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I stare at Cole’s outreaching hand.
“You don’t—”
“Don’t make me say it twice, Fox.”
The warning in his voice, combined with the threatening glare, makes me take his hand and let him help me up.
A spiral of dizziness hits me as I stand on my feet again. Cole notices and grabs my shoulders to steady me. I mumble a thank you when it subsides. When we move out of my office, Darius comes our way.
When he sees my fucked-up face and my furrowed brows, he freezes and says, “I’ll finish and lock up here.”
I nod, and Cole thanks him and says to my precious employee that he’ll be in touch later today. Darius nods. Cole helps my drunk ass into his car. As soon as he drives off, I lean my head against the cool glass and close my tired eyelids, succumbing to the darkness within every part of me.
My lids struggle to rise,but when they do, a searing pain stabs through my skull as the morning sun assaults my senses. I clench my fist in agony, biting back a groan.Fuck.
“Take these—they will help,” Cole says, placing two Tylenol tablets on the bedside stand. “I’m making coffee.” He exits without another word, leaving me to my own thoughts.
As I push myself up to lean against the headboard, memories from last night come crashing back like shrapnel from an explosive. The images of Amanda’s cries and tear-streaked face carve shame into my heart. Taking the pills, I shuffle to the bathroom mirror, knowing what awaits me there will reflect the inner turmoil that roils within me.
The painful swelling in my eye and the tenderness of my cheekbone capture my attention in the mirror. I can feel Nick’s punch vibrating through me again, each cell reverberating with its force. Sighing, I probe the tightness of my flesh, acknowledging that I deserved it.
My heavy gaze drops and lands on the bottle of Amanda’s perfume resting on the sink. I pick it up and inhale deeply. The scent is like a soothing elixir to my wounded soul—something I lack the strength to refuse, though I’m undeserving of such comfort. After placing it back on the countertop, I dry-swallow two pills with a mouthful of water before changing into comfortable sweatpants and a tee. Taking one final look at my reflection, I trudge downstairs.
I sit down at the table, watching Cole’s silhouette. He swivels round, eyes bloodshot and hair frazzled from lack of sleep.
“How long have you been here?” I ask.
He takes a sip of his coffee before answering, “All night.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s dangerous for people with your condition to binge drink—It doesn’t matter how much my pregnant wife misses me. I ain’t leaving your ass alone.”
My stomach churns. “How’d you know about that?”
“C’mon, Brian,” he says in a no-nonsense tone. “I did my research after you told us you had Brugada.”
Shame scorches my cheeks and I swallow hard.
Cole leans closer and booms, “Get off this suicide train you’re riding before it’s too late.”
I hang my head, unable to meet his gaze. “I’m not—”
“Yes, you are,” he interrupts. His voice resonates like thunder. “I understand that it’s natural to grieve but don’t take out your pain on those who love you—especially Amanda.”
A tsunami of guilt washes over me at the sound of her name. I clench my jaw and slam my hand on the table. “I did her a favor by ending it, Walker. She wants a kid, and I can’t give her that.”
“Why not?”
The memory of my father’s dead face appears. I throw my coffee cup through the air, and it smashes into pieces against the wall.
“My child has a fucking fifty percent chance of being a crippled piece of shit like me,” I hiss. “Can you imagine how devastating it would be if we found our son or daughter lying dead in bed one morning? Or what trauma I’m giving my kid when it sees me lying in bed dead. I’ve seen it and it’s not a pretty sight.” Tears fill my eyes at the memory.
Cole swallows.
“Amanda will hate me and be heartbroken for the rest of her life if that happens. I can’t take that chance. She is better off with another man.”
I pace back and forth, trying to lessen the emotions burning through my body.
