When I came out this time, I’d done all my crying in the group. I was wrung out—as if someone had taken out everything inside me, rinsed it through, and put it back wrong but lighter. My eyes were gritty, my throat raw, but I wasn’t shaking. That counted as progress. We’d talked about family today, and fuck, that was a hard thing for me to talk about.
I needed my Gabbi-hug and headed straight to the music room.
Cole was there again.
Relief hit me first. Then annoyance, because why the hell did I need him to be here? And underneath both, buried too deep to name, was that tug I pretended I didn’t feel. The one that made me want to walk toward him instead of away.
Sitting on the floor, legs stretched out, the kitten was batting at his shoelaces. Alex sat opposite him, cross-legged, tapping something on his tablet. They both looked up when I stepped inside.
Cole was in jeans this week—probably learned his lesson after getting baby drool and kitten claws all over his suit last time. He looked… normal. Comfortable. His hair was pushed back, his T-shirt mussed as if Gabbi had grabbed at it. And when his eyes met mine, something in my chest loosened.
Alex gave me a small nod, gentle, understanding. But Cole—he didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at me as if he were checking for cracks, making sure I was still standing.
“Hey,” he said. “You okay?”
I wasn’t. But I wasn’t falling apart either.
“I… yeah. Okay.”
“I have a call to make,” Alex said as he left, pulling the door behind him.
I lowered myself to the floor beside them, my knee brushing his—just a light, accidental touch that sent a stupid spark up my leg. I pretended it hadn’t happened, but my body didn’t get the memo. I reached for Gabbi as Cole lifted her into my arms, her little fists bunched in my shirt, her cheek warm, and for a second, I just breathed her in. Safe.
I didn’t say anything at first. Didn’t trust my voice not to crack. Cole waited—he seemed to be good at that—just watching me with that quiet, steady patience that made everything in me twist.
“Thank you for letting me cry on you last week,” I said. He smiled, and I didn’t know what to do with that, so I smiled back—small, awkward, real.
“How did today go?” he asked.
“Today was about family,” I said, my voice a little rough. “And I don’t… I don’t have much of one, you know? My dad died young. My mum was barely there after that, and then she remarried. Honestly, we don’t really talk. I got in trouble a lot as a teen. Signed up to sort myself out, eight years to get an education, and get somewhere. That’s my life.” It sounded pathetic out loud, like a résumé with half the pages missing. I stared at Gabbi’s tiny fingers curled around mine. “What about your family?”
“Mine?” He looked surprised to have been asked. “My parents are good people. I’m an only child, and they’ve always expected big things from me. I’ve tried to live up to that but…” He blew out a breath, shoulders tense. “I ended up joining the family firm because it was expected. I ‘invest things’—or really, I have people who do that for me while I sit in meetings pretending I’m contributing. It’s comfortable. Predictable. And I don’t know if any of it is actually mine. Honestly? I don’t even know what I want anymore.” He blinked at me then as if he’d never meant to say any of that.
He rubbed his palms on his jeans, nervous in a way I hadn’t seen before. The air between us shifted—quiet, heavy, warm. Gabbi let out a sigh, and Cole’s eyes dropped to her, then lifted back to me with something raw in them. Something that made my pulse jump.
“I like being here,” he said, voice lower now. “With you. With Gabbi. It feels… real. Guardian Hall is more real than anything else I do. But it’s not just that.” He gave a shaky laugh. “I’m all confused because I’m also trying to make sense of you being vulnerable, and the timing… and just… you.”
“Me?”
“You,” he said quietly. “You walk into a room and everything in me—” He stopped, swallowed hard. “It just settles.”
I didn’t know what to do with that.
“Sh—sugar, I messed that up.” Cole stared down at his hands again, fingers flexing nervously. “I’m not great at saying things the right way. Or… knowing if I should say them at all.”
He looked up.
And in that second, I felt it—like the room narrowed to just us.
I shifted Gabbi carefully, laying her on the blanket beside us. She stirred but didn’t wake. Cole watched every movement; his gaze focused in a way that made my chest ache.
When I turned back to him, he was closer. Not touching—but close enough that the warmth of him reached me.
He exhaled as if he’d been holding his breath for a week. “Morgan, tell me to stop.”
“I’m not telling you that,” I said, and my voice was more steady than I felt.
He leaned in—slow, giving me every chance to pull away. I didn’t. Our foreheads brushed, a tentative press that made every nerve in me spark. His hand hovered near my jaw, waiting. Asking. I turned into the touch. And that was all it took. Cole’slips met mine—gentle at first, questioning, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed this. Allowed me. I answered with the slightest tilt forward, and the kiss deepened, still careful, but real.
