Page 67 of The Moment I Knew

“So what does it matter if I like it or not? What is there to like or not? It’s a town. A place to live.”

“Yeah, but most people either do or don’t like their towns,” I said. I nudged him with my elbow. “So come on. What are your feelings? Complaints? Issues? I’ll see what I can fix for you.”

“Oh, are you the mayor now?” he asked, a small, teasing lilt in his voice.

“I am,” I told him, “and I take complaints very seriously, so cough ‘em up.”

“Well, first of all... there are far too many potholes on your street.”

I nodded seriously. “Alright, I’ll keep that in mind. Anything else?”

His mouth lifted up in the corner. “Yeah. Can I get an official mayoral pardon? Might be nice if everybody here would stop assuming that I’m a criminal just because I moved here in the middle of October.”

I smiled gently at that. “That might be easier to rebuke if you tell them the real story,” I said, raising a brow. Then, pretending that I was holding a microphone, I held it out to my mouth. “So, Cole, Mr. Mercer, you tell us you weren’t in juvie, but then why did you move in the middle of October?” And then I held my fist out towards him, like I was interviewing him.

He smiled and lifted his hand. For a moment, I thought he was going to push my hand down in the nicest way he could tell me to shut up. Instead, he pulled it towards him once again like he was actually being interviewed.

“Wow, that’s actually a fascinating story,” he said, and he blinked long and slow. “But are you sure you’re ready to hear it?” Then he pushed my fist back to me.

I barely noticed it as I murmured and stared at him. There was a look on his face, one that told me that he thought once I heard this story things would change. Once I knew the truth, he thought my opinion of him would be different. That only made me all the more curious.

“Yes,” I murmured. “I’m sure.”

He studied me for another second, like he was weighing something. Then he leaned back against the railing, hands gripping the cold metal.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “But don’t interrupt.”

“I won’t,” I promised.

His jaw flexed once before he started.

“It was the last week of September. My brother—Evan—he’s a year younger than me. Not exactly built like a linebacker.” A faint, almost reluctant smirk tugged at his mouth. “He runs his mouth like one, though.”

I smiled a little, just to let him know I was still there.

“There’s this group of guys at my old school,” he continued. “They’d been on him for a while. Dumb stuff at first. Lockers. Shoving him in the hall. You know. The usual heroic behavior.”

My stomach tightened.

“I told him to ignore it. Told him I’d handle it if it got worse.” His eyes went distant, fixed on something across the street that wasn’t really there. “It got worse.”

He swallowed once.

“They cornered him after practice. Behind the gym. I wasn’t even supposed to be there—I’d left something in my locker. I heard shouting. By the time I got around the corner, he was already on the ground.”

My fingers curled into the sleeves of his jacket.

“I didn’t think,” Cole said flatly. “I just reacted.”

He didn’t look at me when he said the next part.

“I pulled one of them off him. Then another one swung at me. And then…” He exhaled through his nose. “I didn’t stop when I should have.”

The quiet stretched between us. My fingers itched to reach out to him, touch his arm, pull him into a hug, something to show him that I was here and listening and on his side. But I just stayed quiet.

“They were down,” he said. “But I was still angry. And I kept going.”

His voice wasn’t proud. It wasn’t defensive. It was steady and almost detached.