Page 7 of Cole: Bloodlines
“After all this…” Cole’s chin trembled, and he clung to Gabe’s hand for dear life. “… if we make it out… how can you still…”
“What?”
Cole blinked, and warm tears rolled down his face. “How can you still… want me… knowing what I am?”
Gabe gripped his hand almost painfully, a hardness creeping into his face. “What you are is myhusband—the man I fuckinglove.None of this bullshit is going to change that. Understand?”
“Yeah,” Cole whispered with a tremor, the fear still evident in his voice.
Gabe drew him down into a kiss, then cupped his face. “For better or worse, baby,” he murmured against Cole’s mouth. “I fuckingmeantit.”
Cole’s hand trembled as he reached up to press his palm against Gabe’s cheek, a desperate pressure like he could anchorGabe to the earth if he just clung tight enough. “For better or worse,” he repeated, voice thinner than it had ever sounded. “Even if it gets really, really fucking worse.”
Gabe let out a half-laugh, half-sob—then pulled Cole into an ache-inducing embrace, every muscle straining to keep them bonded as one tangled, fused thing. Cole pressed his face into Gabe’s neck, inhaling the scent of hospital antiseptic, sweat, and the metallic tang under Gabe’s skin. The smell transported him back to the old farmhouse, to distant memories of blood, bleach, and guilt. He squeezed his eyes tighter. “If anything happens to you…”
“It won’t,” Gabe cut in. “Nothing is going to happen to me. You know how fucking stubborn I am.”
Gabe’s words were both a lifeline and a shackle. Cole clung to him, but the scent rising from Gabe’s skin—clean sweat and the faint blood smell from his wound—pulled him back through the years. He was thirteen again, hands slick with blood that wasn’t his, vomiting into a cracked sink while his father’s voice echoed overhead:“There’s real responsibility in what we do.”For a moment, the world seemed to fold in on itself, and Cole saw the hospital room as if from a vast, impossible distance—himself crumpled in Gabe’s arms, a pale ghost inhabited only by old memories. He yearned to crawl out of his skin and leave it behind, a molted shell that could no longer infect the people he loved.
He pressed his nose into Gabe’s neck, but the comfort he sought curdled into something else entirely—a memory, sharp and vivid as broken glass. He was kneeling on the scarred linoleum in his childhood bathroom, scrubbing his hands until they were raw and pink, and the scent wouldn’t come off no matter how deep he gouged his nails into his skin. His father’s voice was a distant, godlike rumble behind the locked door:“Get it off you, boy, get it out, every drop.”He almost pulledaway from Gabe then, not because he wanted to, but because he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving that stink on his husband, of letting the old, poisoned part of himself seep into the last thing in his life that made him feel clean.
CHAPTER 3: THE TRUTH SHALL… TERRIFY YOU
Why isn’t he calling back?Angel fidgeted restlessly, his eyes glued to his phone, even though he knew it would notify him of any calls or messages. He lingered at the end of the hall near the back door, torn between frustration and hope as he stared at his phone, silently urging Dane to call.
“You all right, son?” Max entered the hallway and approached the young man.
“No.” Angel sniffed, his insides a chaotic mix of anxiety and anticipation, reminiscent of the uneasy churn he felt when he caught the stomach flu. “Why isn’t Dane calling back?”
Max reached out and touched Angel's shoulder gently. “I don’t know,” he murmured, the words heavy with the same deep worry that mirrored the concern reflected on Angel's face. The lines of anxiety were etched clearly into Max's features, a testament to how much he regarded Maddy—and by extension, Angel—as his own sons.
“I'm gonna call him,” Angel whispered, yet his fingers hesitated over the phone, a storm of doubt swirling in his mind.What if he doesn’t pick up? What if he’s disappeared, too?
Sensing the turmoil within Angel, Max gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “He’ll answer, son,” he said with quiet conviction. His eyes drifted down the dimly lit hallway. “I’m going to check on Franny. Let me know what he says.” Max's voice carried a note of calm, like a steady anchor amid their shared uncertainty.
Angel nodded, sniffled once more, and then exited through the back door onto the porch, shutting it softly behind him. After a brief pause, he made the call.
On the third ring, Angel started to panic. “Answer your phone, baby…” he whispered brokenly. “Answer—”
“Hello? Babe?”
Angel leaned against the porch rail as his legs weakened with relief. “Why didn’t you call back? Did Cole come back to the hospital?”
“Yes,” Dane said. “He’s here. He’s safe.”
“And Gabe…?”
“He’s out of surgery. He’s okay.”
Relief washed over Angel briefly. “What did Cole tell you? You said he had something important to tell you and Devlin; what was it? Does he know where Maddy and the others are?” The hesitation on the other end of the call felt ominous, chilling Angel to the core. “Dane?”
“Angel…” Another pause. The strain in Dane’s voice scared Angel—scared himbad.
“Dane, tell me what thefuckis going on?Whereis mybrother?”
When Dane appeared unable to answer or speak at all, Angel knew something was terribly wrong.
His heartbeat stuttering in panic, Angel said thickly, “I’m coming to the hospital.”
