Hey, all! A bit of #Conn chaos on the horizon....time for Wynn's side :) Above, Heavy by Linkin Park ft. Kiiara. Below, Wynona, courtesy of Shay Mitchell. Enjoy!!

Wynona

I've typed and erased this text no fewer than twenty times now. I want to tell him I'm sorry and to know that he's okay. I also realize that doing so could put him in more danger.

I won't do it, but doing nothing is making me feel sick. Releasing a stilted breath, I toss my phone away, and it lands with a startling thud on the wooden vanity in the corner. Flopping backward onto the bed in the center of the room, I succumb to the endless loop of images running raggedly through my mind.

We'd had an amazing time together, as we always do. Spending time with Cole is like breathing in fresh mountain air. His mere presence, no matter how unassuming, is rejuvenating to my soul.

All of that was erased though, in the blink of two icy blue eyes. There was no mistaking the violence behind Harris's calm exterior when he saw me with his son: pure, unadulterated hate. I'm the granddaughter of his competition and nemesis. Despised.

I want to do something, but any action I would take could only serve to cost Cole further. Sure, nobody will ever see the repercussions of Cole's beat down tonight, but goodness knows he'll be feeling them for the next week.

Dammit.

I knew I shouldn't have gone home with him. I knew.

My phone buzzes from on top of my dresser across the way, illuminating my dark bedroom. I've been surrounded by the deafening silence of regret for the last hour, praying that I'd hear from him soon.  The screen goes black once again, and the slivers of moonlight peeking through my up-turned blinds are the only thing preventing me from being swallowed wholly by my fears.

I roll off the bed, willing the text to be from him as I make my way toward my phone. The weight of the unknown falls away when I see Cole's name on my cell phone screen.

I'm outside.

The content of the text catches me by surprise, my heart dropping into my belly. I'm immediately a bundle of nerves, both excited to see him, and reluctantly hopeful that my mind has been completely off base since I left the Galloway's.

I bound down the stairs to invite him inside. When I open the door, I find him leaning casually against the door frame.

"Cole..." I utter, my eyes filling with unwelcomed tears.

He's okay.

"You planning on inviting me in, Nono?" He raises a hopeful eyebrow as he meets my watery gaze.  I nod in response, wrapping my arms around him. His body shudders at my touch, and I take a step away, examining him.

Outwardly, everything appears to be normal. He wears the same navy blue t-shirt and smile he was wearing when I left him, only I know better. It's no wonder that nobody has managed to discover the abuse that occurs under Harris's roof.  Cole buries the scandal under his cool demeanor and charm. If he hadn't confided in me about his father's temper, I'd remain among the oblivious as well.

"He hurt you." The words are just a whisper, but the anger boiling within me is almost enough to try to take on the charismatic Mr. Galloway myself. With as pissed as I am, I bet I could leave a mark. Or better. 

"I'm fine, sweetheart. I just need to take it slow." He clutches at his ribs, and my heart shatters at the sight of him wincing with each breath. He takes a couple of heavy steps toward me as I move out of his path. I don't know how to help him, so I take his arm and try to keep him steady.

"You can't let him do this again, Cole. It'll only get worse." I close the door behind us, moving once more to his side. He smirks, but I'm incapable of finding any humor in his current condition.

"Who said I let him get away with it," he rasps, eyeing the staircase with unease. "I gave it back to my old man, but sometimes it's better just to get it over with."

I shake my head, denying the sense in that thought. He climbs each stair awkwardly, protecting his injuries, the extent of which is yet to be seen.

"If you were any kind of a hostess, you'd carry me up on your back like the mama ape from Tarzan," he teases. His voice is low and laced with affliction that I don't have the means to remedy. Even so, an errant giggle escapes from within me, and a look of satisfaction replaces his anguished features.

"You're not funny," I amend. "None of this is funny."

"Yeah, Wynn. I know," he says, and I know he's irritated. He always makes light of the abuse he sustains. I know it's a method of coping, but it makes me crazy.  I choose not to respond until we close ourselves into the isolation of my bedroom.

I quietly lock my door and turn to see Cole removing his shirt, which is usually a sight I'd happily drown in. Not now. His perfect body is covered in multi-colored bruises, and his lower ribs are nearly black.

Each movement he makes is slow and deliberate, as he works to keep from aggravating the damage any further. He seats himself carefully on the edge of my mattress, and pointedly avoids my gaze. I move to his side, occupying the space beside him. Resting my hand on his muscular shoulders, I help ease him back onto the bed. He sucks in a sharp breath before relaxing onto the pillows I've placed behind his large frame.

"Maybe we should take you to the ER," I suggest, already bracing for his refusal.

"It's not that bad," he groans. "I'll be sore for a few days, but I'll get through it." He stiffly props himself up onto his elbows, finally looking me in the eye again.

"I think your rib is broken. Seriously." I swallow hard, averting my eyes, as the guilt I feel threatens to pull me under. He takes my hand in his, tracing circles in my palm with his thumb.

"I know what you're thinking, and this isn't your fault." His voice is sincere, and far too tender considering the circumstances. This is the reality he's chosen to believe, but I know it's not the truth.

"I just need to finish out the year and then I'll be out of here. He won't have any hold on me then, and I won't have to put up with his shit anymore," he continues, pushing himself off his elbows to sit beside me again.  He flinches with every motion. It's not much, but it's noticeable enough for me to pick up on.

"We both know what caused it this time," I say, and before he can protest, I press my finger to his lips. "I refuse to have any part in this. You always say it would happen anyway, but tonight it was because of me. I can't bear that. You need someone who won't keep hurting you like I do." The tears I'd worked so hard to suppress break loose, falling furiously. Still, my hand remains in his, my actions remaining in constant contradiction with my words.

"I don't want anyone else. It's always been you," he utters, pressing his lips to my temple and bringing the butterflies I always try to exterminate fluttering back to life inside of me.

"Sometimes you don't get what you want, Galloway," I say, and he smirks in response. He leans closer, grimacing slightly as he brings his mouth to mine. Seeing his pain is all I need to confirm that I'm making the right choice. I've known we shouldn't be together, no matter how badly I want it. I refuse to continue being selfish.

He eases himself back down against the pillows, and I rise to help him get more comfortable. We shift a few pillows here and there until he's in the most ideal position to rest, and then I leave the room to get him some medicine.

When I return, he already looks more peaceful. He squints at the bright light flooding in from the hallway, smiling sleepily when he sees me. I cross the space separating us, and give him the medicine, kissing his forehead gently as he swallows the pills.

After re-locking my door, I climb into bed next to him for the last time. I find his hand, lacing our fingers together. I want the night to last forever, but I know goodbye will have to come in the morning.

My thoughts prevent me from getting and real sleep, but Cole is out within minutes. I'm grateful he's able to shut everything off so easily. Me on the other hand...

I've been reliving all of the run-ins we've had with Harris, and each time Cole has been taught a lesson by his bastard of a dad. I cry silently next to him, struggling against my love for him and the need to let him go.

He said earlier that he has no choice—that he has to finish out the year. I'll do my part by removing the obstacle I've become to him over the years. By removing myself from the equation, Harris can't use our interactions as an excuse to make Cole his personal punching bag. I hope that's something, at least. It's the only thing that I can do, anyhow.

I suppose this is where that stupid saying comes from...

When you love someone, you've got to let them go.

I hear it spoken all the time, but never bothered to consider how difficult it would be to actually execute that sentiment. I already miss him, and he's still here next to me. I want the world for him, but I'll have to watch his new life form from the sidelines.

...

His body stirs beside mine as the morning sun shimmers in soft rays across my bedroom.

"Good morning, gorgeous," he says softly. His voice soothes me, but I have to put it out of my mind and settle my resolve. I smile at him, and he presses a kiss to my cheek. His movements are still rigid and slow. I wish I could care for him here until he's back to normal.

If only.

"I should head out before someone notices I'm here," he says, and of course he's right. Things would only get worse if my parents caught him sneaking out, but it's still early enough that nobody should be awake.

I can tell he's hurting by the labored steps he takes to retrieve his shirt from the chair in the corner of the room.

"Cole," I begin cautiously, but he shakes his head cutting me off.

"We're not doing this right now," he asserts. "I won't let you do what I know you're gonna try and do. Just...don't." 

I sigh, nodding and knowing that he will never let me speak my peace.

There are other ways.

...

All week long, it was the same texts from Cole: wondering where I am, asking me to meet up somewhere, saying that he misses me...

But I couldn't do it.

I knew if I responded, if I surrendered to my feelings, that we would just re-enter the cycle we always end up in.

Well now another stupid adage comes to mind.

Be careful what you wish for.

I got what I wished for. It's been three days since he's tried to contact me. I know that I should be relieved, but I'm miserable.

It's for the best, him giving up on me.

I know that in my heart, but I'm in pieces.