Page 35 of Hold the Line

“I’m not… Viktor, I look like a bum!” he huffs, glancing around nervously as if someone might recognize him at any moment.

I do not argue. I simply place a hand on his lower back and steer him gently toward the Apple Store. Cole keeps his head down the entire way, trying his best to look like anyone other than Hollywood Vance — shoulders hunched, hood pulled tight, avoiding eye contact with every passerby. Meanwhile, I walk up to the counter, tell the employee exactly what I need, and handle everything. I buy him the newest upgrade from the phone he had before, talk to the seller to reactivate his old number on the new device, and add a sturdy case and screen protector. The whole process is smooth and straightforward.

When I turn around with the bag in hand, Cole is standing in the middle of the store staring at me like I have lost my mind completely. His mouth is slightly open, eyes wide with disbelief.

“What?” I ask, tilting my head.

“You… I… what is happening right now?” he asks, his voice cracking with confusion as he gestures vaguely between me and the bag.

I step closer, lowering my voice so only he can hear. “You threw your phone away because of me. So I am fixing it.” I hold the bag out to him, watching as his expression shifts from shock to something softer, more vulnerable. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

We make it back to the car without anyone recognizing Cole, though he keeps his hood up the entire walk like a criminal trying to evade capture. I start the engine and pull out of the parking lot, heading toward Ravensburg as the afternoon light stretches long across the highway. Cole is quiet for a few minutes, digging into the bag I handed him. He pulls out the new phone, turns it on, and starts the setup process with focused little frowns, thumbs moving quickly over the screen.

The silence is comfortable, broken only by the low hum of the road and the occasional notification sound from the device. I keep one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console, fighting the urge to reach over and touch him every few seconds just to remind myself he is really here.

“By the way,” I say after a while, keeping my voice casual as the highway stretches ahead of us, “Alex asked about you. Twice.”

Cole actually yelps—a sharp, startled sound that makes me glance over. His eyes go wide, guilt flooding his face as the new phone slips from his hand and lands in his lap.

“Oh, shit. Fuck.” Both hands disappear into his hair, tugging hard enough that I consider stopping him before he rips them out. “I completely forgot about Alex. Oh my God, I’m such an asshole. He probably thinks I’m dead. Or that I ghosted him because I got bored. Fuck, Viktor, why didn’t you remind me earlier?”

“You were busy having an emotional breakdown.”

“That is not an excuse.”

“No,” I agree. “It is not.”

He shoots me an offended look, but it collapses almost immediately under the weight of his own guilt. The phone finishes restoring his contacts, and Alex’s name appears on the screen. Cole stares at it for several seconds, thumb hovering over the call button while his knee bounces hard enough to shake the passenger seat.

Then he exhales and presses it.

The phone connects automatically to the car’s speakers. It rings three times before a cautious voice fills the space between us.

“Cole?”

“Hey, Alex.” Cole’s voice comes out smaller than usual, stripped of all the bright Hollywood performance he uses when he wants people to like him. “Yeah. It’s me. I—fuck, I’m sorry. I know I disappeared, and that was a shitty thing to do. I threw my phone away like an idiot and checked out for a while, but that doesn’t excuse not finding some way to tell you I was alive. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I knew you were alive,” Alex says. His voice is calm, but not untouched. “Elias contacted me after I called the team. He said you were safe and dealing with something personal.”

Cole closes his eyes briefly. “Of course he did.”

“He also offered me season tickets, signed jerseys, and what I’m pretty sure was hush money disguised as team merchandise.”

Despite himself, Cole makes a strangled little laugh. “That sounds like Curls.”

“I told him tickets don’t make ghosting someone okay.”

Cole sinks farther into the seat, staring down at his hands. “No. They don’t.”

“We weren’t exclusive, Cole,” Alex continues. “You didn’t cheat on me. I knew there was someone else in your head every time you looked at your giant Russian teammate like you wanted to climb him and punch him at the same time.”

I keep my eyes on the road.

Cole slowly turns his head toward me, mortified.

“But you still vanished,” Alex says. “And I liked you. Maybe more than I should have, considering you spent half our dates pretending you weren’t staring at hockey clips of another man.”

“I’m sorry,” Cole whispers. The guilt in his voice is real now, no spiraling performance, no dramatic curses to soften it. “You’re right. I should’ve called. Even if all I could say was that I was a mess and needed space, I should’ve given you that much.”