Chapter 10 - Packing Boxes And The Spare Room
The apartment on County Road 4 looked smaller and barrier-free now that the cardboard boxes were piled high against the faded floral wallpaper. The shadows lengthened across the worn linoleum floor as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, gray rectangles through the uncovered windows.
I taped the bottom of another medium-sized box, the sound of the plastic packing tape tearing echoing sharply in the quiet room. Noah was asleep again, tucked into his portable crib in the corner of the bedroom, completely unaware of the chaos swirling around him.
Cole walked out of the tiny kitchen carrying a stack of plastic plates and a small bag of groceries, setting them gently on top of a stack of books. His face was pale, lines of exhaustion carved deep around his mouth and eyes.
"That's the last of the kitchenware," Cole said, his voice flat. He wiped his hands down his jeans, staring at the boxes with a heavy, defeated slump in his shoulders. "I don't have enough for a moving van, but I can fit the crib and the bags in the trunk of the car. I'll find a motel down near the county line. Somewhere Vince won't think to look."
"No, Cole," I said, straightening up from the box and wiping a stray strand of hair from my forehead. I crossed the small living room, stopping just a few feet away from him. "You're not going to a motel. Not with Noah. Not after what that man said this morning."
Cole looked up, his jaw tight. "I can't drag you into this. You don't know what these people are capable of. Vince is just the errand boy; the people he works for don't leave loose ends."
"And you think sleeping in a car or a cheap motel with a thirteen-month-old baby is going to keep you safe?" My voice rose slightly, carrying a sharp edge of frustration born from sheer terror. "Listen to me, Cole. My house is three miles from here. It has two spare bedrooms, a deadbolt that actually works, and a driveway that's hidden behind a row of pine trees. You're moving your things into my spare room tonight. End of discussion."
Cole stared at me, his dark eyes searching my face as if looking for any sign of hesitation or fear. But I didn't look away. I held his gaze, willing him to understand that my choice was made, calculated and absolute.
A slow, conflicted breath escaped Cole’s lips. He closed his eyes for a second, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers before opening them again.
"I can't put you in the crosshairs," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly for the first time. "I've spent a year trying to keep my past from touching anyone else. If Vince comes back—"
"Then we deal with it together," I interrupted, stepping closer until I could feel the heat radiating from his jacket. I reached out, my fingers brushing gently against his forearm, feeling the firm, warm muscle beneath the fabric and the dark ink of his tattoos. "You've been carrying this entire weight all by yourself for thirteen months, Cole. Look where it got you. Let me help you carry it for a little while."
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Then Cole’s hand moved, sliding up to cover mine where it rested on his arm. His skin was rough, calloused, and trembling ever so slightly—the only outward sign of the immense pressure he was under.
"Okay," Cole whispered hoarsely, the single word carrying the weight of a dam breaking. "Okay. We'll go to your house."
Within an hour, we had loaded everything we owned into the trunk and backseat of Cole’s battered sedan. The drive down County Road 4 was silent, the headlights cutting through the pitch-black night while the pine trees rushed past like dark sentinels. When we pulled into the gravel driveway behind my small, single-story house, tucked safely behind the thick green curtain of evergreens, I felt the first real breath of air I’d drawn all day.
We carried the boxes in through the back door, stepping quietly so as not to wake Noah, whom Cole cradled gently against his chest the entire way. By midnight, the spare room was transformed: the crib was set up against the wall, the gray blanket was neatly tucked over the mattress, and Cole’s few belongings were stacked neatly in the corner.
I stood in the doorway of the spare room, watching as Cole gently laid Noah down in the crib. The toddler stirred, murmured something incoherent, and then settled back into his sleep. Cole lingered there for a long moment, his hand resting lightly on the wooden railing of the crib, his shoulders finally dropping as the immediate adrenaline of the move faded into bone-deep exhaustion.
He turned around slowly, walking out into the hallway where I stood waiting. The dim light from the overhead fixture cast soft shadows across his face.
"Thank you," Cole said softly, stopping just inches away from me. The air between us felt charged, thick with the shared history of the last few days, the unspoken fears, and the sudden, fragile intimacy of sharing a roof.
"You don't have to thank me," I whispered back, my heart beating a steady, heavy rhythm against my ribs. "You're safe here, Cole. Both of you."
May you like
He didn't answer with words. Instead, his gaze dropped slowly to my lips before rising back to meet my eyes, asking a silent question that neither of us had dared to voice until now.
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