Cole’s Point of View

The entrance to Portland appears like a mirage after four hours on the road. The city lights slowly come into view, scattered among buildings and tall trees, and for a second I feel like I'm driving straight into another life—one I don't want, but have no choice in. Zoe sleeps beside me, curled up under my jacket, breathing slowly. Her fever has broken, but her face is still marked by pain that I wish I could wipe away with my own hands. I slow down as I park in an area further away from the city entrance. The cold air rushes into the car as soon as I turn off the engine. I grab my phone, her number already saved on the screen before I even had the courage to admit that this was the plan.

Lilly. My mother.

Ten years without seeing her. Ten years pushing every memory under a well-sewn carpet of hatred. Ten years trying to convince myself that she didn't exist.

The phone barely rings twice.

"Cole? Cole, is that you?"

Her voice is heavy with emotion, broken—and it irritates every part of me.

"It's me." My tone is dry. "I'm in town. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Oh my God... Cole, I—I made meatball pasta! Your favorite since you were a kid. I—"

"Stop it, Lilly." The silence on the other end hardens, heavy. "You're not the mother you're trying to be. I'm here out of necessity, not because I want happy family memories."

“Son, please—I just—”

“Don’t call me son.” My voice falters slightly, but I swallow it down. Quickly. “I’m calling so I don’t take your perfect life by surprise. That’s all.”

I hang up.

The end of the call is both a relief and an open wound. I look at Zoe, still asleep. A piece of my chest hurts just seeing her hurt like that.

"Come on, girl... we're almost there."

I start the car and we drive through streets that are too clean, too rich, too comfortable for someone like me. And as I drive, a message I received hours earlier comes back to me like a punch.

"Cole, be careful. The girl's stepfather sent people to look for you. The motel has already been searched. They won't stop."

I grip the steering wheel so hard that my fingers hurt. I knew he wouldn't give up. I knew Zoe was still being hunted. And worse—she's weak. Slowly getting better, but far from safe. And damn it, I needed to protect her. Even if it meant stepping on the pride I'd spent years building.

When I park in front of my mother's house, Zoe slowly wakes up. She blinks, confused, looking at the white two-story house with its manicured yard and too many flowers for someone like Lilly to have planted alone.

"Where are we?" she asks, her voice hoarse from sleep.

"At my mother's house." And it's like swallowing shards of glass.

I get out of the car and help her carefully. Her body presses against mine, small and warm, and for a second I almost forget where we are. But then the door opens—and reality hits me. Lilly appears in the doorway with the same fragile smile she always offered the world. Elegant, impeccable, pretending to be everything she never was.

"Cole..." she whispers, as if my name were a plea for forgiveness.

"Hi, Lilly." I force my voice not to tremble. "Thank you for having us." She looks at Zoe. The shock is immediate—the injuries, the paleness, the way Zoe leans on me. Lilly looks back at me, expectantly. I decide for her. "This is Zoe. My girlfriend."

I feel Zoe's body stiffen beside me. But she doesn't contradict me.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Zoe," Lilly says with a smile that seems to crack at the edges. "I hope you feel better soon."

"Thank you, ma'am," Zoe replies politely, even with pain in her eyes. "Thank you for having us."

“Please, call me Lilly.”

She leads us inside. The smell of meatball pasta fills the air, and an avalanche of bad memories hits me before I can protect myself. Photos of her new family are scattered around the room. Perfect smiles. Parties. Christmas. Life.

Life without us.

Zoe sits down on the couch carefully, letting out a sigh that says more than words ever could. I sit down next to her, my hand firmly on her shoulder, holding her against anything that might hit her—even the past.

“How are you?” I ask quietly.

Zoe looks at me slowly, then at Lilly. And she understands.

“I... don’t know what happened between you two,” she says carefully. “But she’s helping us. Maybe you could... just try not to treat her badly, at least while we’re here.”

My jaw clenches.

"Zoe. You don't know what happened. It's better to stay out of it." She swallows hard, hurt, but doesn't insist.

Lilly returns with juice for Zoe and coffee for me.

"I made dinner," she says hopefully. "Pasta and meatballs."

"Later," I reply. "Right now, we just need a room."

She agrees too quickly and leads us to the second floor. She shows us the room, the bathroom, the comfort that seems out of this world.

“You can stay here. Zoe, take your time.” She looks at me, serious. “Cole... after she settles in, come downstairs. We need to talk.”

“Sure.” As soon as she leaves, I close the door. Zoe walks slowly to the bed, her eyes cautiously scanning the room. "Go take a shower," I say softly. "I'll be right back."

She enters the bathroom, and the door closes.

I sit on the bed and finally make the call I've been putting off. My uncle answers almost before the first ring.

"COLE! Finally! Your father needs you. Taylor too. The whole club—"

"I know, Jack." My voice is more tired than I'd admit. "I'm coming. I just have to take care of a few things first."

There's a short silence.

"Alabama misses you, kid."

I stay quiet, because I can't say I miss it too. Even though my throat burns.

Then the bathroom door opens. And Zoe appears. Her wet hair falls in dark waves over her shoulders, the towel clinging to her small, fragile body—but one possessed of a beauty that steals the air from my chest. I choke. My voice fails me on the phone.

"I forgot my clothes..." she says softly, her eyes darting away from mine for a second before returning, shining with something I don't know if I can name.

Jack is talking, but I don't even hear him.

"Are you going to call your dad?" he asks, distant.

"No," I reply without taking my eyes off Zoe. "I'll talk to him in person when I get there."

"Okay. I'll let Taylor know."

"Tell her I love her." I hang up.

Zoe takes a step into the room.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on with your family?" I look up. She's standing there, so vulnerable.

"And will you tell me what's really going on with the man who wants to kill you?"

She holds my gaze. And I think: If she knew who I really am... if she knew about the deaths on my hands... She would run away.

But she doesn't know. And I—selfishly—want more time before she finds out.