Page 40 of Flashback for the Forward

There, slumped against the wall, was Cole. I hadn’t seen him when I first checked because I didn’t think to look for someone on the floor.

He was still dressed in a suit—though he was missing the jacket and tie, the top few buttons of his shirt undone—his head lolled to the side so that his ear kissed his shoulder. The uncomfortable position made me rub the side of my own neck as a phantom crick took up residence there in sympathy.

He could have just as easily gone home last night, slept in his own bed, then come to retrieve me in the morning. But he hadn’t. Instead, he chose to be close to me, even with a door separating us, and that made butterflies take wing inside my chest.

There was no doubt that Cole was one of the good ones.

I reached out to brush the lock of dark hair that had fallen across his forehead, but I retracted my hand before I made it halfway there. That was a familiarity reserved for lovers, something we hadn’t been for a very long time.

Instead, I clutched my cardigan tighter to my chest and knelt beside his sleeping form.

“Cole.” Given that it was morning, my voice was rough from disuse, but when you combined the lingering damage to my vocal cords from Aiden’s attempt to choke me only days ago, his name came out inaudible.

After a few rough clears of my tender throat, I gave it another try. This time there was slightly more volume, but it was still raspy and hoarse.

Thankfully, it was loud enough that Cole’s lashes fluttered before lifting. His brow furrowed, his eyes slightly unfocused as he scanned the area.

“Wh-where am I?” There was a note of confusion in his tone.

“Levi and Arizona’s house,” I explained.

“Right . . .” He drew the word out slowly, as if he were working to put the pieces together.

A door unlatched further down the hall, and we both turned in that direction. Austin appeared in the open threshold of his bedroom, stopping to eye us critically from behind the lenses of his glasses.

“Did you sleep on the floor?” he asked Cole.

Smoothing a hand over the wrinkled fabric of his shirt, the man in question replied, “Yeah.”

Shaking his head, the teen stepped by us, muttering under his breath, “Grown-ups are freaking weird.”

The second he was out of sight, a giggle burst from my chest. Then another. And another, until I fell into an uncontrollable fit of them. It wasn’t long before Cole’s snickering joined in, layering over the sound of my own amusement.

Heaving breaths rattled my ribcage in my attempt to calm down, and I braced one hand against the wall to keep from toppling over, gripping my aching side with the other.

“Man, I haven’t laughed like that in years. Feels good.”

Cole’s sparkling gaze peered up at me, a dopey smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You always did have the most beautiful laugh.”

Cue the blush. And the reminder that I’d long ago forgotten how to take a compliment.

Rising to my feet, I extended an arm to where he sat. “Need a hand?”

His palm slid against mine, and he used the leverage I provided to push himself upright with a grunt.

When I released my hold, he placed both hands on his lower back, twisting until the satisfying crack of his vertebrae echoed in the air.

“That’s better,” he remarked.

We walked side by side down the massive staircase, and I said, “You know what I’ve heard is good for preventing stiff joints?”

Cole turned to give me his full attention. “What’s that?”

“Sleeping in a bed.”

He cracked a wide smile. “Oh, you think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“Is that”—I jerked my chin back toward the second floor—“going to become a habit?”