Page 34 of Say You'll Stay

He’s left dazed, but the sight of someone rushing to the closet at the sound of Lucy crying is better than a shot of adrenaline to the heart. Fear for their safety shoves him forward to grab a handful of the man’s shirt collar, yanking him off his feet in what feels like slow motion to toss him onto the bed.

Grabbing the fallen gun, Cole wastes no time in firing a bullet into his opponent’s forehead.

His knees slam into the rough carpet as the closet door creaks open, his lungs burning and his throat aching from attempted strangulation.

“Are you okay? Both of you?” He can see with his own eyes that they’re fine, but he’s having a hard time convincing himself that he wasn’t too late. That some stranger didn’t get to them and do god knows what before he could stop it. That he wasn’t strong enough to save them.

Olivia nods. “We’re good, but you’re bleeding.”

The moment she points it out, the pain is ten times worse, flaring to life like a fire poker dug deep into his skin.

He twists around like a crazy person trying to look at his back and shrugs off Olivia’s attempts to help. “Don’t touch it. I got it. I can handle it.”

The only option is to put a door between them so he can lick his wounds alone, so that’s exactly what he does. Falls back on old habits and escapes to the bathroom after pushing a dresser in front of the main door to keep them safe.

He leaves her out there with a baby and a dead body and he’s gonna feel like shit about that later, but right now he’s too busy panicking. Rips his shirt off and twists around to get a good look in the mirror, freezing solid at the sight of a firm lash across the middle. His fingers shake as he tries to reach, only brushing the edges where blood runs warm.

He sways on his feet, remembering how he earned that scar the first time, and it had beenthe very first time. Hears that man’s drunken voice and smells the scent of whiskey that crackles up his nostrils like a switch crackling through humid air.

“Cole? Can I come in?”

“I’m fine,” he lies. “Gimme a minute.”

Her shadow darkens the threshold, but she doesn’t ask again.

He shoves a towel into the wall and pushes his back against it to stem the flow, just as he had done years ago when he was left to suffer and heal alone in his room, coughing up water and bleeding onto his bed sheets. Couldn’t reach it then either. He was always surprised that it healed over at all, but the marks left behind were proof he needed more medical care than he ever got.

Slowly, he slides down until his ass hits the ground, towel firmly against his back and head in his hands. Tries to push his memories to the back burner and get his shit together. This isn’t the time to fall apart. It’s been forever. It’s over. Done.

That asshole was just some guy with a knife. It wasn’t personal.

He can’t hide away in here forever when he’s got other people to think about and that’s the only thing that gets him on his feet again with a pained groan.

“Can you hand me the bag with the supplies?” he askssheepishly through the door.

She would help him, but he can’t let her. Not yet, maybe not ever.

When she cracks the door and offers the bag, he can’t even meet her eyes. He only takes the supplies and shuts it again, dousing himself with peroxide that makes him see stars and somehow securing a sticky bandage on his back after a game of twister.

Her face only holds concern and her eyes sympathy that he doesn’t want or deserve when he leaves the protective bathroom cocoon.

“Shouldn’t have left you out here like this, with him. Wasn’t thinking.”

“We’re okay. It’s you I’m worried about.”

“It’s nothing. I’ll heal up fine.” The gaping slash across the fabric he wears, rimmed in red, proves he’s nowhere near fine. The cat wraps around his legs, squeaking out a half a silent meow and he huffs a sound of amusement. “Good to see you’re fine, too.”

“What do you think he wanted?” Olivia says, quietly.

“Probably the same thing we do. Food. Somewhere to sleep. I don’t think he was planning on finding us.”

Cole killed him anyway. He forced a confrontation with his gun and once the fight started, once Lucy gave away their hiding spot in the closet, there was no turning back. It didn’t matter then if this guy was decent or not. Couldn’t risk giving him a chance.

“You had no choice,” she tells him, as if she can see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “You were protecting us.”

He isn’t a killer, except now he is and he’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. No regrets. Cole shivers at the memory of theman rushing toward the closet at the first hint of something innocent behind it.

“Let’s get out of here,” he grunts, ready to leave this house, the dead body, and the nightmares suffered within its walls behind.

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