longer hear his hateful words. I feel like I’m outside my body, watching the slow, dangerous rise of something I can’t hold back anymore.

“She didn’t deserve that,” I growl, stepping toward him. “She didn’t deserve any of this!”

He doesn’t even flinch, his entire frame vibrating as he takes a swing at me, his fist barely missing my chin. “She deserves to know who she’s lying with.”

“She knows me ,” I hiss, ducking beneath his right hook. “Better than anyone ever has.”

“She’s making the same mistake I did, falling for her mother. Ruining everything she’s worked her whole life toward for someone who can never put her first. Who will always put the pills before her until the day she finds him dead on the floor. Just like she did with her mother.”

Michele’s breath catches, a sharp sound like glass cracking.

“She’s scared,” I bite out. “Can’t you see that? Look at what you’re doing to her.”

But he doesn’t look at her. He doesn’t see her. He keeps speaking. His words slicing, word after word, until I feel the rage boil over like lava spilling from a broken dam.

“You son of a bitch !” I roar, and then I’m shoving him—hard. He slams into the wall by the door, stumbling.

“Cole!” Michele’s voice cracks, but I can’t stop. Not after watching him unravel her piece by piece.

“You don’t get to walk in here and tear her apart!” I bellow, my vision turning red as the last threads of my control disappear. “You don’t get to make her feel like she’s the shameful one! She’s everything good and right in this world. The only person on this planet that gives a fuck about a useless sack of shit like me. Now she has someone who actually sees her—loves her—and that scares the hell out of you!”

“You’re done,” he spits. “You’re off the team.”

“Good!” I yell. “I’d rather be jobless than spend one more second tied to you!”

I throw the door open. “ Get out! ”

He glares at me, then Michele, but there’s something smug in his face, like he thinks he’s won. She’s standing frozen in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around herself, eyes wide and unfocused. He storms out, and I slam the door so hard the frame shakes.

I don’t even register what I’ve thrown. A vase? A candle holder? Whatever it was, it’s in pieces now—sharp little reminders that something inside me has finally snapped.

The sound of glass shattering is the only warning before the room explodes. My chest heaves like I’ve been running for miles, but I’m not tired. I’m wired . My hands shake, and my vision blurs, narrowing down to only what's in front of me. Everything outside the rage is a blur of static and noise. I don't hear my name being shouted—just the roar in my ears, thick and pounding like a war drum.

“Stop! Cole, please stop.” The voice is distant, familiar, but I can’t stop.

Another crash—this time the lamp. I rip it from the table, the cord fighting back before it gives. I hurl it at the wall, and it explodes in a shower of ceramic and sparks. I don’t flinch. I need the sound. The destruction. The proof that something’s breaking besides me. I don’t want to hurt anyone—but I do. I want someone to step closer so I have a reason to let this loose, all the way. I want to scream, to rip the world apart. Every second I try to hold it back feels like I’m bleeding from the inside out.

I slam my fist into the wall. Once. Twice. Three times. I hear the crack of drywall, the blood dripping down my hand, but it’s also faint—like it’s happening to someone else. The chair goes next—splintered beneath my boot. The drawer yanked out and flung across the room, the contents scattering like confetti at a funeral. Still not enough.

I turn and see myself in the mirror. And I hate what I see. My reflection stares back with wild, hollow eyes—like some feral animal that’s been cornered. I punch it without thinking. Glass rains down around me as I stumble back and drop to the floor. My spine slams against the wall hard enough to rattle my skull. I curl forward, elbows on my knees, fingers in my hair, trying to hold the pieces in.

“I can’t—” I whisper, but it barely makes it out. My throat is raw. “I can’t?—”

And then—silence. My body gives out, and I slide to the floor, shaking. Control it. Stop it. Be okay. It’s still inside me, clawing and screaming, and I don’t know how to shut it up. My whole body is a twitching, pulsing engine still running on fumes of fury, but the fire's fading. It always fades too late. I sit there, forehead against my knees, my body trembling as I fight to control it.

“I can’t—” I choke. “I can’t?—”

Control it. Stop it. Be what she needs.

But the voice doesn’t come again. A full minute passes, then two, but nothing. I drag myself up—hands bleeding, legs unsteady—and stumble toward the hallway. “Michele?” I call, voice hoarse. “Michele, I’m—I'm done. It’s okay now, just… please?—”

No answer. The only sound is the click of the bathroom lock grabbing my attention.

I run to the door, pressing my forehead to the wood before knocking softly. “Michele, baby. Please—open up. Talk to me.”

I sit there, ear pressed to the door, hoping to hear a sign she’s in there, but nothing. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just—I couldn’t let him talk to you like that. I snapped. I know I did.”

My chest is tight, my vision swimming.

“Please don’t shut me out,” I beg. “Not you. Not after everything.”

I sink to the floor, my back against the wall, fists against my eyes like they can hold back the heat behind them. My stomach turns to stone as my heart hammers against my rib cage again, this time for an entirely different reason. This time, it’s grief at the loss of the best thing to ever happen to me.

“Don’t leave me in the dark,” I whisper. “I don’t know how to fix this if you don’t open the door.”

I’ve lost her. She can't love me—not after what just happened. Not anymore.

And when the silence answers me again, I let myself fall apart. She thinks I’m a monster. Maybe I am. Because this time, I might’ve finally broken the one thing I swore I’d protect.

Her.