Page 37 of Cole

Clothes were dumped around the floor, and a designer suitcase was open on the bed, half packed.

It was my mother’s routine. Get fed up with my father shoving his cheating in her face, threaten to leave, cry and rant and drink too much, start to pack and then… nothing. She never actually left. The process of packing a tiny fraction of her wardrobe into a suitcase and imagining living out of it always seemed to snap her out of her anger, no matter how many times I’d pushed her to actually go.

She was sitting on the floor on the other side of the bed, leaning her head back, her designer silk dress puddled around her. Her hair was turning white, piled on top of her head in a messy bun. Despite the mascara tracks on her cheeks, she was still so beautiful.

My heart hurt to see her like this. I sank down next to her and put my arm around her shoulders. She melted into my side.

“What happened?” I asked, though I knew. It was always the same. Nothing ever changed.

She just shook her head and started to cry again. I hugged her tightly.

“It’s ok. Everything is going to be ok,” I murmured to her, my chest feeling hollow. My heart felt scraped out from the inside.

“Promise?” she murmured, her voice meek and soft, like a kid’s.

I just nodded. I didn’t want to lie to her, after all.

twelve

ISABELLE

I slept fitfully in my old bed and emerged in the morning, just as my father’s secretary left the house and got into a waiting taxi.

Rosie was already in the kitchen, brewing the most delicious-smelling coffee in the world.

“You should have come in later, seeing as you worked late last night,” I told her, perching on a barstool and accepting a cup of coffee. Rosie’s coffee was what had kicked off my rather serious addiction to caffeine, and now, here I was, back for another fix. I couldn’t even pretend to quit.

“Here is more my home than my house lately, with Finn out at all hours,” Rosie fretted.

“I saw him last night,” I told her.

She stilled and stared at me with wide eyes.

“He doesn’t know who I am, don’t worry. He doesn’t think you’re having him stalked or anything. I saw him at The Clutch. He was fine, just hanging out, talking to people.”

“Was he drinking?” she asked, a pained look on her face.

I shook my head firmly. “Nope, and I’m pretty sure all the bartenders are on strict instructions not to serve him. He won’t get any booze from there.”

Rosie nodded, looking relieved.

“Was he getting mixed up in their business?” she asked next.

I shook my head ruefully. “Honestly, he was trying, but it looks like he’s not a member of the MC and isn’t going to be one any time soon.”

Rosie crossed herself and muttered a prayer under her breath. “Thank God.”

Before we could talk any more about it, my father wandered into the kitchen. He paused when he entered, surprised to see me.

“Were we expecting you, Isabelle? When did you arrive?”

It was early, but he was already dressed. He was an early riser and proud of it. It didn’t matter if he was tired, he always got up at five. The appearance of success and discipline was so much more important than comfort.

“Last night,” I said shortly.

My father raised an eyebrow and then sat across from me at the counter, quickly dismissing me in favor of his newspaper. He didn’t bother explaining himself. He hadn’t done anything wrong in his eyes. He never did.

“I’m glad you’re here, actually. I have a meeting shortly that I think you’d find interesting.”