Page 93 of Cole

“Isabelle, if you walk out of this house…”

I spun around to face him. “Then what? You’ll cut me off? Fine. Do it.”

“Don’t think about taking that car anywhere, then. That’s not yours either.”

“Wow. Classy, dad.” I dug through my bag and dropped my keys onto the sofa. “Keep it.”

His face hardened, but I didn’t wait for him to speak. I stalked out of the room and down the hallway to the front door, my heels clacking angrily against the perfectly polished tile of their entryway. Outside, the air hit me sharp and cold, and I gasped like I had just surfaced after being underwater for far too long. I wanted nothing more than to get away from my parents, however, so I made my way out of the huge gates on foot, to the dark sidewalk beyond, and requested an Uber on the way.

I power walked away from the house, only slowing when I turned a corner and couldn’t see the lights of home anymore. Home. What a funny word that was for me. I’d seen friends take comfort from the idea of home, and I’d always been so jealous. For me, the word had the opposite connotations. Home meant pressure and judgment, broken glass and my mother’s red eyes and shaky hands as she poured another cocktail. No, home wasn’t homely to me. The image of Cole’s hand-built cabin in the woods filled my head and immediately soothed my ragged nerves but also caused a wave of sadness to settle over me. He had a real home he’d built with his own hands. I had nothing.

Like my thoughts had summoned him, my phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket and checked the display.

Papa Bear calling.

I couldn’t see him or talk to him right now, not when my parents’ venomous threats were still ringing in my ears. I didn’t want to infect what I had with Cole with that kind of energy.

Me: Hey, can’t answer. Still at my parents’.

Cole: Call me when you’re done. I’ll pick you up and bring you to the bar.

Me: Not needed. I might just stay the night here.

Cole: …Goldilocks, why do I get the feeling something is wrong?

Me: Because you are a paranoid person. Maybe it’s an age thing )) Everything is fine. I’ll call you tomorrow. Night!

I stuffed my phone into my pocket and got into the Uber that had just arrived. Cole didn’t text back again, and I felt a pang that he’d given up, but then swiftly reminded myself that was what I had wanted.

Yes, I was getting what I wanted, so why did I feel so lonely? It was the Lancaster effect, I decided, as the Uber headed toward the HHU campus. Just being around my parents was enough to get anyone down, and that was without my father’s threats. He could make my final year of college very difficult indeed. I was about to pay the price for having always been the good girl. The rule follower. The one who asked how high when her father told her to jump.

I’d always been the good girl, and now, it looked like it was about to cost me everything.

A few hours later, I was as far from sleep as I had been on the drive home. I stared at the ceiling and tossed and turned a little more for good measure. How the hell was I going to sleep when I’d just spent hours searching online for last-minute scholarships? There was no way I’d qualify for any of them. The reality was my father could pull my tuition and stop me from graduating, right when I was nearly done.

I blew out a long breath and tried to count some sheep. It didn’t work. I punched my pillow into submission so many times, a stray feather floated in the air.

Nope.

Nada.

With a sigh, I got up and pushed the window open. Fresh air might help calm me down.

I saw the lone headlight winding its way along the campus roads long before I heard the growl of the engine. The motorcycle pulled up at the darkened curb and kept the motor running.

The biker took off his helmet and looked upward, right at my window. My heart started to pound.

Cole. He’d come, even though I’d blown him off and tried to push him away. He was here.

He reached toward the back of his bike and produced a second helmet from somewhere, lifting it for me to see.

I was dragging clothes on before I knew it. I flew down the stairs of my building and out to the curb.

I didn’t talk as I approached the bike. He was still sitting astride and hadn’t turned the engine off. It was noisy. It might attract attention. But one thing I’d learned so far about Cole Bailey: He didn’t give a damn about getting in trouble. He was my polar opposite. My mirror—everything was backward in our reflections.

And yet, he got me. The fact that he was here, wordlessly adjusting the chinstrap on the helmet, was evidence of that.

We didn’t speak. He fixed my helmet, and I climbed on the back of his bike and wrapped my arms around his middle, hugging as tightly as I could.