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He stepped toward the door and took a last look back at me as he did.
Our eyes caught and held, and in that moment, I prayed he’d see reason. Begged him, with my eyes, to stay, to not do this. But, he just closed his, inhaled deeply, then opened the door.
When he walked out of my life I knew I’d never know so much pain ever again.
Cooper and I were soulmates.
We both knew that, and he’d just thrown that out like the trash sitting on my table would be thrown out in the next hour.
My eyes burned with the need to cry, but instead, I just stood there absorbing how everything had changed in less than a handful of minutes.
I felt frozen. My limbs in stasis, my mind and body totally glued in a world where Cooper and I were still dating…
Then, the pain hit me.
I staggered with it, and the move had me brushing up against my easel, almost knocking the damn thing down as I tried to keep myself upright.
Inadvertently, and like it was happening to another person, I stared at the painting I’d just created….
Objectively, I could see it was the best piece of work I’d ever done.
It was pristine, with a level of professionalism that my teachers would applaud. It was good enough to go in a portfolio.
None of that stopped me from reaching forward, grabbing the canvas and bringing my knee into its soft underbelly.
With the resounding rip echoing around the room, I smashed it against the floor. Again and again.
Only when it was in a thousand pieces did the tears fall.
And when they fell, they wouldn’t stop.
Chapter 16
COOPER
Present Day
It had been an excellent idea. One that I hadn’t even realized was so great until now, when we were laying together, pleasantly stuffed after a huge feast, staring up at the grim sky together.
She was pressed close to me on her side as I stared overhead, a blanket covered us and kept us toasty warm save for my, and hers had to be too, bitterly cold nose.
Still, it was worth it. Just to be here, to enjoy the silence. I had questions, of course, but for the moment, I was content just to relax with her. Just to be.
We maintained that happy silence for close to forty minutes, and I’d admit to dozing slightly until the squawking of a seagull actually woke me and triggered a memory of something she’d said in the car, but something I hadn’t wanted to discuss at that moment.
“You don’t paint much anymore, do you?”
She tensed at my side: yet another clue, and one that led to a realization I wasn’t particularly happy about. “Why?”
“Do you remember that seagull you painted?” My lips twitched at the image that popped into my head, because she could be such a doofus sometimes. Her style had been hyperrealism, so she’d created this fucking bird that looked like it could fly off the canvas. Then she’d drawn in a cigar and a Captain’s cap on the damn thing’s head and had totally ruined seagulls forever for me.
Her laughter poured forth at my words and I peered down at her with a grin.
I loved this side of her. The side that was so free, that could laugh so easily and so joyously that it was contagious.
“Yeah. How could I forget? I think, of all the cool shit I did, that was one of your favorites.”
“It’s the kid in me that can still appreciate ‘Tom and Jerry’ skits.”
