Cole’s Point Of View

I slowly descend the stairs, feeling each step echo through Lilly’s silent house like a reminder that I no longer belong here. The immaculate wood, the light-colored walls, the scent of flowers she scatters throughout the rooms… everything seems more foreign than any roadside motel I’ve ever slept in. But Zoe needs to eat. And talking to Lilly is the price I have to pay for that. I cross the living room toward the kitchen, but stop before I even reach the middle of the room. Something pulls me—a strange, irritating, almost physical force. It comes from the fireplace. More specifically, from the picture frames lined up on it.

Shit. I don't want to look, but I do.

I approach slowly, as if approaching something radioactive. And maybe it is. The photos are of a life that continues to exist as if I had never been a part of it.

The first one shows Lilly next to a gray-haired man with stylish glasses and an expensive suit. The perfect husband of the perfect life. He smiles as if he's never heard the name Volkov. In the second photo, a girl with my mother's features smiles with an innocent glow reminiscent of Zoe's. Short brown hair, blue eyes—the same as Taylor and I have. A female version of the new husband. She must be about seventeen. The third photo is even worse. Lilly, years younger, hugs her two small children—the girl from before and an older boy, both laughing on the beach. A family. Her family.

But it's the fourth photo that destroys me.

Taylor and me. Kids. Sitting next to a Christmas tree. Wearing ridiculous matching sweaters. Opening presents. Smiling as if the world were simple. I pick up the photo and feel my stomach turn. She kept this... She kept us.

"I remember that day exactly." Lilly's voice catches me off guard. I turn quickly. She is standing a few steps behind me, her hands clasped in front of her body, her eyes shining with emotion. "You were so happy with that electric train, Cole. You wouldn't let go of it, even to sleep."

I put the photo back too quickly, as if returning something that burns. My voice comes out harsh.

"Why do you have this photo?"

She takes a deep breath, takes a step forward.

"It's a way to feel close to you and your sister."

Anger. Simple, hot, accurate.

"If you wanted to be close, you shouldn't have left us."

Her eyes fill with tears instantly.

"I didn't want to leave you, Cole. But I couldn't stay in that life."

"I don't care about that anymore. Taylor and I survived without you." I take a step to the side, not hiding my disgust. "And I'm not here for therapy, Lilly. There's no closure to be had. There's no happy ending."

She lowers her face, silent sobs smearing her makeup.

It's amazing how she always cries at the right time.

"Can you make a plate for Zoe?"

She agrees too quickly, as if she's grateful for anything I'm willing to ask for. She leads me to the kitchen—as immaculate as the rest of the house—and starts preparing the dish the same way she did when I was a child. The smell fills the room. Meatballs and spaghetti. My favorite.

“Cole…” She places the plate on the counter but keeps her hand on the cutlery drawer, indecisive. “What happened to Zoe?”

I sigh heavily, running my hand through my beard as I choose my words carefully.

“Someone was after her in Seattle. It was dangerous. I had to get her out of there." My gaze hardens. "She's important to me, Lilly. Really important."

Her expression changes immediately. Something like tenderness. Or guilt.

"You don't have to explain how you feel about her. I can see it in your eyes."

My whole body freezes.

“And how do I look at her?”

“As if she were the only woman in the world. As if she were the most precious thing you’ve ever had.” I say nothing.

I pick up the plate, the cutlery. I’m about to leave, but she grabs my forearm. Her touch is hesitant, asking for permission she knows she doesn’t have.

“Don’t you want to eat too? I made enough for two…”

“No.”

The word comes out dry enough to make her back off. But she insists, in her gentle way.

“Wait just a second.” She opens the refrigerator, fills a glass with juice, and arranges everything on a tray. She hands it to me. “Zoe will like it.”

I nod abruptly. I go upstairs, still thinking about how messy my life has become in such a short time. But when I enter the bedroom, everything inside me goes quiet. Zoe is changing the splint on her ribs, sitting on the edge of the bed, the dim light illuminating her bruised face... but smiling when she sees me.

"I'm so happy to sleep in a bed that doesn't have, I don't know, two hundred species of bacteria hiding in the mattress," she jokes.

I chuckle. Only she can make me laugh in a place like this.

“Me too.” I place the tray beside the bed and grab my backpack, searching for the medicine. I hand her the pills, she swallows them with juice, and then looks at the plate, hungry. “You need to eat at least half of it.”

“Very bossy,” she mutters, laughing. She takes the first bite and moans—loud enough to set off a bomb in my chest. “This is perfect.” I sit in the armchair and watch her eat. The way she closes her eyes, the way she breathes deeply... It hurts because it's so beautiful. "Why don't you have a plate too?" she asks, frowning.

I shrug. She doesn't accept that. She puts the plate back on the tray, stands up, and holds my hand with surprising strength.

"Get up." I obey before I even think.

She pulls me to the bed, makes me sit down, sits next to me, and picks up the plate again. When she brings the fork to my mouth, I feel something inside me soften, dangerously. I accept it, and damn — it's good. Very good.

She chuckles softly.

“You only refuse because you don’t want to give your mother any space to get close to you.” She’s right, so I just accept another bite. “Did you at least talk to her?” Zoe asks softly.

I exhale slowly.

“She has a photo of me and Taylor in her living room.”

A smile spreads across her face.

"Maybe that means she still has a piece of the mother you loved."

I feel something tighten in my chest.

"I'm sorry about your mom, sweetie." She nods, her eyes shining. Before the conversation gets too heavy, I say, "Lilly asked about your injuries."

Zoe freezes for a second.

“And what did you say?”

“That someone was after you and that you’re important to me.” Her cheeks flush pink. When her plate is almost empty, she sets it aside and faces me. “Why are you doing all this for me, Cole? Really.”

I stand up slowly. I move closer. I hold her face with both hands.

"I lived a long time lost," I say, my voice more honest than it should be. "I left Alabama thinking I could escape what I feared I would become. I thought I could make up my own rules. But I became exactly what I ran away from." She holds her breath. “When I found you in that rain… so small, so broken… I saw a chance. Something good I could do.” I rest my forehead against hers. “You think I’m saving you. But you’re saving me too, Zoe.”

Her eyes glisten with tears.

And then the truth comes out—raw, torn, painful.

"It's my stepfather," she whispers. "He's trying to kill me." Everything inside me freezes. She continues, her voice breaking. "He wants my mother's inheritance. If I die, he gets it. And... I heard him say at the hospital that it would be better if I didn't survive."

I let out a sigh that seems to be ripped from the pit of my stomach.

“I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She wipes away a tear, but two more escape.

“I don’t have anyone else, Cole.”

I touch her face gently.

“You have me.”

She leans against my shoulder, and for a moment, the whole house seems to disappear around us. I hold her. And I know, deep down, that it's not just for protection. It's because I need her. More than I should. More than is safe. But that doesn't matter.

I would do anything to keep Zoe alive.

Anything.