by K. S. Thomas
I shrug. “Guess I don’t look at your feet all that often. Can’t blame a guy when there’s so much above the ankles to get distracted by,” I tease.
“You better be talking about my brain,” she mutters sternly. We both know I’m not.
Her palm slides into mine, fingers twining as we walk toward the door. Together. My favorite part about life these days. We’re living it together.
“You excited?” I ask as we make our way down the stairs.
“To finally see the place, you so lovingly refer to as ‘our happy ever after’?” she mocks, but I can tell she likes it too, “Yeah, I’m pretty excited.”
So am I. Have been ever since I first clicked on it during my two-week war with every real estate website google had to offer. I was starting to give up, convinced nothing out there was ever going to show up in the right location, the right set up and most importantly, the right price. Beachside living is spendy, and I make a good living.
Then, out of the blue, there it was. The perfect house for us. Two-minute walk from the shop, two bedroom - two bath bungalow, one block in from the ocean. Even has a backyard and rooftop deck. Talk about a good find. It’s basically just sitting there, waiting for us and the hammock I intend to buy just as soon as I sign the lease.
We stroll comfortably down the sidewalk, Cooper lost in thought as her eyes wander along the pavement ahead of us. I don’t interrupt her. I’ve learned that this is something she does often. At first I worried, but I’ve asked often enough now to realize it’s usually work related, some sort of design she’s trying to visualize or conceptualize. Colors she’d like to try it in, how many she thinks she’ll need. The list goes on. Point being, there’s nothing to worry about. Some quiet, creative thinking is important to her artistic process.
She’s just started humming to herself, a sign I’ve concluded means she has completely disconnected from the world around her, when we turn down the walkway leading up to the house.
“Look up,” I prompt quietly, squeezing her hand to convey my excitement.
“Oh,” she gasps. “Wow. We can afford this place?” She turns her head, searching her surroundings, now that she’s conscious of them.
“Yep. It’s privately owned, so they’re saving money by not using a leasing agent. At least, that’s what the guy said when I called about it.”
She still seems skeptical. “Huh. So, who’s meeting us here?”
I point at the front door and the large flower pot beside it. “No one. Keys are buried in the pansies along the rim of the pot.”
I watch as her eyes narrow slightly at the words. “That didn’t seem odd to you?”
I shrug. “You’re the one who’s always telling me that beachside people are more laid back than city people.”
“I guess.” Her face relaxes some and she’s even smiling slightly as we walk up to the large array of pansies decorating the entryway. It’s a bit much if you ask me, but given the way her eyes are lighting up the longer she stares at them, I have no intention of moving them.
I slide my hand inside the pot, the soft petals brushing against the back of it as I move it all around the edge until my fingers catch on a small ring and I pull it out. Keys.
“You ready to walk inside our future home?” I ask, dangling the keys in her face.
She claps her hands together, giddiness finally getting the better of her. “Yes, please!
Feeling like I’m about to give her the world on a platter, I move for the lock, pride and love pummeling their way through my system at a rapid, almost dizzying speed. I’ve waited seven years for this moment. Seven lost years of wishing my every fantasy was real and living the heartbreak of always being told it wasn’t. Until now.
The lock clicks and the door swings open, sunlight spilling onto the clay tile lining the foyer and reaching beyond into the main living space.
I hear Cooper’s delight escape in a contented sigh as she steps inside and begins to explore.
It’s perfect. Even more so in person than in the pictures I saw. It’s so perfect in fact, the hammock I want is already set up in the backyard.
“So, you want it?” I tease, already knowing the answer. In the ten minutes we’ve been here, she’s been in and out of the master bedroom three times already, each time running in with a new idea for decorating the space.
“I do,” she squeals. “I really, really do!”
“Then you’ll have it,” I promise, moving in closer until our bodies align. Her toes touch mine, our knees knock and everything above the waist is completely connected right up to our lips. Where I kiss her. For a very, very long time. We’re home. Finally.
Cooper
It’s been two days since we signed the lease. Two days since we made it official. Moving in together. Building a life together. It seems a whirlwind of sorts in some moments and years in the making in others. I can’t decide which causes me less anxiety. Mostly I’m just trying to live in the now and worry less about how it came about. I’m here. In the present. With Reed. Life is good.
Cammie was disappointed when she heard we were moving but has since agreed it was for the best. This new attitude came about shortly after learning the beach was a thirty second walk from my new front door. I’m sure the two are completely unrelated though. Not.
Now that we have our home picked out, Reed is busy trying to determine his next best move career wise. It’s odd to think of him working for his dad. Odder still to think he likes being a lawyer. He only just passed the bar a few months ago, but his dad’s had him working alongside him on cases for years now. Defense attorneys. I know they serve a purpose. An important one at that. But I also know not everyone they defend is innocent, and on some level, this irks my moral compass and sends it spinning in all sorts of unpleasant directions.
Reed and I spent hours talking about this very thing back in high school. Back then we’d gone over all sorts of scenarios, compromises to appease his father, yet settle his own doubts and apprehensions about the laid-out path before him. Environmental law. Pro-bono cases. Representing the kids getting screwed by the system. That particular dream had sent my heart all a flutter once upon a time. I think it was then I knew I loved him. Loved him not only for the overwhelming goodness in his heart, but also for the way he loved me. Loved me so tenderly he wanted to dedicate his life to righting the wrong which had been done to me so long ago. He’d never be able to save me from my past, but saving others from my fate seemed the most romantic way imaginable of saving my future.
He lost all of those dreams in the accident right along with his memories. But even if his family managed to put him back on the track they always wanted for him, his ideals are still there. Still the same in the man as they were in the boy. He just needs someone to have a little faith in him, in his abilities to tackle the big battles. And I’m here to do just that.
Pansies. I smile every time I walk up to the door and see them. They’re my favorite. Something about the dark colors mingling with the bright being able to create something so beautiful. Had to be fate, my favorite flowers marking this house as if it was always waiting for me to come home to it.
I place my hand on the doorknob, it’s unlocked. I’m supposed to be meeting one of the homeowners for the final walkthrough before we move in tomorrow. Reed wanted to be here too, but his father insisted he needed him in the office. So, he made the hour drive into the city this morning. Given traffic, I’m planning on a late, late dinner.
“Hello?” I call as I step inside. “Anyone here?”
Then, I turn the corner into the living room and I stop listening for anyone to answer. Lying in the middle of the otherwise empty space is a pile of folded up closet doors. My eyes sprint along the structure. Hall closet. Open. Pantry. Bare. Even the storage area below the stairs is missing its door.
Ice fills my veins. I feel cold and solid. My limbs unyielding and heavy. It’s getting hard to even breathe.
“You’re early,” Ed mumbles, coming down the
stairs, another set of doors held tight under his arm along his torso. “I meant to have all this done before you showed up. Sorry.” He drops the set on top of the others, creating a loud clatter.
“Unbelievable,” I whisper. It’s taking all of my focus to keep from shaking with anger. “You guys can’t just break into our house like this.”
Ed shrugs. “Who broke in? I have a key.”
“What?” Then it slowly dawns on me. “No. No, no, no. I told Reed not to use Hilary. We specifically avoided all of Gun’s properties. This place was by owner!”
Ed glares at me like I’m an idiot. “Yeah. It was by owner.”
“Gun owns this house?” It’s only ten times worse to be renting one of his personal properties than using one of his realtors. Maybe twenty times worse. “How is that possible? Why wouldn’t he list it through the company?” Because he knew. That manipulating jackass knew we’d never rent it if we found out it was his.
“He didn’t list it because he wasn’t planning on renting it out,” Ed grumbles, walking out of the room and toward the kitchen. He pulls a bottle of water from the fridge and takes a long swig.
“Well, he doesn’t need to keep it now, just for us. If he was planning on flipping it for a fast profit, he should. We don’t want it anymore anyway,” I rant at him, from halfway across the room.
“Stop it, Coop. You’re not really that dense. And frankly, I’m getting really fucking tired of dealing with the both you and your bullshit.”
“Excuse me?”
He slams the water bottle onto the counter so hard the water sops out of it and down to the floor. “Don’t give me that. You want to pretend to cut each other out of your lives. Fine. Pretend. Maybe Reed will even believe it. Hell, Cammie will too. But not me. I know better. I’ve been to the eye of this fucking shit-storm and I know what lives at the core of it.”
I can feel pressure building in my sinuses up to my eyes. An ache in my throat, warning me of the tears threatening to strike. It’s too much. All of this. Gun. Reed. Losing one, gaining the other. It’s a constant back and forth and I don’t think I can take it anymore. I just want to be done with it. I just want to accept what is.
“Lived,” I correct him quietly.
“What?” His emotions are peaking compared to my solemnness.
“You said what lives at the core. It’s dead now.” I can feel the threat of tears subsiding again as I regain control of this conversation. As I remember how I wound up here. “Trust me, it’s what he wants.” I gesture around us and all the door-less closets. “This, all of this, is just one last result of the years of obligations he felt when it came to me. That’s what’s really at the core of everything, Ed. He feels responsible for me. Always has. Thinks he needs to save me. Save me from my past. Save me because he couldn’t save his mother. Maybe I didn’t see it when we were kids, but I can see it now. And it doesn’t matter the lengths he’d go to for me if it’s always for the wrong reasons.”
I feel cold just saying the words. It’s a sobering reality to come to.
“You can’t see anything.” Ed shakes his head, sadness surprising me in his pitch-black eyes. “Maybe because you’ve always been stuck inside this tangled up mess between the two of you, but let me explain something to you, something I’ve been watching from my perspective for as long as I can remember.” He pauses to collect his thoughts. “We’re all messed up. You and Gun, you’re a special kind of broken...you’re so broken you don’t know what love is anymore. You both think what the other feels for you is somehow less than what it should be to be true. So, you, you run out and find yourself the perfect fairy tale. Prince Reed Charming and Gun? He just steps back into the shadows, alone, convinced that you’ve found your happy ever after and he doesn’t need one..”
“I’ve never asked him to do that. I’ve never asked him for any of this. You think I like knowing that he’s hurting? I hate it. But I can’t change it. He doesn’t let me help him. He never has.” Fury flares in the pit of my stomach, reaching up until I’m hot all over and can feel the burn in my throat.
Ed’s barely moved by my outburst. Maybe he really does know me as well as he thinks. “We all have our things, Coop. What we do to cope. Gun survived the first years of his life by being invisible. Laying low. Staying out of sight. Needing nothing from anyone. Never making a sound. Then he met you. And the thing that kept him alive was the same thing killing you. So, he changed. To save you. But Gun is still Gun. Surviving on his own. Invisible. And silent. He’s never going to ask for what he wants. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t want though. Just means he doesn’t know any other way to cope.” His shoulders sag and he sighs loudly. I’ve seen this move, usually when he’s been lecturing Gun. Means he’s finished. Said his piece and it’s up to me now to sort it out for myself.
I watch as he turns away and moves toward the living room to collect the pile of closet doors. When he’s got them all stacked neatly on his dolly, he directs his gaze at me one last time.
“He bought this place for the both of you. Six months ago. He’s been busy fixing it up ever since in between other jobs. Was going to surprise you with it next month after he finished. Guess he decided the important part was for you to have it, even if it wasn’t perfect. Or with him.” Then he tips the dolly and rolls it out of the room.
I stand here, staring, until I hear the front door slam shut. Slowly, I slide down along the kitchen cabinets until I’m sitting on the tiled floor. It’s cold, but solid. Resting my head against the wood behind me, I start to take in my surroundings. I’m tired of exploring my innermost thoughts. They do nothing but deceive me anyway. So, I’m searching outside for once. Maybe I’ll see something I can finally make sense of.
Chapter Sixteen
Gun
7 Years Earlier
“Stratman,” the chaplain says my name just as his hand lands on my shoulder. A bold, and somewhat stupid move given our surroundings. You don’t sneak up on people in prison, you just don’t. “We need to talk.” The look in his eyes is enough for me to drop the deck of cards I’ve been shuffling for the last ten minutes. They land back on the table just as I get up.
“What’s this about?” I ask, my mind reeling with possibilities. Mr. B calls often enough to keep me in the loop even if I wish he didn’t. I can’t imagine anything important enough to warrant a meeting with the chaplain, unless he knows something about my court case I don’t and has concluded it’s now or never when it comes to saving my sorry ass soul.
“Let’s talk in your cell, son. In private.” He turns back toward the guards, letting them know he’s ready to get moving.
“See you in hell, sucker,” some jackass hisses as I make my way through the room.
I flip him my middle finger and keep walking. Silence goes a long way around here.
By the time we reach my cell, my heart is pounding like a jackhammer in my chest. You don’t get counseling sessions with the chaplain unless you request them. Or, someone dies.
I hold my breath and wait for the door to close. Then it’s just us. The chaplain, myself and one guard standing near the door, ever present but still granting us some privacy.
“Gunnar,” the chaplain starts, and I can tell by his tone, this isn’t going to go well.
“Yeah.” I rub my forehead with my thumb and index finger. I don’t want to be an ass, but I really wish he’d spit it out and tell me what all of this is about.
“There’s been an accident,” he says in the sort of falsely calm voice people use on television when they’re about to tell you your grandma died. Only I don’t have a grandma.
“What kind of an accident?”
“Late last night...A boy named Reed McAllister was driving heading south when the semi alongside them veered toward him. The driver fell asleep and ran the boy’s truck off the road.” He’s silent except for the long pull of air I hear him take. “Your friend, Jane Cooper, was in the truck with him when it happened. It’s bad Gunnar. Your friend’s been in
and out of surgeries. Internal bleeding and head injuries. They think they’ve got it all under control now, but even if she pulls through, she may lose her right hand. It was nearly severed when they found her.”
My first instinct is to ram through him and anything else blocking my path to run from the building. Run. Run as fast as I can until I reach her.
“Gunnar? Are you still listening to me?”
I wasn’t. I am now. Instinct subsided the second I looked up and saw the steady stream of orange passing my door on the way to the prison cafeteria. Remembering the plexiglass windows lining the walls and the corrections officers staring me down from every angle at every second of every day, also make it hard to deny the reality holding me here. I’m in prison. I’m not getting anywhere near Cooper. And it’s my own fucking fault.
Reed
Present Day
I can feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I’ve been waiting all afternoon for this, it’s gotta be Cooper calling me to tell me we’re all set on the new house.
I don’t even check the screen to make sure, just stand up from the conference table and excuse myself despite my father’s incredulous glare as I do so.
As soon as I’m out in the hall, I answer, “Hey, Gorgeous. Walk through all good?”
“Actually, no.” She sounds upset, but then this news comes as an unpleasant surprise to me as well.
“Babe, it’s okay. I’m sure whatever the issues are, we can work them out,” I reassure her.
“You don’t understand,” she says, her voice shrouded in tears, “We can’t take the house. We have to find something else.”
“What? Why?” Unless she’s about to tell me about a sudden sinkhole that opened up and swallowed the place, we’re getting that house.
“Because, I don’t want it anymore,” she insists.
“It’s not exactly that simple, Coop, we have a lease,” I reason, grateful to have the law on my side to keep from making it personal.
“We can break it. Trust me. The owner won’t object.” Her tone has gradually hardened throughout the argument.