Page 91 of Cole: Bloodlines
Devlin knelt beside the wheelchair, his own eyes glistening as he pressed his lips to Cole's head. “All things are possible to those who believe,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.“It wouldn't be the first miracle we've witnessed.” His hand cupped Cole's cheek, thumb brushing away a tear. “Something we shouldallknow by now...” his voice faltered, “isneverto underestimate the power of love.” Devlin wrapped his arms around Cole, who collapsed against him, shoulders heaving with silent sobs. “You were his best friend—hisonlyfriend—and his first love. That's not just hope, Cole. That's a lifeline.”
A lifeline.Cole twisted the leather bracelet, fresh tears rising. He didn’t feel like a lifeline when Ezra had been suffering all those years… while Cole erased his own identity and built a new life for himself, burying the past—and Ezra along with it.
You thought he was dead. You had every reason to believe he was gone. You didn’t abandon him to a life of unspeakable torment and abuse. If you’d known he was alive—or even thought he might be—you would have looked for him, and kept looking for him until you found him.
Cole closed his eyes, quiet sobs sifting out of him.
“You’re not in this alone,” Devlin whispered, hugging him. “We will all be here for Ezra… and for you.”
“I know,” Cole said thickly, his voice wet with tears. He looked at Devlin through watery eyes. “I love you, you know?” he whispered with a tremor. “You don’t know how special you are to me… and to Gabe. You and Abel both.”
Devlin kissed him softly on the lips. “We love you, too. You and Gabe… yousavedAbel and me, more than once. Words can’t express how much you both mean to us.”
Cole hugged him, kissing him deeply. “I need to be alone with Ezra, but… will you wait for me out here?”
“Of course,” Devlin murmured and stood, wheeling Cole into the cubicle next to the bed. “I’ll be right out here.” He stepped out and slowly pulled the curtain closed behind him.
It took a moment for Cole to look at Ezra’s face, reallyseeinghim for the first time since finding him in the crate. Ashe studied his gaunt features, the thirteen-year-old boy he used to know began to peek through. Cole trembled and reached tentatively for his hand, gripping him gently, as if he might break.
Cole bit his lower lip as his chin quivered. “Ezra…” he whispered, his voice breaking. “It’s me… Henry.” Cole bent forward and pressed his lips to Ezra’s frail hand and sobbed. “I’m so sorry,” he shuddered through his cries. “I’m so sorry, baby… I didn’t know… I didn’t know what was happening to you… I didn’t know… I didn’t…” He curled forward, his body shaking as he broke down, all the pain, grief, and guilt surging out through his sobs. “It’s all my fault… I’m so sorry… it’s all my fault… all my fault.”
He clung to Ezra’s hand, feeling thefamiliarityof his touch as memories swarmed his mind of him and Ezra as young boys in love, holding hands, sharing innocent kisses. Cole raised his head and grabbed a few Kleenex from a box on a nearby stand, and wiped his eyes and nose. With trembling fingers, he removed the bracelet and fastened it carefully around Ezra’s thin wrist.
“I know he took it from you,” Cole whispered thickly. “I took it back. He’s gone, Ezra. He’s never coming back. He can’t hurt you anymore.” His chin trembled. “You’re safe now. You don’t have to hide anymore, you… you can come back.” Cole pressed his face to his hand again, sobs welling once more. “Please come back… please…”
Cole flinched when Ezra’s hand shifted a fraction. Cole raised his head, straightening a bit. Ezra's hand drifted toward his concave stomach with the painful deliberation of someone navigating through molasses—each millimeter a separate, exhausting journey. His other hand, mottled with yellowish bruises that bloomed like watercolor stains beneath translucent skin, sought out the first with the hesitant, uncertain movementsof someone who had spent a lifetime in darkness. His cracked fingertips, bordered by ragged cuticles and broken nails, dragged weakly over the braided bracelet, catching on the worn leather threads. His hands went still, pale as alabaster against the institutional beige blanket, and a visible flutter rippled beneath the translucent skin of his chest.
On the heart monitor screen, the jagged green line faltered, dropping into a momentary valley before climbing again—his pulse literallyskippinga beat. … and a tear slipped from beneath his closed eyelid.
Cole began to shake.He’s still in there.Cole tenderly covered both of Ezra’s hands and pressed his face against the blanket, sobbing quietly. “It’s me, Ezra… It’s Henry… I’m here, I’mright here.I’m never gonna leave you. I promise… I won’t ever let you be alone or afraid again. You’resafe.”
When Cole returned to his room, rather than going to his own bed, he went to Gabe and crawled into bed with him. The pain, despair, and guilt resonating from his husband tore Gabe apart. As soon as his arms wrapped around Cole, the man broke to pieces, his body convulsing beneath the force of his sobs.
Gabe pressed his lips to his hair and closed his eyes, tears running down his face as his husband shook in his arms. Gabe kept silent and just let Cole release everything inside of him—not only from the last few days, but his entire life.
When Cole finally spoke, he clung to Gabe in a death grip, his words hitching out in broken sobs. “I… I did this to him… it’s my fault, Gabe… how can I… how can I live with this?”His arms tightened around Gabe, his nails digging into his back as his body strained beneath his sobs.“I want it out of me… I want the poison out of my veins… I can’t handle this… I can’t, Gabe…”His sobs intensified until he was shaking uncontrollably, his pain and desperation frightening Gabe.“My own flesh and blood did this to him… I can’t handle being a part of them… being a part of what hurt him this way… I can’t… I can’t…”
Gabe held him tightly, crying with him, with no fucking clue what to say to ease his pain and suffering. The words he desperately wished he could say—“You’re not.”—suddenly echoed through the room… but didn’t come from Gabe.
The two men went deathly still as they both looked across the room, where a middle-aged man stood, filling the doorway; his six-foot-plus frame blocked the hallway light. Deep creases lined his sun-leathered face, radiating from the corners of steel-gray eyes that swept the room with military precision. His clothes—faded denim jeans and a chambray work shirt with rolled sleeves revealing corded forearms—hung on his frame like a second skin, worn smooth at the elbows and knees. A leather belt, cracked with age, supported a visible holster impression on his right hip. There was a hard edge about the man that reminded Gabe of his gangster brothers—the same watchful stillness of someone accustomed to violence—yet he didn't carry the flashy menace of that world.
“Who are you?” Gabe asked, his voice hard with suspicion, his arm instinctively tightening around Cole. After everything they'd recently gone through, the sudden appearance of a stranger made every muscle in his body coil tight.
The man met his stare without wavering, weathered face like a topographical map of hardship. “My name is Jim Hunter.” His voice was deep with a gravelly texture that scraped the air between them. A muscle twitched along his jaw as his eyes shifted deliberately to Cole. “And you're Henry Pruett.”
“How do you know that?” Cole whispered, his voice barely audible over the soft hum of the hospital equipment, fingersunconsciously tightening around Gabe's hand until his knuckles whitened.
“I've been looking for you for thirty years.” Jim Hunter's voice dropped an octave as the lines around his mouth deepened, carved by decades of grim determination. “Since the day I found my brother, John… butchered by two serial killers.”
Serial killers.Cole trembled against Gabe, his skin prickling with cold sweat, then sat forward, sliding out of the bed onto unsteady legs. His bare feet touched the cool linoleum floor, sending a shiver up his spine. Was the man here forrevenge?
I’ve been looking for you for thirty years.
That wasbeforeCole was born.
The man's earlier words—“You're not”—slammed into Cole's chest like a physical blow, leaving him winded. Black spots danced at the edges of his vision as blood rushed from his head. His voice emerged thin and reedy, barely above a whisper. “How could you have been looking for me for thirty years...” He swallowed hard, tasting bile at the back of his throat. “I'm only twenty-nine?”
“I started looking before you were born—searching for your mother, Mary.”
