Three and a half years late. I can’t breathe beneath the debilitating shock. Cole’s alive. He’s been alive all this time. And he didn’t come home. Trace laces his fingers through mine, squeezing painfully hard. “You told me to take care of her.” A chill slithers up my spine, and my blood turns to ice. “What did you say?” Cole stands a few feet away, biceps bunching as he scrapes his hands over his head repeatedly. “You weren’t supposed to make contact.” His expression contorts between devastation and rage. “I told you to watch over her, not fuck her.”
GUYS WTF I'M NOT OKAY
