Veils of Rivalry Chapter 49

Blaise's POV

My hair tickles my brow as I watch Cole from beneath my lashes. He puts a bottle of antiseptic and a cloth on the bathroom sink before reaching for my cut hand. His touch is gentle as his blue eyes flick up to mine, and my heart thuds harder. While the thought of being in love with him should scare me, it doesn’t anymore. I feel safe around Cole.

Even when we dropped Mia off at her friend’s house, I couldn’t stop looking at him.

“Are you sure your nose is okay?” I ask, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. He’s different tonight, touching me as though he’s worried he might hurt me.

His fingers ghost the deep gash, and his brows furrow. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” I whisper, and his fingers pause.

“Don’t lie to me, Blaise.” A muscle tics in his jaw as his touch resumes its journey across my palm. “Always be honest with me.”

I wince when he applies pressure with his thumb, and I try to pull away, but he tightens his grip and drags me from the edge of the bathtub. Rising to my feet, I let him pull me close.

“I could have killed Jackson tonight,” he admits, holding my gaze and stroking his thumb back and forth across my wrist. “I saw fucking red when I realized he was planning to hurt you.”

“I can handle myself,” I tease, but Cole looks away and grinds his teeth. “Hey,” I say, trying to coax him to look at me. “I’m okay. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I don’t have to worry about you? Really?” His eyes flash with anger, and he steps away to create space between us. I grab his hand, ignoring the sharp sting in my palm. “I’m okay, Cole.”

Looking down at our interlaced, bloodied fingers, he nods once and swallows. “If I hadn’t arrived… What then?”

“I would have taken them all on, like John Wick.”

Cole’s lips twitch, and fuck me, it feels like I’ve won the lottery. I pull him closer, my chest swelling when he finally meets my gaze.

“No one is allowed to hurt you.”

I sink my teeth into my bottom lip to contain my smile. “You sound like me. There’s no room for two psychopaths in this relationship.”

His eyes flick to my mouth. “You’re not a psychopath.”

“You have no idea the lengths I’ll go for you or the things I’ve done…” I reply, and Cole stares at my mouth for all of two seconds before fisting my T-shirt and crushing his mouth to mine. His biting kisses hurt in the best way possible, and I groan into his mouth.

“Jackson is dead if he ever tries to hurt you again,” he warns as I fist the hairs at his nape. A part of me secretly enjoys his threats and how possessive he is. The feeling is mutual. If anyone ever hurts him or tries to steal him from me, I’ll burn them alive. I deepen the kiss, my tongue invading his mouth, and he slips his hands underneath my T-shirt to explore my muscled chest. I break away from his lips to catch my breath, and we gaze at each other as the seconds turn into minutes.

“Thank you for turning up tonight.” I capture his lips and taste him again. It’s official—I’m addicted to Cole’s kisses and trembling touches.

Pulling away, he reaches for the bottle of antiseptic, and I keep my eyes locked on his face while he uncaps the lid and soaks the cloth. I doubt he knows how unbelievably perfect he is or how my heart skips a beat every time he lifts those dark eyes to mine.

“This will hurt,” he warns as he puts the bottle back on the sink. I swallow as he reaches for my hand and turns it over. His thumb skims the gash. At the same time, his brows knit together, and he looks pained.

“I can do it myself,” I offer, but he shakes his head.

“No… It’s my fault.”

I hiss as he presses the cloth to my hand. Fuck me, that stings.

“None of this is your fault.”

“Jackson blames me for getting kicked off the team,” Cole says. “He knows how I feel about you, and he’ll use you to get at me.”

“But that’s bullshit,” I reply. “Jackson got kicked off the team because of my dad.” I hiss again, trying to pull my hand back, but he tightens his grip and gives me a warning look.

“Stay still.”

“I can leave the team,” I offer. “I never wanted to be on the team anyway⁠—”

“Shut up,” Cole growls, a muscle working madly in his jaw while he cleans my wounded palm. “Jackson is off the team because he’s slacking. He has no one to blame but himself.”

“Even so, I’ll quit.”

“Say that one more time, and I’ll punch you.”

I smile, and he looks up from beneath his messy mop of hair. “I would rather fuck you,” I admit. “But if you’d rather fight…”

Cole smiles, too, and my heart flutters—fucking flutters. I look down at my hand and will my stirring dick to go down. Now isn’t the time to touch him.

“Jackson knows about us?”

Cole stiffens before reaching for my other hand. “He knows I’m gay.”

“You’re gay?” I ask, curious about his sexuality. I assumed he was bisexual.

Shrugging, Cole pours more antiseptic on the cloth and proceeds to cut me open with his careful touches. “So what if I am?”

“I like it,” I reply, and he looks at me questioningly.

“I mean… At least I don’t have to worry about killing all the women who flirt with you.”

He snorts, amused, and my cheeks hurt from smiling.

“Now I just have to beat the men off with a stick. No, screw that. Any man who flirts with you will regret ever being born.”

Cole chuckles, and I sober. “I’m sorry I punched you back there.”

“You had no way of knowing it was me.”

“I know,” I reply, “but the thought of ever hurting you…”

“You won’t hurt me,” Cole says as he wraps my hands in bandages.

I wish I could feel as confident as he sounds, but sometimes, I fear myself and the lengths I’ll go to protect him. Sometimes, I worry he’ll get caught in the crossfire. And someday, the people we care about will find out about us. Someday, we’ll tear our families apart.

In the end, I will hurt him. It’s inevitable.