Coming Up for Air (cole caufield x oc)

Twenty-Seven

𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙚

"Cole!" a voice screams outside his door. It's followed by several desperate knocks and another demand that he open up.

Lexi, who is kissing at Cole's neck, lets out a sigh. "You should go get that," she tells him, just as the unwelcome visitor calls out for him again.

Cole, who hadn't yet done more than kiss Lexi, grumbles and rises to his feet. He throws open the door, snapping, "What?"

There, Nick's eyes are wide. He pushes past Cole into the room, shouting something jumbled that Cole can't understand.

Freya.

Tate.

Calling.

Help.

Crazy.

"What?" Cole says again, turning to face Nick, who sits down on the bed opposite Lexi. Nick lifts his chin to look at her before turning back to Cole.

"She needs to go," Nick instructs.

If Nick's tone weren't so panicked and his hair less disheveled, Cole might have told him to fuck off—but he knows something is wrong. Seriously wrong.

"I'm sorry," he tells Lexi, "you need to leave."

She scoffs, insulted, but puts up no other fight, slamming the hotel room door behind her as she goes.

When Cole faces Nick again, he has his phone up to his ear. "Call Freya," he snaps at Cole, who shakes his head in confusion. Nick doesn't waste any time before rushing, "Call her right fucking now."

As Cole scrambles to find his phone in the covers, he hears a voice on the other end of Nick's call—one that is markedly familiar and seems to be in distress. "It's gonna be okay," Nick says into the phone. "We're gonna find her. I already called the police. Cole is gonna keep trying her."

Finally, Cole's hand comes down on his phone. "What's going on?" he shouts at Nick, already dialing Freya's number. The call goes straight to voicemail.

"Shit," Nick mutters. He pulls his phone away from his ear, putting it on speaker. Only then does Cole realize it's Tate on the other end, sobbing as apparent dance music plays in the background. "Tate," Nick prompts, "you're on speaker. Tell Cole what happened."

Through her sobs, Tate manages, "Freya's crazy stalker ex showed up at the club. He was grabbing her and pulling her away from us." A strangled cry escapes from her lips. "I'm drunk, and I'm scared, Nicky. I can't find her and I'm so scared he's going to hurt her. We need help."

Cole's jaw hangs open. He runs two desperate hands through his hair, running through every possible disastrous scenario he can think of. Here he was, ready to hook up with a random girl over a gossip tweet, all while Freya is in actual distress.

"Where is Riley?" Nick asks. "And Jess?"

Tate, crying still, replies, "Jess isn't out with us tonight and Riley is right here."

Cole is hardly conscious, anxiety coursing through his veins and bringing him dangerously close to collapse. It sparks a memory, though—a text from Brady earlier that evening.

He hurries to unlock his phone, hurrying, "Tate, what is the name of the club you're at?"

"California Scéance," she stammers in response, nearly hyperventilating. "Are the police coming?"

"They're gonna be there soon, I'm sure," Nick assures her. When Cole puts his phone to his ear, Nick asks what he's doing.

Cole holds up a finger to him, turning away so that Nick can focus on Tate. Fortunately, Brady picks up after just one ring.