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I wonder if it really disappeared, though, or if Cole pushed it down deep like I do. I cover any hurt with smiles and rainbows and the belief that everything’ll be okay. I think he covers it with grumpiness and scowls that probably are intended to be scary, but they make me fluttery inside.
“To thank me, the PI offered me a couple of bucks,” he continues, “but I turned it down. I was living off my college fund then, doing fine on my own and too proud to actually work. But a few days later, he asked if I would sit on a subject for him. It was a pretty basic assignment, but I felt a thrill, a satisfaction with it that I never felt with academic work. And that was it. I never stopped.”
He sips his coffee like we’re casually talking about the weather and not sharing his entire life story in basically one breath.
“Wow,” I respond. “That sounds meant to be. You were in the right place at the right time to meet your mentor. Hey, what about the bartender? Did the PI find him? Did he get the child support for the kid? He’s not still struggling, is he? Because I know some state resources and charitable non-profits that could help.”
Cole’s eyes narrow as he looks at me in confusion. And then he smiles. Again! I’m keeping track at this point.
“You would help, wouldn’t you?” he asks wonderingly.
“Of course.” I reach for my phone, already thinking of the social workers I deal with at the care center. Usually, they specialize in adult care, but there are several who do both child and adult resource assistance.
Cole places his hand over mine, stopping me. His skin is warm, and his touch sends shocks of awareness through my entire body even as my focus zeroes in on the connection. I look at his hand to see if he’s got one of those handshake zapper things clowns used to use on unsuspecting marks because his touch feels that electrified. But it’s just him . . . touching me.
I look up and meet his eyes, which have gone soft. “The kid’s fine. Mom too. The PI had a few words with the bartender, who tried the ole ‘I’m barely scraping by’ act. The PI planned to serve him papers, but the kid needed money faster.”
“Did you give them money?” I ask hopefully. He said he was living on his college fund at the time. I don’t know what kind of money he’s talking about, but I’d be digging in couch cushions if a kid needed food. Surely, Cole’s the same. Everybody’d do that.
“No, I didn’t give them money.” He smiles again, but this time’s different. It’s only with one side of his lips and it looks . . . cold and dangerous. A shiver runs down my spine, but it’s not in fear. No sirree, I kinda want him to look at me like that, which is stupid, but it reminds me of the sexy vampires in my books.
“I was an asshole back then. In a different way than I am now. In my mind, I didn’t have anything to lose, so I waited for the bartender—his name was Gary—to come in one night. Ordered my usual whiskey, but instead of on the rocks, I took a straight shot for courage and told Gary that we were taking a walk because I had something to talk to him about.” He pauses and gives me an appraising glance, as if checking to see if I’m on board with whatever he’s about to tell me.
Oh, my God, did he kill Gary? He said he’s not a killer or criminal, but it’s not like people go around announcing that. Did I miss that?
But I don’t make a move to get away. I sit right where I am, willing to listen because if Cole did something bad, there had to be a reason, right? Maybe Gary attacked him first?
“You should see your face right now,” he murmurs, his voice low as he cups my cheek and peers into my eyes. A muscle twitches in his jaw. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not that bad, Janey. I swear.”
Oh.
“Oh!” I sag into my chair and try to figure out what I’m thinking. Is that disappointment I’m feeling? Was I proud that Cole was willing to defend a child I didn’t know existed five minutes ago to the death?
Cole stares ahead stoically, his gaze fixed out the kitchen window, and quietly confesses, “I marched him to the nearest ATM, had him clean out his savings account of every penny he had, and told him that if he said a word about it, I’d tell every sorority sister and college girl in the state that he was intentionally infecting them with STDs and tell every bar owner in town that he stole from the till and sold alcohol out the back door. He’d be unhireable and unfuckable in under an hour.” He drops his chin, a cloud of shame overtaking him. “I would handle things differently now, but I thought I was untouchable back then.”
