Page 77 of Hold the Line

Cole doesn’t register it for a bit. He just blinks at me, still deep in escape-plan mode. “Like I said, Vik, probably after playoffs would be the best,” he says, distant, like we are still talking about running to New Zealand instead of the fact that I just dressed him and put shoes on him like a child.

I stand up and take his hand firmly in mine. I slip my own shoes on quickly, then start guiding him toward the front door. He follows for a few steps on autopilot before his brain catches up.

“Where are we going?” he asks, suddenly sinking his heels in like a stubborn puppy.

“Out on a date, Cole! OUTSIDE.” I growl, my patience fraying. “You are driving me insane. You need out of the house. Fuck, I need out of the house.”

Cole’s mouth snaps shut. I keep a firm grip on his hand and drag him toward the car, ignoring the way he sputters half-formed protests under his breath. The cold air hits us as soon as we step outside, and for the first time in weeks I feel like I can actually breathe.

I open the passenger door for him and wait. Cole stares at me for a long second, a little lost, before he gets in without another word.

I close the door, walk around to the driver’s side, and start the engine. The silence in the car is heavy, but it is better than the silence in the house.

We are going on a date. Whether he likes it or not.

Cole fidgets in the passenger seat, fingers twitching like he cannot sit still. Then he pulls out his phone. “I need to call Curls, let him know we’re leaving after playoffs,” he says, already pressing Elias’ contact.

My hand shoots out, snatching the phone from his grip before he can hit call.

Cole freezes, his eyes going wide. “Vik—”

“No.” The word comes out sharp enough to cut. I roll my window down, fingers tightening around the phone like I might actually throw it into the night and let the road swallow it. For one ugly second, I want to. Instead, I breathe once, hard through my nose, and throw it onto the back seat, far enough away that he cannot use it to run from this conversation.

Cole stares at me like I have lost my mind.

Maybe I have.

“VIK!”

“COLE!” I shout back, louder than I mean to. I slam on the brakes hard enough that he has to brace against the dash as the car stops abruptly in front of the small Russian restaurant I usually go to alone — the one I have never taken him to. “You need to stop. We are not running. You are safe. I am safe. Stop this.”

The car is silent except for our breathing. Cole looks at me, but underneath the shock I see the exhaustion, the fear, the way this has been eating him alive for weeks.

I turn off the engine and lean back in my seat, running a hand over my face. “Come on,” I say, quieter now. “We are eating inside, like normal people. No more escape plans tonight.”

Cole stares at the restaurant, then back at me, his mouth opening and closing like he wants to argue but cannot quite find the words. “Viktor but what if they find us??” Cole blurts out, voice cracking with fear as he twists in the passenger seat to face me fully.

“WHO?” I growl, turning to look at him, my patience hanging by a thread.

Cole gestures wildly. “The police! The league! Anyone! What if someone saw something, what if there was a camera, what if your mom says something, what if— what if they connect it to the Russians who attacked me? They’ll take you away, Vik! They’ll put you in prison and I’ll never see you again and I can’t— I can’t do that, I won’t survive that—”

“Cole, there is no ‘they’!” My voice rises to match his. “The case is closed. Alcohol poisoning. No investigation. No cameras. No witnesses. My father drank himself to death in his own apartment and nobody gives a fuck because he was a piece of shit who hurt people his whole life. It is over.”

“But what if it’s not over?!” Cole shouts back, tears spilling down his cheeks again. “What if they reopen it? What if someone talks? What if Damian knows and he has to report it? What if— fuck, Vik, I made you do this, this is my fault, if they take you I’ll—”

“You did not make me do anything!” I cut him off, slamming my hand against the steering wheel. “I chose. I chose you. I would choose you every single time. Stop punishing yourself for something I did because I love you. There is no one coming. No police. No league. No one. We are safe. You are safe. I am right here.”

Cole is breathing hard, tears still falling as he stares at me like he wants to believe me but the fear is too loud.

I reach over and grab his hand, squeezing tight. “We are not running,” I say again, quieter this time. “We are living. Now get out of the car. We are eating.”

Cole does not get out of the car. He turns to me instead, tears running down his face in steady streams. “You cannot expect me to live when I know the love of my life has killed his own father because of me,” he sniffles, small and broken.

I turn toward him again, and grab his face with both hands, thumbs wiping at the tears that keep falling. “Listen to me, soroka. That man has abused me and my mother my entire life. I watched him beat her, curse her, turn the house upside down, felt his belt and his fists more times than I can count. Touching you was just the last straw. I did not do it because of you. I did it because of him. Now please, stop this madness, and let’s go eat.”

Cole sniffles again, looking up at me with those wide, tear-filled eyes. I keep wiping his cheeks gently, waiting.

Finally, he nods. Shaky, but a nod.