Cole
Three months ago, Rachel Morgan walked back into my life carrying a duffel bag and holding a five-year-old’s hand.
I was at Jake’s house fixing his kitchen sink when I heard the U-Haul pull up outside. Went to the window and saw her climbing out of the driver’s seat, looking exhausted and determined in equal measure. Her auburn hair was longer than I remembered. Her face was thinner. But those green eyes were the same. Sharp and bright even when she was clearly running on empty.
Jake rushed outside to help. I stayed at the window and watched her hug her brother like he was the only solid thing left in her world.
And I thought: someone hurt her.
I didn’t know the details yet. Didn’t know about Derek or the breakup or any of it. But I could see it in the way she held herself. Careful. Guarded. Like she’d learned the hard way not to trust easily.
I wanted to find whoever did this to her and make them regret it.
Stupid, I know. And totally the kind of thing that lands you in hot water when the woman’s your best friend’s kid sister.
But watching her now, sitting on this rooftop with tear-stained cheeks and walls crumbling, I can’t pretend I don’t feel it. Can’t pretend I haven’t been feeling it since the moment she came back to Millbrook Falls.
She matters.
And I’m in serious trouble because of it.
“You’re staring,” Rachel says quietly.
“Sorry.” I’m not sorry. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
“How you’re tougher than you give yourself credit for.” I shift slightly, keeping my arm around her shoulders. “You remind me of myself. After my dad died.”
She lifts her head from my shoulder. “Cole—”
“I was eighteen. Construction accident. One minute he was fine, next minute he was gone.” The words come easier than they used to. Time does that. Makes the sharp edges duller. “I thought I wouldn’t survive it. Thought the grief was going to swallow me whole.”
“How did you get through it?”
“Your family, mostly. Jake stayed with me for three days straight. Your parents brought food, helped with paperwork, and made sure I didn’t do anything stupid.” I look at her. “They saved me. Gave me a reason to keep going when I couldn’t find one on my own.”
Rachel’s quiet for a moment. “And now? You’re okay now?”
“Most days. Some days are harder than others. But yeah, I’m okay.” I squeeze her shoulder gently. “My point is, you will be too. This dark phase you’re in? It won’t last forever. You’ll come out the other side stronger.”
“You sound very confident about that.”
“I am. Because I’ve seen you with Tommy. I’ve seen how you handle stress. You’re a fighter, Rachel. Even when you don’t feel like one.”
She lets out a small laugh, a sad sound, but real. “I don’t feel like a fighter right now. I feel like a disaster.”
“You’re not a disaster.”
“I’m crying on a rooftop at eight o’clock on a Wednesday. That’s pretty close to disaster territory.”
“That’s called being human.” I hesitate, then add, “Besides, I saw the video that went viral. The one from the fire. Made me look like some superhero.”
She actually smiles at that. Slight smile, but it reaches her eyes. “You are a superhero.”
“I’m really not.”
“Okay, maybe not ‘super,’” she concedes. “But definitely a hero. You saved me tonight.”
