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Cooper stared out into the chaos. His chest was so tight, he could barely breathe. “Yeah. I do,” he bit out.
“You’re never going to win her back by pounding the shit out of that damn bag. And if you don’t do something about it, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.” Maverick was right. Of course he was. But Cooper felt helpless. He knew the questions circling Morgan’s mind, and she had every right to distrust him. Hell, she had every right to hate his guts. What the hell could he say to convince her otherwise?
He shook his head. He had nothing. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“You’re a goddamn writer, Coop. Figure this out. The time for running is over. You’ve been doing it ever since Holly. You’ve been using her as an excuse to hide. No more.” Maverick gave him a quick, hard hug. “Do you want me to stay? We’re supposed to fly out tomorrow.”
Right. The damn premiere.
“No. Go be with Charlie.”
Maverick gave him one last hug and then left him alone. Cooper hit the lights and sat in the dark for hours. He stared at the flickering shadows, face grim and so damn spent, he felt light-headed. He hung his head in his hands, his despair and anger making him shake so hard, his head began to pound.
He had one shot at this, and he needed to get it right.
He stared at the floor for a few moments more and then got his ass up. He headed down into his darkened house and slipped out the back way to the shop. Once in his office, he booted up the computer and filled the paper tray in the printer. As a heavy spring rain began to pound against the window, he shoved his fists into his pockets, uncaring that they were still covered in blood.
I need to get this right.
Cooper woke with a start, eyes bleary, head killing him. Subdued, he grabbed the stuff he needed and headed out into the blinding sunlight. It was just after ten in the morning, and the fresh air and warm breeze promised a gorgeous spring day. Birds chirped from the trees overhead as he trudged up to his house, and in the distance, the cry of the gulls as they swooped low over the Atlantic was shrill.
He paid no attention. He had things to do.
His house was quiet, and after a quick shower and change, he threw a bag together and headed for the stairs. His phone rang, the sound shrill and sharp, and after a moment of hesitation, he pulled his cell out of his pocket.
It was Isabel.
“Hey, Mom,” he said quietly, glancing out toward the road. The paparazzi still lined the edge of his property, but Maverick must have called security in, because several private hires kept them at bay.
“How is Morgan?” Leave it to his mother to cut to the chase.
“Not good.”
“Oh, Cooper. I’m so sorry for the both of you. And for Holly. That girl is really screwed up, and the press is all over her.”
A twinge of regret hit Cooper, and, face tight, he nodded. He’d felt a lot of things yesterday, one of them being compassion for the other woman at the center of this storm.
“I want you to know that I love you and that every member of this family is behind you.”
“I know.” The Simons always had each other’s back. Even when they didn’t deserve it. That’s what blood meant.
“What are you going to do?”
He reached for his bag. “I’m going to see Morgan.”
There was a pause. “You love her, then.”
“I do.”
“Then fight for her, honey. Love is precious and scary and fleeting. Grab it and hold it close. Treat it like the treasure it is.”
“Love you, Ma.” He opened the front door. “I’ll see you in England.”
He tossed his suitcase and garment bag in the back of his Land Rover, carrying a large manila envelope with him to the front. The engine roared to life, and Cooper zipped past the photogs, eyes on the road, ignoring them completely.
The drive to town was uneventful, though the closer he got to Morgan’s place, the more congested the streets became. He drove past a group of paps camped out at the end of the Campbell driveway and parked behind Morgan’s car. Her father’s truck was pulled to the side and offered Cooper a modicum of privacy as he jumped from the truck and took the front steps two at a time.
Behind him, voices swelled, some calling him by name, others taunting him for information. He ignored them completely, his gaze on the house, and knocked on the door.
