by K. S. Thomas
“Don’t,” she hisses at me. “Don’t do that. I don’t know what you think you know, but you’re getting everything twisted up. Yeah, Gun got in trouble a lot back then. We both did. But we never went to prison. We were minors, it was juvy, the occasional holding cell and group homes. Not much better, but it was both of us. Not just Gun.” She takes a step back, as though she’s trying to shield him from me. “That internship changed his life. He took what he learned and he built something for himself, out of nothing he built it. I don’t care how angry you are - I’m pissed, too - you can’t come here and try to undermine all his hard work. You have no idea what it took, what it means for him, for all of us, that he broke the cycle and made something of himself.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Damn, Gun. You are good. You’ve really got her fooled.” I shake my head. “I may not remember shit from before the accident, but I can read records just fine. Gun was arrested almost two weeks before the accident for nearly beating a man to death. He refused bail and was rotting away in some medium security prison waiting for his day in court when my father decided to make a few calls on his behalf to get him out.”
“You shouldn’t have told her that,” Gun growls.
“No,” Cooper spins around to face him, “You should have! What the hell is he talking about? Who did you beat up?”
He turns away. “It’s not important.”
His desire to continue to hide things only makes the words surge from my mouth faster. “Ray Harris.”
She turns back toward me at the mention of his name. Recollection pools on her face. I hadn’t counted on her knowing who he was.
“Ray Harris?” she asks, her voice quivering, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes. Slowly she moves back to facing him. “How?”
“It was a job,” Gun says, no trace of anger remaining, “I showed up to work on a house that belonged to an older couple, a couple that had been raising foster kids for years, it was supposed to be my ‘give back’, something Kev has all his guys do, a pro-bono gig to pay forward what he gives to us. I was stoked, Coop. I felt so fucking good, having that job, having that chance to do something positive for someone else, someone like us, then Old Ray stepped out of the front door...and I just...snapped.”
Something is wrong. I missed something. Something important. Because she’s not pissed anymore. She’s crying. She’s hugging him. And he’s holding her, comforting her. This is wrong. All wrong.
“Are you kidding me? Cooper, you can’t seriously be okay with all of this!”
“Does she look okay to you?!” Gun snaps, turning her farther outer of my grasp, as if he needs to shield her from me.
“I’m not the fucking bad guy here!” I reach out and clasp my hand around her arm, attempting to free her from him and his twisted web, but she squirms out of my grip. And his.
“You’re not,” she agrees. “I am. I’m the one who’s screwing everything up. I’m always the one screwing things up. First for Gun, and now for you. I’m sorry, Reed. I’m so so sorry for what this has done to you.”
“You have nothing to feel sorry for. You haven’t done anything wrong. It was all Gun. And my father!”
“Would you shut up already! Can’t you see that all of this rehashing of the past is only making things worse?” Gun flies at me from his side of the room, stopping short when he reaches the barrier between us – Cooper.
“Oh, please. Just stop, Gunnar. You and I both know this isn’t about protecting Cooper, this is about protecting you. And frankly, your little act is getting old,” I sneer, snaking my arm around her waist. My moment of comfort is short lived however as she steps out of my embrace seconds later.
“You both need to stop. Enough!” she shouts, “I won’t have you fighting over me. I can’t be won, Reed. You can’t stake your claim on me and think it will erase all the years I’ve known Gun, or all that we’ve done for each other. I get that you’re frustrated and angry. You have every right to be. But, you’re wrong about Gun. He has always put me first. Always. He doesn’t know how not to.”
Calculation and care go right out the window. I’m exposing this asshole right now.
“If he’s always looking out for you then why did he make a deal with my father to break us apart? Huh?”
“He wouldn’t,” she insists, though I notice he remains satisfyingly silent.
“Yeah, he would. He did. Two seconds after my father got him released from prison he was at the hospital, at your side, manipulating you and convincing you to leave me behind. Because that’s what my father wanted. What my father paid him a hundred thousand dollars to accomplish.” I snort. “That life he built from nothing? That great change he made for himself? It cost him something alright. A hundred grand and his fucking soul.”
Cooper
A million and one thoughts collide inside my head. Reed’s father hates me. A hundred grand worth of hate. Reed hates Gun. And Gun? Gun was in prison. For another misguided attempt to save me from something I can never escape. And I can’t even fault him for it. Because on some screwed up level, I’m grateful. Grateful he went after the man who damaged me more than any one other person ever has. Grateful, he took a stand for all the others who came after me. Grateful, because maybe now, the damage has stopped. Maybe he has been stopped.
I look to Gun, anguish ripping at his perfectly flawed face.
Then Reed. Worry is creeping in, taking over the smug expression he wore when he thought he was victorious.
“Look, I know it’s hard to accept. But I’m sure if you think back, if you replay your memories of that time, you’ll see that what I’m saying is true. That Gun set a trap on my father’s request...and you fell right in.” Reed says softly, coxing me back to this reality where everything I thought I knew is crumbling right before my eyes.
“How would he have done that?” I ask, heart breaking in my chest with every second that passes. “What do you think he did when he showed up? Huh?”
“I don’t know, Coop,” he admits, helplessly running his hand through his hair repeatedly. “But he had to have done or said something. Why else would you have left? You wouldn’t have. You would have stayed. You would have fought for us. I know you would have. I would have.”
And then, the fog clears. I can see everything clearly, maybe for the first time in my whole life. Gun’s been keeping secrets. But they weren’t his. They were mine.
“I didn’t,” the words escape on a single breath. “I didn’t fight.”
“What?” Hurt and disbelief crowd together in his eyes, turning them a dark sapphire blue.
“I didn’t fight for us,” I say, tears forming and subsequently spilling over, “After Gun showed up, I just accepted it. You would never remember. It was done. And I needed to move on.” I gasp for air, feeling breath and strength drain out of me faster than I can put it back. “Gun never kept me from you. Not once. He never said or did anything to make me leave. To convince me to let you go. It wasn’t him.” I turn to Gun. “It wasn’t you.”
Chapter Eighteen
Gun
7 Years Earlier
She seems frail, more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen her. Pain stabs at my chest and it hurts to breathe. Walking as softly as I can, I move into her room and sit beside her bed. Mags said she’s been sleeping all morning. Sleep. That’s all she does. And cry.
My fingers trace gently over her arm, down to her wrist. It’s bandaged heavily and her hand below is swollen and red. I bend forward and place my lips carefully on her skin, as if kissing this booboo could magically heal it somehow.
“Gun?” Her voice is weak, but nothing sounds more promising than my name from her mouth.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, “I should have been here sooner.”
“No, you shouldn’t be here at all,” she croaks, her lids barely high enough to reveal her bloodshot eyes, “you’re supposed to be in Georgia. Thinking of yourself, doing what’s best for you.”
I cradle her cheek in my pal
m, warm tears making her soft skin moist to my touch. “You’re crazy. The best thing for me has always been you. Always. That’s never going to change, so stop making yourself out to be the bad guy. You’re not the bad guy.”
“But I’m always screwing up your life, Gun.”
“No.” I shake my head, biting down hard to keep from falling apart myself. “You’re always saving it.”
“You’re a liar,” she whimpers meekly. “But I love you anyway.”
“I love you, too, Cooper.” I watch as her lashes flutter and her lids sink down again. She’s asleep. And given the current dose of meds she’s on, I doubt she’ll remember any of this. But it’s okay. I will. And I’ll be here every time she wakes up from now on. Until she doesn’t forget. Until she knows I’m here. That I’m going to take care of her. That it’s safe to stay awake now.
Reed
Present Day
I feel like my reality is slipping away for the second time in my life. This can’t be right. She can’t mean what she’s saying.
“No, Cooper. You were confused. You told me yourself, you were on tons of meds. You were in shock. It would have been easy for Gun to swoop in and take advantage of your vulnerability.”
She bites her lip so hard it’s turning bright red. Tears are cascading down her pale cheeks and I know this is hurting her as much as it’s killing me. “I’m so sorry,” she gasps, in between silent sobs. “I was so scared and lost, and Gun is my family. I just wanted to go home. I just wanted...”
“Gun,” I finish the sentence for her. “I get it.” I take a long pull of air. “What about now?”
“What?” She looks confused.
“Who do you want now, Cooper?”
“I...I,” she stammers.
“That answers that question.” I drop my chin to my chest, defeated.
“You can’t just ask me something like that, Reed. Not when I’m being buried under memories of the most traumatic time in my life. Losing you was the hardest thing I ever went through,” she cries.
“Then why are you so willing to do it again?” I demand. “You would rather keep a blind eye to all the underhanded shit Gun’s been doing all these years to keep you close than open your eyes to see it even if it clears the path for us to move forward. Together.”
Her cheeks flush red with anger. “He’s the one I can count on. Not you!” she shouts, startling all of us with her explosive outburst. “All these years I thought you couldn’t remember me, but you could. You just couldn’t stand up to your family long enough to believe it. You talk about fighting for me, and doing whatever it takes to be together, but you don’t really know what that means. It’s not always pretty. Or romantic. And definitely doesn’t sound like it’s plucked from a fucking fairy tale. It’s messy. And sometimes, really, really ugly. But it doesn’t matter, when it’s real, nothing matters except showing up anyway. No matter who tells you not to. Or what the consequences might be, you show up. Without fail. You fucking show up!” She sucks in a gust of air through her teeth, jaws clenched together tightly. “You didn’t come running back to me, Reed. You were just running away from her. You’re lost. And my heart, it breaks for you. But I can’t help you find what you’re looking for. I can’t tell you who to be. That’s something you have to figure out for yourself.”
“So, that’s it?” I can’t believe this is happening. That everything is unraveling so rapidly. This morning we were getting a house, building a life, and now? “You’re just going to walk out of here? With him?”
She wipes her face with both palms, drags her fingers through her hair, pulling it back and tucking strands behind her ears. “I’m walking out of here on my own. Because I’m lost too. And it’s about damn time I find myself.”
She takes a step toward me, bridging the gap just enough to push up on her toes and kiss my cheek. “Goodbye, Reed.” Then she turns and walks out, ignoring Gun completely. But I know the difference now. He’s the one she’s going to see again. I’m not.
The front door closes, leaving just Gun and me behind. I suddenly hate this house. It held every dream I ever had this morning and now it’s the pit of death as far as I’m concerned.
“You knew this would happen,” I say, my voice devoid of all emotions. I’m too numb from the shock of losing her to feel anything yet.
“I knew it could,” he admits grimly, “I knew if you pushed her too hard, she’d push back.”
“Well, you won. You got what you wanted. I’m out of the picture again,” I cross my arms over my chest, straightening up. I’m not going to be a sore loser. “Guess you must be feeling pretty happy right about now.”
Gun stares at me, a blank expression hiding his thoughts completely. Then, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a worn, brown leather wallet. I watch him slide two fingers into the pocket holding his license and return them into view holding a small piece of paper that’s been folded multiple times. Carefully, he undoes the paper and places it down on the kitchen counter beside me.
“You know nothing about me, Reed McAlister.” His brows arch high and his jaw tightens. “Nothing at all.” Then he walks out. No triumphant smugness. No sign of a winner at all.
Curiosity gets the better of me and I reach for the note.
It’s a check.
A cashier’s check.
For a hundred grand.
Which he never cashed.
Cooper
The sound of my own door slamming shut behind me startles me. I’m back at my place. Somehow, even though I don’t remember it, I walked myself back here.
I singlehandedly wrecked my entire life today. And I’m not even sure why I did it. Everything was just crashing down around me all at once and all I could think was I wanted out. Out from the chaos and the rubble. I needed to break free, to breathe. Now that I’m here, alone, air seems a lot less important.
My stomach growls and I feel faint. The idea of food makes me want to start running away again, but frankly, given the total energy drain this day has proven to be, I think I need it if I want to keep from passing out. And, since I’ve done everything in my power to make sure no one will ever find me if I black out, clobber my head on the way down and bleed to death on my living room floor, I should probably take the necessary steps to prevent that from happening.
Listless and with minimal conscious thought involved, I made it to my fridge much like I imagined I got home, on autopilot. There’s a pizza box in there. Pizza seems easy enough.
My mind hazy with images of Reed and Gun overlapping and my vision blurry from the subsequent stream of never-ending tears, I shuffle my feet over the hardwood, making my way to the oven in slow motion. I drop the door and prepare to reach in for the cookie sheet I know Gun keeps in here. I stop. The pizza box slides from my hand, box cracking open, leftover slices sliding out onto the floor. I barely notice. My eyes are glued to the oven, unable to see anything except the stack of pancakes staring back at me.
“I need to get out of here.” And there’s only one place left to go.
***
“Cooper?” Mags draws back in surprise as soon as she sees me. She’s got paint on her pants and her long hair flares red in the sunlight, showing off a dye job she hasn’t kept up on in at least three months. Same old Mags.
“I need...” What do I need? It seemed so obvious when I walked out of the house last night that this was the only place on earth I wanted to be.
“To come home?” she offers, smiling sadly.
Tears push their way to the surface yet again. I fight them back to no avail. They’re coming. They’re rolling. They’re out of control. Just like everything else in my life.
“Yes, please,” I mumble, just as she steps out, wrapping both arms around me in the sort of hug that almost makes you believe all will be well in the end.
“I have cake,” she whispers in my ear and I smile involuntarily. Same old Mags.
“I could eat cake,” I admit, giving in to the grin on my face. “I could
eat a lot of it.”
She pinches my waist, smirking. “Indeed you could. Thank God, I made frosting. Good grief, girl. Haven’t you heard? Curves are in!” She practically pushes me inside her house, guiding me straight to the kitchen. I could have found it on my own. I never lived here, but I have made the occasional visit since she moved.
“I have curves,” I insist.
“Frowns don’t count.” She ushers me straight to the barstool closest to the end and leaves me there to get settled while she busies herself with dessert.
I could continue to argue with her about my weight and whether or not I’m the stick figure she makes me out to be, I’m not. I know I’m not. Well, I’m not completely. I have curves, they’re just not super curvy. Not like I haven’t tried. I’ve had my share of ice cream and cookie dough depressions. All it ever did was make me hyper though. Super pumped while you’re mega mopey is not a pretty combo.
Besides, she’s not really picking on my weight. Just making me think about trivial shit that means nothing to either of us so I’m distracted long enough to stop crying while she piles on the cake for me.
“Try this,” she says, handing me a spoon essentially coated in chocolate.
“OHMAGAWD,” I moan, sucking it clean.
“Right?” She doesn’t bother with a spoon herself, just sticks her finger straight in the bowl. “Chocolate cream cheese ganache. Just made it, that’s why it’s still gooey.”
“Can I have the bowl?” I ask, sort of joking. I’ll totally eat the whole thing though if she takes me seriously.
“You look like you need it.” She sighs dramatically, handing it over. “Now, tell me why you need it.”
“I screwed up,” I say, my mouth all gummy with melted ganache.
“I figured as much.” She pulls a barstool up beside me and climbs into it. “Care to be more specific?”
I hold the spoon in my mouth far longer than necessary. “Nu-uh.”