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I look at my watch and start the countdown, closing the door and pacing my apartment. It reminds me of how Cooper has paced this floor and makes me wonder if he’s pacing now. Or is he too content in Camille’s arms to worry about my heart?
My nerves are running hot, my body a live wire. I pour a glass of water and drink it down. As soon as the designated time has passed, I burst into the bathroom and stare at the test on the edge of the counter.
I’m not sure what to feel — happy or sad—when alone is the overwhelming emotion. I carry the stick with me, still staring at it, and realize I was never going to find relief no matter which way it turned out.
It won’t change the fact that Cooper didn’t choose me.
32
Cooper
Maybe I am an alcoholic . . .
The bourbon swirls around the bottle once more before I finish the rest of it. I’d stopped bothering to use a glass hours ago. Who’s here to judge me in the back seat of my mom’s Bentley? No one. No one because I chose to betray the woman I love to save her from a different fate.
Dropping the bottle to the floorboard, I angle down to get a clear view of her apartment. Story hasn’t left the window, not once since she climbed into it. I know what she’s doing and who she’s waiting for, blowing up my phone with missed calls and unanswered texts.
A half-hearted smile comes over me seeing her hair pulled high on her head and the shape of her body swallowed by one of her many pairs of flannel pajamas she owns. I’ve learned she’s in for the night once those come on. She’s a woman of routine, of reliability. Accountability, which is something I never did until more recently.
Everyone has a clean slate when you meet her, including me. There wasn’t googling identities or checking out profiles on dating apps. No background checks or searching for police records. No one’s past is held against them. She gives everyone the benefit of the doubt. She’s still doing it now by keeping the faith in me even though she doesn’t realize it.
So give me an answer if you’re up there? Send me a sign or show me the light because I’m struggling to see how I survive this. I shouldn’t.
I won’t.
How do I break her heart?
How do I let her down?
How do I break every promise I made to her?
How will I walk away knowing how much I’m hurting her? I can’t.
The file spilled open on the way back to Atterton, the papers out of order and spread all over the car from hitting the brakes too hard. The fucking squirrel was saved.
I can’t say the same for Story’s and my relationship.
Four hours on the road gave me time to think, to figure a way out of this mess and make sure we stay together. In the end, there is none. There’s no saving us from the inevitable. She’ll shoot the messenger if I tell her, or I’ll lose her if I don’t.
I’m fucked either way.
My family royally screwed me. And they knew it. They’re probably celebrating.
Accountability . . . That fucking word creeps back into my psyche. It’s another thing that she believes in. I’ve caused her more pain than anyone should ever experience. So calling myself just a messenger in this mess is downplaying the role I played. I’m the instigator that led to her mother’s death. Now, Karma has come to collect her dues, and I’ll pay the price, even years later, for the recklessness of my youth.
I watch Story, wishing I could be the one to comfort her, but that job will go to someone else, a candidate more qualified to be in her life. More deserving. And I’ll need to learn to live with it.
The sound of rain wakes me up.
But it doesn’t make sense. It’s loud, causing me to jerk open my eyes just as pain shoots across my back from being twisted in the back seat of the Bentley. “Fuck,” I grumble.
“I could say the same.” Grief is heard in her somber tone.
I sit up too quickly, my head aching from drinking too much. The car is shrouded in rain, but sitting in the driver’s seat, Story stares out the windshield, refusing to look at me. Red blotches cover her cheek and what’s exposed of her neck. Strands have escaped the tornado twisted on top of her head, and her face is tear-streaked. It doesn’t look like she’s fared much better than me since the party, and she still manages to be beautiful.
Looking down at her lap, she says, “You should lock your doors in this neighborhood. It’s not the kind you’re used to.”
“Story—”
“I know, Cooper.” Her voice has lost its vibrance and is almost unrecognizable. She turns back, giving me the gift of her eyes, that gaze that I fell so hard in love with. “I’m not sure an explanation is going to get us to the other side of this.”
