Chapter 16 - Cole

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Eliza won’t stop talking about the call with the Heartbreaker throughout dinner and I know that it’s going to completely destroy the mood of her success if I tell her I want to break up with her right now, so… I just let her talk. 

“...Her voice kept changing, one accent, one tone; then another accent, another tone…”

“It’s an AI cloaking app, available on the app store for 12:99 a month,” I say dryly. 

“Mm?” She stuffs a mouthful of potato in her mouth and continues talking with it tucked in her cheek. “Well, anyway. She tells me about the woman. That’s all she says: “Julieta Picardy” and then the number. Over and over.”  

That doesn’t sound like the Heartbreaker I speak to. She’s usually quite chatty. 

“I’m like: what would Cole do? So I started taking notes, anything I could hear - which, by the way I left the notes on your desk. There was some kind of beeping in the background-” 

I perk up at this new information. Beeping? Beeping is new. “Like a heart rate monitor or like a smoke alarm?” 

“Like a heart rate monitor. Like she’s in a hospital or something. Didn’t sound sick though,” she says, dismissively and waves a hand. “It’s all on the note, baby.” and she dives back into her story. 

“Where was I? Yes. Julieta Picardy! Turns out the number is in Spain. She’s the ex-wife of Jackson, the man who abuses his wife. The one I’ve been after for years!” 

All these names swirl around my already overwhelmed head, but she’s barely stopping for breath, let alone to let me ask a question, so I just assume.

“...because she’d changed her name… Do you see?” 

“Uh… Who?” 

“Thomas Jackson, the abusive husband. Miranda’s husband. Julieta’s ex.” 

“Oh.” 

“Turns out that Julieta had also been abused by Jackson.” 

 Not surprisingly, old habits die hard.

“BUT!” she shouts, slamming her hand on the table, minute bits of chicken spraying everywhere. “When Julieta was divorcing Jackson, she made motherfucking recordings of all of him and his abuse!” 

I jump at her victory and nod. “That’s great, honey. So how does it help with the case of Jackson and Miranda?” 

“It helps…” she leans forward, her voice a triumphant whisper. “Because Julieta wants to testify, she wants to come back and press charges. See, she was sitting on the videos to threaten him just in case he came back into her life. She didn’t know he was already married and doing it to someone else! When she heard she was all strict, resolute and ready for action! I got him, Cole. I actually got him! As soon as we got the videos through from her, we got the warrant and I finally, finally got to read him his rights.” 

She sits back, throwing her fork down triumphantly. 

Smiling at her, I realise how tight I am. I still want to support her, obviously. But she’s soon to be my ex when I can finally tell her, so I just offer my congratulations as she whitters on about how that felt. I am proud of her. I am. She’s been working on that case for years, really worked hard on trying to get Miranda to be strong. 

She beams at me as she picks up her phone and looks at something, her grin widening impossibly, before she puts it onto the table.

“It’s just nice to have something that someone wants to talk about, you know. The Heartbreaker, getting involved in my case.” She gets up, and grabs our plates to take them to the sink as she talks. “You know, like a little bit of sunlight spilling into the shadows.” 

I also get up and get a cloth to wipe the table. As I do, a message comes through on her phone, and I can’t help but glance at it.

Andy: Are you sure? Definitely the Heartbreaker? This is huge. Call me back. 

I blink and the message is gone, overlapping with another on the home screen. 

Andy: I need to see you. Tonight. 

My stomach sinks. “Who’s Andy?” I ask before my brain clicks the two parts of my neurons together to make this into a comprehensive thought. “Eliza?” 

I pick up her phone and turn to look at her, frozen still over the sink.“Cole. It’s not what you think.” 

I raise my eyebrows. If it’s not what I think it is, I don’t know what it is because I’m wondering here if she could be the leak. 

It can’t be. She’s too connected to her job. She’s too devoted to it. It’s like her religion. And… she wouldn’t ever put the case in jeopardy like that. 

“I’m not cheating on you.” 

She rounds the kitchen island, her eyes wide, breathing shallow, every movement small and scurrying like I might be about to snap. 

Do I look like I’m about to snap because I just feel…. Frozen Empty. My brain whirring but stirs nothing as I stare at my girlfriend. 

“Baby?” she prompts. “Did you hear me?” 

It takes a moment‌ to pry my lips apart to speak. “I heard.” My muscles are locked up, and I know I must look battle ready, but my heart is thundering in my chest, blood whooshing in my ears. 

She sighs in relief, her hands resting on my shoulders. “Good, cause you know I wouldn’t ever do that right?” 

I nod jerkily. “So. Who is Andy?” 

I breathe it, looking down at her without lowering my head as she peers up at me, her face pained and frightened. 

“He’s… he’s… a journalist.” 

And it’s then that I know. She doesn’t need to say anything else. Although she does. She explains over and over again in multiple different ways and perspectives. Hers: she needed to shed a light on her cases. The public: they deserve to know what’s going on and who’s out there. Heartbreaker: only really killing bad people. Mine: It’s great, Cole. More awareness means more financial support… 

“I have to tell the Captain, Eliza.” I say softly. But it may as well have been explosive. “You don’t have to do a thing, Cole! That would cost me my job! You don’t want me to be fired, do you?” 

I sigh. “I need to.” 

Eliza looks as though she’s swallowed a bee, red and swollen in the face. When did she start crying? “Cole, if you do that- If you- Then we- We’ll be over. Do you hear me?” 

A small chuff of air leaves my lips unwarranted. “Eliza, we’re already over.” 

And the conversation powers away from me in a moment. I just let her talk, over and over. I let her cry and I wrap my arms around her, thinking only that this feels wrong. I let her shout at me for my reactionless reaction, and I let her tell me I’m heartless. That I never cared about her. Which, as a small voice in the back of my head whispers, might actually be true. 

Eliza is lovely. Perfect. Wife material. 

She fits so well into my plan. Date, give a key in a few months, propose in a year, marry in three, promotion in five. 

I blink. 

I don’t feel like that about Daisy. 

I don’t want to schedule our relationship because there’s no way she’d fit the box. 

I don’t want her to move in; I want her never to leave. 

I don’t want to date her; I want to have her. 

It’s something I’ve known for a few days: I want Daisy. But it’s coupled with something I’ve only just realised: I’ve never wanted Eliza. 

So… I just go to her. I turn away from Eliza as she’s furiously packing her belongings, grab my coat and leave her alone in my flat talking at no-one. 

My feet take me to the meeting spot we’d talked about earlier, in the park opposite my flat. I don’t know how, but I know she’s already there, even though I haven’t seen the time since starting the argument with Eliza. 

My boots meet the softness of the park’s grass as I stride, the once grinding footsteps silenced in the night. 

There she is, standing under a lamp, surrounded by mismatched dogs, a coat that’s too thin for the weather, like usual. She turns as though she knows I’m coming, and her lips spread over her face. 

“There you are. Not like you to be late. I was getting worried,” she calls as I approach. 

But my feet don’t slow my approach; I keep going, pulled to the thing I haven’t wanted to admit I need. 

Her eyes widen as I get to her, surprised at my proximity. I’m so close by the time I stop I have to bend my neck to look at her. She’s so beautiful, her eyes round, lips parted like she’s about to ask a question, her face clear of tension. 

God help me. 

I almost kiss her. 

Almost. 

But I don’t. 

Instead, I let my eyes absorb every inch of her face, committing every part of her to memory. And I feel all the tension leak from my body, just by absorbing her presence. 

“Hey,” I say.