“Hey,” I continue. “I’m okay.”
Lie.
But necessary.
“I’m…” I swallow, adjust. “I’m still here.” My throat tightens, but I push through it. “You don’t need to…”
I stop, because that’s exactly what Cole wants.
Me telling Ryder what to do.
Me steering him into whatever trap he’s set.
So I shift. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
My voice cracks on the last word.
I hate that.
“Please.”
The word slips out before I can stop it.
And maybe I shouldn’t have said it, maybe it gives too much, but it’s real, and part of me hopes, stupidly, desperately, that he hears what I mean underneath it.
Be careful.
Don’t walk into this blind.
Come back to me.
“Good,” Cole says softly.
The phone lowers, the recording stops, the silence rushes back in.
My chest is tight, breath shallow, the aftermath of holding myself together pressing in all at once.
I feel it.
The crack.
The fear pushing back in, bigger now, louder, because I just handed him exactly what he wanted.
Because that message will reach them.
Because Ryder will hear my voice.
Because he will come, and that is both the best and worst thing in the world.
Cole watches me, like he’s waiting for me to fall apart now that the performance is over.
I don’t.
Slowly, I lift my chin in defiance so he knows I still have some inner strength left.
Cole studies me for another second, fire flickering in his expression.
Then he stands. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
