Cole’s eyes search mine, and I can see the concern in them. “I’m sorry, Sunshine,” he whispers.
I shake my head, not wanting him to feel guilty. “I hate that you have to see me like this,” I admit, my voice barely audible. “It’s embarrassing.”
“It’s not embarrassing,” he says firmly, lifting my chin gently so I have to meet his gaze. “You don’t have to hide it from me, Kenna. I’m not going anywhere.”
The pain is still unbearable, but in Cole’s arms, it feels a little easier to breathe. My body is numb with exhaustion, and the weight of it all feels like it’s pressing down on my chest. With Cole here, I don’t have to fight it alone.
I don’t want to be here anymore, in the bar, with the loud music and the stares of people I don’t even know. It’s too much.
I want to go home.
And it’s not just the physical exhaustion. It’s the weight of pretending that’s become unbearable. Right now, I have no energy left to fake being “fine.” I’m done forcing smiles to cover the pain, done with empty conversations when all I can feel is the relentless aching in my body. Let them see I’m not okay. I don’t have the strength to care anymore.
The weight of the realization crashes into me harder than I expected. I need Cole. He’s always been the one who sees my flaws without turning away. The only person I’ve ever trusted enough to let all the cracks show.
He’s already standing up, gathering me into his arms again like it’s nothing. I cling to him automatically, my hands wrapped around his neck as he supports me effortlessly.
“Let’s get you home,” Cole murmurs in my ear, and his voice is so calm, so soothing. It’s a voice that makes me feel like everything will be okay, even though I know it might not be. But I’m willing to believe him in this moment because I need to.
I close my eyes as he walks, and for a second, I let myself drift, the rhythm of his steps a kind of lullaby, the faint hum of conversation and music from the bar fading into the distance.
When we step outside, the cool night air hits me, and it’s like it sharpens everything, bringing me back to reality. But the sharpness is a relief in its own way. It’s a reminder that I’m here, with him, and that I’m not alone in this.
Cole’s grip on me is firm but gentle, like he’s afraid to hold me too tightly, as if he’s worried he might hurt me. I wish he would hold me tighter. I wish I could just melt into him and forget everything.
It feels good to be carried, to be cared for. Not to have to be the strong one for once.
“Almost there, Sunshine,” Cole whispers, glancing down at me with a quiet, reassuring smile.
I give a small nod against his chest, fighting to keep my eyes open, but exhaustion pulls at me like gravity. My head finds his shoulder, and I let it rest there. I breathe him in, familiar and steady. He smells like warmth, like safety. Like home.
“Thank you,” I mumble, my voice barely above a whisper.
He pauses for a second, as if he wasn’t expecting me to speak. He gently shifts me in his arms so that I’m more secure, then looks down at me with that concerned expression of his.
“For what?” he asks, his voice tender.
I swallow, trying to get the words past the tightness in my throat. “For taking care of me,” I murmur. “I didn’t expect it. I don’t…I don’t like people seeing me like this.”
Cole’s expression softens, and he presses a kiss to the top of my head. “You don’t have to hide anything from me, Kenna. You’re not a burden. Not to me.”
His words melt some of the ice around my heart. I never wanted to be seen as fragile or weak, but in this moment, I don’t have to pretend. I can just be. And the relief of that is almost overwhelming.
It’s as if my body senses the safety before my mind can fully catch up. My shoulders relax, my jaw releases, and for the first time in hours, I take a deep breath that doesn’t ache.
When we reach my house, Cole gently pushes open the frontdoor and walks inside with me. The warmth of the house hits me, but it doesn’t feel as welcoming as it normally does. Tonight, it’s just another place to endure the pain, another place to fight my own body.
Everything feels dimmer, muted. Soft yellow light from the hallway fails to bring its usual comfort. The couch seems too far away. Silence presses in, overwhelming, and even faint lavender from the candle I lit yesterday twists sour in my stomach.
But I don’t want to be alone. Not tonight. Not like this.
The thought of the door closing behind Cole and the emptiness swallowing me whole again feels unbearable. A weight presses on my chest, tightening like a fist slowly closing around my ribs.
Cole pauses at the entrance, looking down at me with those eyes that know me better than I know myself. There’s something in his gaze, something steady and strong, like he’s waiting for me to say something.
“Don’t leave,” I say before I can stop myself. The words come out in a rush, a broken plea. “I don’t want to be alone.”
His eyes soften, and without another word, he nods and walks further into the house, moving toward the couch. He’s got this calm confidence about him, like he’s done this a hundred times before, even though I know he hasn’t. But he’s been here for me. He’s here now. And that’s all I need.
