Cooper

by Harper Sloan

  "Uh..."

  His eyes narrow at my stupid stuttering, and I can tell by his facial expression that, no matter what I say, he's primed and ready for a fight.

  "Not a fucking hard question, Sunshine. What the hell do you want? If it's anything other than lying on your back and spreading those thighs, then I'm not interested."

  The. Hell?

  "Uh..."

  "I've got plenty of this to go around," he arrogantly states while waving his hand over his crotch. "All you need to do is say the word. I'm all about my ladies having some meat on their bones."

  I can feel my face heat with embarrassment. Yeah, I'm at that awkward stage in my pregnancy where I look like I've just had way too much fun at KFC and then went over to the bakery and asked for one of everything. My mind is telling me that he doesn't mean it, but deep down, it hurts.

  "How dare you!" I squeak--yes, squeak.

  "What? There isn't anything to be ashamed of. Your tits though... Damn, now those make up for the extra weight."

  It's like my hand just moves without my permission. One second, I'm ready to go hide in a dark hole, and the next, I'm pissed to the brim. When my hand cracks across his cheek, sending his head to the side and shocking us both, I want to take it back, but in the end, I square my shoulders and wait for him to tear me down again.

  When his eyes come back to mine, the shock of my slap taking some of his drunken buzz away, he just looks at me. I can see each of my fingers shining like neon across his tan skin, causing a wave of distress to hit me.

  "Did you just slap me?" he asks, clearly confused now that he isn't stuck on drunken-douche mode.

  "You have got issues, Asher. Serious issues. I have no clue what has you jumping back into the bottle, but I deserve a lot more than your crap." My chest is rising as rapidly as my temper, and all I want to do is take him by the neck and shake the shit out of him.

  "I'm sorry?"

  "How is it possible for you to forget all that verbal vomit that you just spewed? Well, don't you worry about it, Ash. When you sober up, maybe then you can come and let the chubby chick know that you're sorry. All I care about right now is talking to Maddox and finding the spare to my apartment so I can go to bed. I'm tired, and the last thing I want to do is deal with a drunk you."

  "He isn't here," he says, still looking at me as if he's seeing me in some weird light.

  "Well, isn't that just great," I mumble.

  "Hold on. I'll go get the key."

  He comes back a few seconds later and mutely hands me a key. I don't even spare him a glance. I snatch the key and walk away. I can feel my emotions getting the best of me, and the last thing I want is to let him know that he's hurt my feelings.

  It's on the tip of my tongue to tell him exactly what I think of him, but I know he won't even hear it when he's this lost.

  "Hey, Chelcie?" I hear right when the elevator door opens.

  I brush the lone tear from my cheek and turn.

  "I'm...I'm sorry, okay?"

  "Yeah, Asher. So am I."

  I know he doesn't mean it. Well, hell, maybe he does. But when he's drunk, he becomes someone I just don't want to be around.

  And I can't help but wonder if the precarious friendship we have slowly been building was just knocked down because he doesn't know how to heal from the pain of losing his brother.

  Chapter 3--Chelcie

  It's been a week since the awkward showdown with Asher. He hasn't said anything--neither have I. And to be honest, I'm not sure what there is to say. We aren't best buddies, and at this point, I don't even know if we're friends or if I'm just some stupid girl who's been trying to find a way to tell him about the baby.

  Sure, there has always been an underlying attraction that just simmers under the surface. I don't know if it's just one-sided on my end, but sometimes I think that I can see the same heat I feel towards him burning beneath his sapphire eyes.

  "Chelcie, did you hear me?"

  I look over at Dee with a frown. "Uh, sorry. I must have spaced out. I haven't been sleeping well lately."

  Her face softens for a second before her eyes narrow in concern. "And why haven't you been sleeping well? Is everything okay with the baby?"

  "What? Oh, no, the baby is fine. I have my checkup coming in three weeks and we should be able to find out what the gender is," I sigh. "I'm just in a funk. I had a run-in with a drunk Asher last week."

  Her eyes widen for a second before she lets out a heavy breath.

  Yeah, everyone knows what drunk Asher means.

  "Was it that bad?"

  "Well, let's see. He called me fat. Basically said he would fuck me even though I was chubby, and then when I went to leave, he acted like he didn't even know why I was pissed. So, yeah, it was pretty bad. It's just... Now I don't know how to act."

  "He did what?" she practically shrieks in outrage.

  Dee turns in her chair and spins so that she is facing my desk. We've been working in her home office all day, catching up on some work that we've been putting off. I think at this point though, she is just giving me some things to keep my mind busy. She doesn't really need me as much now that she closed the North Carolina branch of her insurance company. I think we both know that we're grasping at straws to keep me working for her.

  "I know. It was pretty brutal, but in his defense, he was really drunk. No, not just drunk--he was trashed. He didn't just reek of alcohol, Dee. He looked like he had gone round for round with a cat and lost." I smile a little at the memory. He might have been a giant ass, but I felt a little better knowing that he looked like he was feeling the bad end of the barrel. "I have no idea what the hell happened before his...whatever that was between us--but he looked terrible, Dee."

  "Chelcie--" she starts.

  I hold my hand up before she can continue. I know what's coming. It's the same thing that's been coming since the day I told her I was pregnant with Coop's baby. The same thing that will continue to come until I grow some lady balls and tell Asher that I'm pregnant with his late brother's child.

  "I know, okay? I know. The longer I wait, the harder it will be for everyone involved. But please tell me how I tell a man who is either drowning in a bottle or sleeping his way through his misery that his brother knocked me up? Huh? Because the first thing he will think is the worst. I just know it. I didn't ask for this, Dee. I'm thankful that I've been given this chance to become a mother...but I never asked for this." I end in a whisper, angrily wiping the few stray tears that roll down my cheeks with the back of my hand.

  I don't want to be that stupid, weak girl who gets all weepy when shit goes wrong. I'm stronger than that. I refuse to be a backseat driver in my own life. I might not have asked for this--hell, I might not have even wanted this option...ever--but I will be damned if I lie down and live in self-pity.

  "When he isn't being a jerk, a whore, or a drunk, he really is such an awesome guy. He's just so lost right now. If I tell him about the baby, he's either going to freak out or blame me. I just know it."

  Dee looks at me with unconcealed pity. It would anger me, but I know she is coming from the right place. It's a no-win situation, but it's my no-win situation. I can't sit here and bitch about it, hoping for her to fix my problems. No, it's all on me, and it's time I man up and do something about it. I can't move on from this hole I've seemed to dig for myself until I start to build the ladder to climb back up.

  And that starts and ends with Asher.

  "I'm here if you need me, but please tell him soon. I look at him and it's like looking in the mirror sometimes. He needs something to hold on to, Chelcie. He needs to know that his life is worth more than this misguided path of vengeance and self-destruction."

  I nod my head and make a promise to myself to get Asher alone--and sober--and finally let him know about the baby.

  ***

  Why am I doing this? I wonder, looking at my reflection in the mirror for the ten thousandth time.

  It's Saturday night, and for some un
godly reason, I let Dee talk me into going on a blind date. Why she thinks I should be dating being almost four months pregnant is beyond me. No man is going to look at all of this lovely baggage I'm carrying around and think that this is a sure bet.

  The phone starts ringing right when I finish applying the last of my makeup. After making my way down the short hallway and into the living/dining room of my apartment, I quickly grab the phone before it rolls over to voicemail.

  "Hello?"

  "Hey, you! Are you excited for your date tonight?" Dee's voice comes through the phone thick with excitement.

  "Uh, no. You know I don't want to be doing this, Dee. I don't see the point. It's not like I can hide the fact that I'm pregnant if I plan on seeing him again. I would feel dishonest not telling him."

  She pauses for a second. "It doesn't have to be the focus of your date, Chelc. Just because you're about to have a perfect little bundle of love doesn't mean that defines your life. You deserve to be happy too. I know you don't want to go out with Nikolas tonight, but he's really a nice guy. Who knows? You might hit it off, and then you can thank me at your wedding." She snickers when she finishes, and I can just picture her laughing at herself.

  Ever since Dee and Beck worked out their issues--and boy, there were some heavy issues--she's gone from being lukewarm about relationships to being a walking, talking advocate. She's happy, so she wants everyone else around her to feel the same happiness and love that she does.

  I've got to give her some credit though. She really lucked out with John Beckett, and I would probably feel the same way if I were in her shoes. The love that those two have for each other is almost too much to watch.

  "Jesus, Dee. I just don't think this is the right time, you know?" I complain. Even to my own ears, I just sound like I'm bitching. Which I am.

  "Yeah, and when will be the right time? When the baby is here? When the baby is older? When you're seventy? I get it. Really, I do. But you can't just keep living your life, working, and sitting at home."

  "I don't just sit at home," I bristle.

  "Ah, yeah, you do."

  I can feel myself getting frustrated with this conversation, and the last thing I want to do is snap at Dee when she is clearly just trying to do something nice. Even if it is unwarranted.

  "I do other things," I weakly argue.

  "HA! Like what?" The challenge is clear in her words.

  "I...uh... The other day, I..."

  Shit. She's right. There really isn't much I do. I work with her. I go to weekly dinners with the group. I help--er, used to help--Asher. And I write.

  "I know!" I yelp a little too loud. "I went to my first creative writing class the other day!" I throw my fist up in the air, realizing that I have her there.

  Writing has always been a passion of mine. Nothing I've ever had the guts to pursue at a deeper level other than dabbling. It wasn't until everything with Coop happened that I realized just how precious life was. From that day on, I've made a point to work on things I've always been afraid to try. I might never do anything with the book I've been working on for the last four years, but it's there, and more importantly, it makes me happy.

  "As proud of you that I am, there is no way that counts. I'm talking about going out, meeting a m-a-n."

  "I don't need a man, Dee. Just because I've got a baby on the way in no way means that I need a man to take care of me. My mom managed just fine. Not only was she a single mother, but also she never made me feel like I was a burden on her life. She was the best parent I could ever imagine. A man doesn't define whether I, or my child for that matter, have a good life." I can feel my throat burning with unshed tears just begging to get out when I think about my mom.

  It's been almost five years since I lost my mom to breast cancer. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss her. She had been struggling for a good year before she passed away. It wasn't sudden, and even though we had time to come to terms with her immanent death, it wasn't easy. One thing that keeps me going is knowing that, wherever she is now, she's proud of me. I know she is. Sure, she wouldn't have wanted me to be a single mother like she was. No mother wants her child to deal with being a single parent. But she taught me everything I know about love and, more importantly, how to love a child. So I know she's happy.

  "I didn't mean that, Chelcie," Dee whispers into the phone. Her earlier excitement has obviously dimmed because of my attitude. I instantly feel guilty for letting my crazy pregnancy hormones get the best of me.

  "I'm sorry, Dee. I know you're just trying to help. I just don't know if I want to even be in a relationship. I'm going because--who knows--I might be, and I might meet someone worth taking the chance." I take a deep breath and realize that everything I just said is true. I might not want to go or even think I need a man right now, but I could also be keeping the door to my own personal happiness locked tight by refusing to go.

  "Really?" she questions. The earlier bravado in her voice is completely gone, making me feel like crap.

  "Really, Dee. Thanks for everything. I'll let you know how things go tonight with Nikolas, okay?"

  We talk for a few more minutes while I continue to get ready before getting off the phone. I walk back into my bedroom and close the door, turning to face the mirror that is hanging behind it. I take a deep breath and look over myself with a detached eye.

  My dark-blonde hair is hanging loose in waves; my makeup is minimal but still flattering. Even to myself, I can admit that I'm good-looking. I won't be starring on America's Next Top Model anytime soon, but I can turn heads. My eyes might be a little too large for my face, but they're a unique gold-brown that I've always been told is beautiful. My nose is straight, not too large or wide. And my lips are plump and full.

  My eyes travel down my body, taking in the loose, black dress that hangs from my body in a flattering way and successfully hides the little bump my baby gives my stomach. Smiling, I press the fabric to my stomach and rub the slight roundness. It's you and me, kid.

  After turning from the mirror, I grab my heels from the bed, balancing on one foot and then the other before I'm ready to go.

  On the way out of the apartment, I let myself think about the man who not even a week ago consumed my every thought--before he made a giant ass of himself, that is. I might still be holding a ridiculous crush on Asher Cooper, but I like to think that even I'm smarter than to let that torch burn when it's clear he wants to stay in the darkness.

  "Have a good night, Joe!" I call to the apartment's older and friendly doorman.

  "You as well, Ms. Avery!" he replies, a smile in his voice.

  I walk to my car and, with a deep breath, hope for the best with the night yet to come.

  Chapter 4 - Chelcie

  My nerves are a wreck by the time I pull up to the restaurant Nikolas told me to meet him at. I hadn't heard of Slice before, and to be honest, I really didn't care where I was going. I'm just ready to get this started and over with. Seven on the dot and so nervous I feel as if I'm going to puke all over my brand-new dress.

  I press my palm against my belly, rubbing the rounded skin that holds my child within, and say a silent prayer that everything will go well tonight. Dee swears that Nikolas is a great guy, and from the few times that I've talked to him on the phone, I have to agree.

  "It's now or never," I whisper to myself. If I waste another second sitting here, letting my nerves overtake me, then I know I'll turn the car back on and take off as fast as I can. Go back home, where it's safe. Where I can pretend that life outside my little bubble isn't a big fat unknown.

  It takes me a second to adjust to the lighting in the restaurant. It isn't like it is bright outside, being that it's seven at night, but it's so dimly lit inside that I have to squint for a second before walking up to the hostess.

  Or who I assume is the hostess.

  "Yeah?" she questions, looking up from her desk, snapping her gum loudly, and twirling her long, pink, and clearly very unwashed hair.

 
; Uh...okay.

  "I think I might be in the wrong place," I mumble more to myself than to the lovely piece of happiness in front of me.

  "Sure," she snaps, rolling her eyes and picking up the magazine she was reading before I had the audacity to interrupt her.

  I open and close my mouth a few times before I snap it shut and try to calm my climbing temper. "Excuse me!" I force out through gritted teeth.

  "What, lady?" she barks, throwing her magazine down and looking at me as if I am the offending party here.

  "Is this or is this not Slice?" I know damn well it is, but for the life of me, I can't understand how this thing in front of me has a job anywhere, let alone somewhere where she is in charge of first freaking impressions!

  "Uh, lady, do you know how to read? It's on the door when you walk in."

  The hell?!

  I can feel the heat of anger painting my skin red. I'm going to blow up at this girl and it's not going to be pretty. Usually I have no issues controlling my temper, but when people want to act like half-wit window lickers I just can't hold it back.

  "Listen here, doll face. I don't know what in the hell crawled up your sweet-as-pie ass this morning and made you turn into the spawn of Satan, but that is no excuse to act like your shit doesn't stink. For some unknown reason, your boss decided you would be an oh-so-pleasant person to have sit on your butt and treat paying customers like garbage. Do you need me to show you how it is you should greet someone? Let's repeat after me, shall we? 'Hello, and welcome to Slice. How may I help you this evening?" I have to ball my hands into tight fists to keep from reaching out and shaking the tar out of this little twit. My chest heaves with frustration.

  Her overly-lined-with-the-blackest-liner eyes narrow, and I can just see it working behind them that she is about to say something else that will just piss me off further. I hold my hand up--stopping inches in front of her face--and roll my eyes when I see her face flash with irritation.

  Irritation at me!

  "Listen, I'm sure you are just normally so full of sweetness that you were just about to apologize for being a massive bitch, but let me save you the trouble. Run out to the store and grab yourself some Midol. Maybe while you're there, you can meet a nice man to get you off since clearly you're suffering from some sort of frustration. IF by then you still aren't feeling the joyful tingles of happiness, maybe you can find something else to occupy your time. Clearly being a people-person just isn't your thing. Now, tell me, where in the hell is the bar in your fine establishment?"