Coley Does Things Mga Nobela at Kwento

The sun was sinking low by the time Ashley made it back to the clubhouse yard. The day had been a blur of meetings, rebuilding tasks, Ace’s relentless flirting, and catching glimpses of Jax whipping the prospects into shape. Nolan had already called her twice to confirm supply payments, and Ace had messaged her three new logo variations even though she had only approved one. But Cole was the only one she hadn’t seen since breakfast. Cole was always everywhere. Loud. Talkative. Touchy. Always eager to help, eager to follow, eager to be useful.

"We know. But he’s hiring the best defense team in the country. This is going to be a long process. You should be prepared for that." I walk out of the meeting and find Cole waiting for me in the hallway. He’s out of the clinic now, wearing a dark hoodie that hides most of the bruising on his face. He looks tired, but there’s a new kind of stillness to him. He isn't the restless, guilt-ridden boy from the start of the semester. "How was it?" he asks. "Technical. Dry. Like they’re talking about a grocery list instead of a conspiracy." I lean against the cool plaster wall. "They think your dad is going to fight."

He stepped aside with a beaming smile. "Hey." I walked in and he closed the door behind me. "Why do I have to be here?" I followed him into the living room and saw Taylor sitting on the couch. "Hey, Ray!" He smiled and greeted me. "Oh, hey, Taylor," I said as I looked between the two guys in confusion. "So, I was thinking about what you were saying," Cole began, "about me working on my powers, so I was thinking, how about we do a little training?"

Being in Denver is a whole new world, though, and I’m starting to wonder if it’s any better than the one I left. “That’s not what I meant,” Cole finally grumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’m just trying to maintain order in my pack. That’s my job, and it isn’t an easy one. The calls I make aren’t always popular, but it’s my job to make them.” He shakes his head, frowning. “You wouldn’t understand.”

I will go bring it now if you don't mind. “Please do, someone said “Very well, Romley chuckled. “And hurry up will you,” someone else shouted from their midst. Hanley turned his head and grinned. “Definitely.” It was at this point that Cole realized the situation was suddenly out of his control and there was nothing he could do about it. Except wring his wife's pretty little neck for insinuating this in the first place. Cole was displeased. He liked to have peace and quiet in his home and not this crowd he didn't know.

It was vast and deep; it was a gaping, shrieking pit of loss. Because he could see it now, all of it, the life that should have followed that moment. Nala pregnant. A baby in his arms. A little girl running barefoot across a yard. His wife rolling her eyes while he taught their daughter how to throw a punch properly at far too young an age. Ordinary things. Sacred things. Stolen things. Cole pressed the photograph against his knee and lowered his head. Tomorrow, I’m gonna talk to Wolf. He wasn’t going to talk to his President as a bartender, though, or as a brother asking permission for something. He wasn’t even going to talk to Wolf as a Road Devil trying to clean up club business.

“Come look at this!” “It’s just a truck,” Ty says with a laugh. Eli ignores him and fires up the engine anyway. The sound roars through the room, vibrating under my feet. It’s solid. Clean. Powerful. I clap Eli on the shoulder. “Nice job, man.” He bows dramatically. “Thanks, boss.” Cole steps up beside me. One glance at his face and I know he’s working up to something—something heavy. “What do I have to do to be one of your men?” he blurts out.

They don't look at us, don't speak, just move with practiced efficiency toward the door where the packages are waiting. I don't react. I've seen this too many times to be fazed anymore. All of Cole's workers are naked—it's some kind of power thing he does, stripping people of dignity to assert control. When I was younger, it bothered me. Now it's just... Cole being Cole. I watch them leave. "What's in them?" "Art." Cole says it dreamily, reverently, like he's talking about something sacred. His eyes get this faraway look that I've learned to associate with whatever drugs he's on tonight.

I grab a beer, take a long pull, let the cold bite settle somewhere under my ribs. Then— “Didn’t think you’d make it back before midnight.” Cole’s voice slides in behind me. He’s leaning against the doorway, grin crooked, hair damp, shirt half-tucked like he got dressed in the dark. “Thought you were busy with some blonde,” I say. He smirks. “Still am. She’s upstairs taking selfies in my jersey. Said she needed to ‘hydrate.’ I told her to pace herself.” “Hydrate,” I mutter. “That what we’re calling it now?”

My mother floats through all of it happy and warm and completely unaware that the two people sitting at her table are carrying something between them that has no clean name. Cole is good at normal. Dangerously good. He talks to my mother with genuine warmth and sits across from his father with practiced ease and passes the salt when I need it without making it a moment. He is the most composed person I have ever watched operate in a complicated situation and I find it equal parts impressive and exhausting because I cannot tell where the performance ends and the person begins. I think that might be the point. I spent those three days doing two things. Working and watching.