“You couldn’t have known.”
“I should’ve—“
“No. Cole, look at me.”
I do, and the guilt hits me harder. Her cheek is swollen, red, skin tender. And she still cares more about me than she does about herself.
“I should’ve protected you,” I choke out. “I should’ve protected both of you.”
“Cole, this wasn’t on you. Stop blaming yourself.”
My jaw tenses. “She’s out of control. I need to—“
Ella’s expression shifts as soon as the words leave my mouth. Not angry, but determined. Steady in that way she gets when she’s about to fix what no one else can.
She reaches out, grabs my hand, and squeezes once—firm, grounding, a command disguised as comfort. “Come with me.”
Before I can argue, she turns and pulls me toward the doorway. Her fingers wrapped around mine feel like the first real breath I’ve taken since Aria ran into my arms. She’s strong, small, furious, and soft all at once. I follow her because right now my emotions are loud enough to drown out sense.
At the threshold, she pauses and spins around to face her brothers.
“Do not leave this house,” she warns, voice sharp as a blade. “None of you. I mean it.”
Zane lifts a brow. “Ella—“
“No.” She points at him first, then at Jace, then at Beck, one by one, like she’s laying down the law. “I handled it. I don’t need any of you ending up in jail tonight.”
Jace huffs. “We wouldn’t get caught.”
“Sit down!”
All three freeze. Then, grudgingly, they sit.
Zane mutters something under his breath. Beck cracks his knuckles like he’s itching to start a small war. Jace crosses his arms and sulks like a massive, bearded toddler. It would almost be funny if the bruise on Ella’s cheek wasn’t staring me in the face like an accusation.
Satisfied, she tugs my hand again. “Come on.”
I follow her outside, letting the door shut behind us. The moment we’re alone on the porch, the cool night air hits me, carrying the faint smell of hay and cedar. Out here, my anger feels too big for my body—hot and unsettled—and I’m trying to keep it all locked down because if I don’t, the world will see exactly how far I’m willing to go for her.
Ella stops a few feet from the door, finally letting go of my hand, turning to face me. Her cheek is still red, the bruise ready to bloom darker later, and something inside me claws upward—a feral urge to hunt down the woman who dared to lay a hand on her.
She sees it. She always does.
“Cole,” she coos softly. “Look at me.”
I already am.
“You can’t go after her.”
My jaw works. “Ella, she hit you.”
“And I hit her back.” She lifts her chin slightly. “I handled it.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“I know that,” she whispers. “I know. But listen to me, please. If you go after her and start something, Aria will feel it. She’ll see it on your face when you come back. She’s already scared, and doesn’t need any more chaos.”
The words hit straight through me, cutting through the noise.
