The Takedown (The Hookup Book 2)

by J. S. Cooper

  “I’m afraid I can’t see you rolling your eyes. It’s too dark,” Heathcliff mutters, almost sadly and we both burst into laughter. A year ago, I never would have imagined that such a joke would have me gasping for air as chuckles rippled through my body. A year ago, I’d thought my life was over.

  ***

  The first day of class. I’m angry as I’m escorted to my seat, fumbling along, hearing the silence of a packed room, and smelling the raw instinct of helpful canines, quiet and patient and watchful. We stop and I sit, hesitant, unsure, uncaring. I don’t want to be here.

  “Hello, I’m Heathcliff.” There’s a man next to me. His voice is husky, deep, friendly. It’s coming from my right and I want to turn and look at him, but I can’t. There’s no point. I don’t answer. The seat beneath me is hard and cold. I can feel the metal pressing against my bare skin uncomfortably. They could have gotten more comfortable chairs. They should have gotten leather or velvet chaises, luxurious to the touch, delicate against the skin. Not these cheap metal things. Or I could have worn jeans and not shorts, but that would have meant finding the jeans. Too much effort. My blood boiled at the thought.

  “What’s your name, then?” He continues as if we’re already friends and he’s being patient with me. As if I’m in some sort of funk. As if I’m a moody petulant kid that he’s humoring. As if he knows.

  “Does it matter?” I snap, not recognizing myself as I hear my voice, the melodic dulcet tone of days gone by, having disappeared in the accident.

  “I would think so,” he says with a chuckle and I wonder why he’s so happy and content. “Otherwise how would you know when someone was talking to you and you specifically?”

  “Maybe I don’t want someone to talk to me.”

  “Are you saying you don’t want me to talk to you?” Again the humor is in his voice as if he doesn’t care or realize that I’m deliberately trying to get him to stop with his persistent bothering of me. “You’re new right?” He continues and I wonder how he knows.

  “Yes. This is my first class,” I say quietly, loneliness and loss overwhelming me, taking away some of the fear of the unknown. Not that they are any better.

  “You’re angry. I understand that. I was angry too.” I feel his hand lightly touch my arm and surprisingly I don’t jump. His fingers feel warm against my skin and I wonder if he’s handsome. Wonder if he’s the sort of guy that would have made my heart skip a beat back in the day when my heart could skip a beat and my stomach would jump when I saw a particularly gorgeous man. I want to shake myself for my thoughts. What did I care if he were handsome? It made no difference to me now. Life as I knew it before was done.

  “I’m not angry,” I said, bitterness dripping from my voice, my tone immediately making me feel ashamed of myself. He was being so nice, so kind, yet, I couldn’t return the favor. Didn’t want to return the favor.

  “You can be angry. It’s okay. But, just remember, it’s not the end of the world,” he said. “You’re still alive.”

  “It feels like the end of the world,” I said wanting to scream at him. Wanting someone to understand that it was the end of the world. That nothing else mattered. That I didn’t want to live in a constant state of black. Dull, oppressive, static monotone black. My whole life was now meaningless.

  “I know it does,” he said. “When I lost my sight I thought, well actually I prayed, that life would just stop too.”

  “I guess that’s another prayer that never came to fruition.” I cracked a joke and surprised myself, wishing I could see if he was smiling, if he’d found me funny. Reminding myself that I would never see again. Reminding myself that now I was nothing.

  “I’m glad it didn’t because then I wouldn’t be here, sitting with you. Trying to make you smile. Trying to stop you from rolling your eyes at my corniness.”

  “How did you know I was rolling my eyes?” I laughed then, unable to stop myself, wondering if he was flirting with me.

  “I knew because I have magical powers.” He laughed. “And my magical powers are telling me now that I think we’ll be friends.” He sounded confident and I found my head turning toward him, even though I had no idea exactly where he was.

  “Perhaps. Maybe …” My voice trailed off as I spoke into the emptiness. What use did I have for friends now?

  “You’ll see. One day, you’ll be glad we’re friends.” He paused and then I heard a scuffle as if his chair were moving. “And one day, you’ll be able to see,” he said, his voice closer to my ear, warm and gentle, comforting to the sound. “One day,” he continued, “one day, you’ll be able to see in the darkness.”

  The tears rolled out of my eyes as I finished reading the short story. Knowing it was about two people he’d actually known and been friends with made the story even sadder for me. Especially since I knew that they were now both dead. “Oh, Nate. This was beautiful and so sad.” I wiped the tears from my eyes and stared at him. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” He wiped the tears on my cheek away gently with the tips of his fingers. “It’s in the past. Life happens.”

  “What was the secret though? The twist? I’m not sure I got it.”

  “The book was written from the end to the beginning,” he said with a smile. “If you go back and start with the last section and go up, you’ll see that it’s in chronological order from the bottom up. So the first paragraphs are actually the last in their story.”

  “Oh wow,” I said in awe. “Let me look back at the piece and reread it. That’s amazing.” I reread the piece from the end this time and I just stared at him for a few seconds. “You’re brilliant,” I said as I kissed him. “I love you.” I couldn’t stop the words from spilling out of my mouth.

  “What?” He looked at me with a shocked expression on his face.

  “I said I love you, Nate. I love you for everything that you are. I love you as more than a friend.” I almost whispered the words that couldn’t wait to escape from my mouth. “You are a wonderful, generous human being. A talented writer, a kind soul, a great best friend, and I love you.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Janie.” He looked like a deer in headlights. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You could say that you love me too.” I sat there looking at him, my heart racing. Tears wouldn’t fall from my eyes, even though I wanted to cry. I couldn’t believe his response. How could he not know what to say? After everything.

  “I need to think.” He grabbed my hands. “I’m sorry. I just, I just don’t know what say.”

  “It’s fine.” I jumped up out of the bed and grabbed my clothes and pulled them on quickly.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I need to sleep in my own room. I’m sorry.”

  “Janie.” He sat up in the bed. “Please stay.”

  “I can’t.” I shook my head. “Sorry, I just can’t.”

  “Janie.” He jumped up and headed toward me.

  “No, stop,” I shouted at him. “Just let me be, Nate. I need my space now. Okay. You can do your thinking without me.”

  “I’m sorry, Janie.”

  “Stop saying that,” I said and then turned around and headed back to the other bedroom. Anabel was sitting on the bed staring up at the ceiling as I walked in. Her eyes were red.

  “Are you okay?” I asked her as she looked at me. She nodded softly.

  “You?”

  “No.” I shook my head and collapsed on the bed next to her. “But I don’t want to talk about it.” The tears started flowing then and I wiped my eyes furiously. “What happened with you and Dylan?” I asked her softly.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she responded as she stroked my back. “I knew both of these guys sucked.”

  “I know,” I whispered as I closed my eyes. “You were right,” I said and curled my legs up to my chest. “You were so right.”

  ***

  The night passed slowing and upon waking I don’t know where I am. I can hear Anabel sno
ring next to me and I smile to myself for a few seconds. She never believed that she snored. My eyes opened then and as I remembered everything that had happened the night before, I start to wish I could just fall asleep again. The disappointment of awaking fills me, though I don’t know what I can do about it. He’s in my mind, but it’s not him. Not really. He’s my Nate, but he’s not really. He’s not mine and I don’t really know him. Maybe I never really did. He fills my heart. He’s all I want, but underneath it all, it’s not him. It can’t be him. I can’t love someone that could treat me that way. I can’t love someone that would talk to me that way. I close my eyes and think about just being with him. The way he always reached out for me, touched my cheek, my hair, held my hand. All those things deceived me into believing he really cared. That maybe he was just scared to acknowledge it. I wanted him so badly. I pushed him and I left. I was tired, angry and hurt. Yet, I can’t pull away. In my mind he still exists. He is still my everything. My everything for life. I love him so much. I want to scream. Jump up. Punch the wall. I closed my eyes again. I need to try and forget him and move on. I need to think about something else. Unfortunately, everything and anything always comes back to him. I can’t breathe. I want to run. I want to pretend that I’m not every and any woman to him. I want to be me. I want to be special. I want him to open his eyes. I want him to look into mine and realize I’m the one. Love flows through me as I think about all of the stories he has shared with me. I hadn’t realized how broken he was inside. It hurts like a needle pricking into my veins. I shivered then. I closed my eyes again. I need to pull away from him. Distance myself from his body. I don’t want to be here anymore. I can feel the tears in my eyes. They make me feel weak. He makes me feel empty. In the moments that I don’t feel full. In the moments that I don’t wonder how I’ve lived my life without him. In the moments I didn’t wonder why he doesn’t love me. In the moments that I wonder why he won’t touch me out of more than desire. Why he hates it when I bring up emotions. Why he can’t tell me he loves me. Why he can’t ask me to be his one and only. I sighed as I finally got up. I had to get over this. It was done. Over. I knew I had to move on now. I’d known for a long time. Though sometimes I forget. Sometimes I don’t even know what I’m doing. Sometimes it doesn’t even matter. As long as I’m with him, I didn’t care. And sometimes that is enough. Sometimes I dream in vivid color and other nights are in the starkest of black and white. Last night everything just went black.

  “Do you want to leave today?” Anabel whispered next to me. She was awake as well.

  “Yes,” I said, without hesitating. “I want to leave now.” And we both climbed out of bed and started packing, even though the sky was still dark outside. We didn’t speak as we packed and when we were done we grabbed our bags and walked out of the bedroom. Neither one of us needed to tell the other that we weren’t going to tell the guys that we were leaving.

  Chapter Ten

  A Week After The Trip

  Janie

  I can’t go a moment without thinking about him. The blueness of his eyes haunts me. The sadness reflected in his gaze every time he stared at me always made my heart stop. There’s something about witnessing unadulterated pain. There’s something heartbreaking about being let into someone’s haunted secret world knowing you can’t do anything to help them escape. When I close my eyes, I can still smell him. His deep scent, musky with a scent of salt, like the ocean. His hair, dark, wild, silky smooth, just like him. His name, always on the tip of my tongue. Always wanting to be said by my lips. To anyone that would listen. To anyone that doesn’t know our story. His touch, oh, how I think about his touch. So gentle, so rough, so teasing, so absolutely perfect. The way his fingers would smooth my hair, would gently rub my cheek, would rest upon my stomach in sleep as he pulled me to him, unknowing, but needing. I loved him with everything that I was. Held onto him tight. I held onto him until my fingers could no longer grip him. I held even as he pulled away. I held even as he turned his back on me. I held even as my whispers fainted into the night. I held even as he walked away. I held on, waiting, waiting, waiting. I held on, even as I fell, and went crashing into the treacherous rocks. I held on, even as my wings failed me. They all told me he was no good. They told me to move on. But I’d promised. I’d promised and he’d promised. We promised to never let go. But I should have known. I should have known that a hookup could never lead to happily ever after—could it? I wanted so badly to call Nate. I wanted so badly for everything to go back to how it’d been a few months ago, but I knew I was lying to myself. I could never move on with my life as long as he was in it. I could never be fulfilled and happy. I’d always long for him. I’d always love him. I had to learn to live without him.

  Nate

  Every single step that I take feels like it’s the wrong one. If I think something is up, it’s down. If I think something is black, it’s white. A part of me doesn’t know what thoughts in my brain I can trust. I never thought that men and women could be friends. Not really. Women are too emotional, too much work, too needy and just way too much drama. Though I suppose I was being unfair. Men were just as much work as women. I think there’s just something inherent in humankind that means that certain people are full of drama and I seem to attract them all. That’s why I don’t have time for romance. Friendships alone take it out of me. Though recently I’ve been thinking that it’s about time for me to find a mate. It just seems like it’s time. I’m not sure what sort of woman I want though. Half of them seem crazy and if they aren’t crazy yet, they’re halfway there. I wish I could just meet one sane woman. Just one. Is that too much to ask for? I refuse to think about the possibility that I have already met her. I refuse to believe that I’d had her and lost her. I couldn’t believe that Janie had just left Belize and not told me. I couldn’t believe she’d told me she loved me and I had just said nothing. What sort of person was I?

  Dylan

  “Oh my God, that guy is so hot.” I could hear the whispers in the corner of the bar. I looked over to see the two women giggling and staring at me. One of them was a bit bolder than the other and her eyes immediately locked with mine. She was pretty. Had a good body. Was the sort of girl that I would have taken to bed quite easily in the past, but right now I wasn’t interested. I turned away from the women and smirked as I heard one of them saying, “I wish he would take his shirt off.” I looked at my reflection in the mirror as I walked toward the counter to order myself a shot of whiskey. Dark blond hair, light sky-blue eyes, light stubble from not shaving this morning, the dimple in my cheek, a muscular six foot two body. The same package I was accustomed to. I knew that I was considered to be a catch. Handsome and rich. It was what all the women wanted. It allowed me to get pretty much every woman I’d ever gone for. And that had been great. Up until now. Up until I’d screwed everything up. I felt a tightness in my throat that I’d never felt before. I’d never felt this way before and I wanted to bang my fist down on the bar. I wanted to break things. I wanted to hurt someone. Something. Or maybe I should just get laid. I looked back toward the corner of the bar. The girls were still standing there, staring, wanting me to make a move. Wanting me to take them home for the night. Wanting me to do things to them that would make them scream and squeal. My phone beeped then and my heart stopped as I saw her name pop up on the screen. She’d responded, finally. Delete my number. Never text me again. I’m done. My stomach churned at her message. She wasn’t going to forgive me. Ever. I knew it in my bones. I’d messed up one too many times. I’d lost the love of my life. It was over. As I stood there, I felt a tear falling from my eyes. My heart stopped in that moment. The world stood still and all I could think was this was it. This was it. There was no coming back from this. And with that realization, my head fell down to the counter and the tears poured. I didn’t care who saw or what they thought. There was only one person I wanted in that moment. And I’d lost her. Anabel was special. I knew it deep inside. And I barely even knew her. How had this happ
ened to me?

  Chapter Eleven

  Janie

  “I think we should go,” Anabel said as we sat on the couch in my living room and watched TV.

  “You do?” I looked at her in surprise. “Really?”

  “Yeah.” She nodded and she sighed. “Trust me I don’t want to see Dylan or Nate, but I think we need closure.”

  “We got closure when we left,” I said though I knew that wasn’t true. “You still haven’t told me what happened with Dylan.” I looked at her, feeling slightly hurt. “Why won’t you tell me?”

  “I’m not ready.” She sighed and looked down at her lap. “I don’t fully understand it.”

  “He’s still texting you all of the time?”

  “Yeah. I finally responded and told him to stop. I don’t know what his problem is.”

  “I guess he really liked you.”

  “He doesn’t even know me.”

  “You don’t know him either and yet you still like him,” I said softly.

  “I don’t.” She shook her head vehemently and then sighed. “Oh, who am I kidding? I don’t want to like him.”

  “I don’t want to see Nate. It will hurt too much.” I made a face. “I told him I loved him and he told me he didn’t know what to say.”

  “He’s an idiot.” Anabel looked at me with a sad face. “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “I know. I just couldn’t believe it. I thought he was finally ready. I really thought that he felt the same way about me. I really thought that he wanted to be with me. He made love to me so sweetly. He kissed me like he loved me. He shared things with me. We were in a different place. I just don’t get it.”