When I turned around, Cooper was standing close, his thumbs hooked in his jean pockets and his green eyes filled with turmoil.
“Don’t walk out,” he growled.
“Huh?”
“I know you’re pissed at me. You have every right to be. I was going to leave. I kept shit from you last night while I let you tell me all about your secrets. I never told you anything about Tony, the guy who helped make your life hard. The list of my fuckups is endless, but I want you to stay. Yell. Scream. I deserve it. I just don’t want you to walk away—at least not until you’ve said your piece.”
I took a hard look at Cooper’s expression. Behind his beard, his tattoos, and the leather, I saw the scars.
The fact that he was standing before me like a dog ready to be whipped broke my heart. Beaten down by everything and everyone, he was just expecting more of the same. Someone who wouldn’t understand him and the reasons that motivated him. Another person who thought he was an evil guy and was ready to hurt him.
The tears wanted to break free but I held them back.
“I’m not leaving,” I said bluntly. “I’m going to get my cell phone out of my car, and then I plan on sticking around to help everyone put Mr. Waters back in his place. You’re right that I hate that guy, and I’ll do everything in my power to help shut his antics down. I also wasn’t lying about being able to choreograph a kickass fight scene and break down in front of the cameras. But if you want to know my feelings about all the secrets you’ve kept and how that affects us, then here is it. I’m not angry. I’m sad.”
When his eyes filled with disbelief, I continued with a deep breath. “Don’t get me wrong. For a moment in there, I was furious. When I thought you had told them about Poison, I was ready to stomp on your largest toe with my sharpest stiletto. After D gave me the breakdown, I wanted to pull every hair from your beard as I replayed all of our conversations in my head. Conversations that never included your cellmate or your plans for revenge. We both shared some of our demons, but not once did you tell me that our lives intersected in more than just a cafe. Thinking about you sharing a cell with the man who basically murdered my child’s father makes me sick to my stomach. But that’s not why you’re here. You’re not here as his minion. As everyone got to talking, I realized that you’re here to fix a stupid decision you made when you were locked away from your family. You’ve also told me about your parents. Your brother. The state you were in behind those bars. It doesn’t take a genius to work out how you could believe the shit Mr. Waters was preaching.” I tried to lock down my emotions, but felt my efforts fail as a single tear spilled onto my cheek. “I also know that you wanting to help someone you think has been victimized, even if it involves doing something stupid, is just who you are.”
When he just continued to stare at me, I kept going with a shaky voice. “So I’m not angry. I don’t need to yell at you. But the fact that you came here, that you didn’t tell me to come with you, makes me sad. Because it means that I screwed up. Again. I confused our relationship with something it wasn’t. I forgot that it was casual. A means to an end. We have sex in public places and after sad emotional events, for Christ’s sake. We’re lonely and emotional—we’re trying to forget.” I felt more tears begin to fall. “If what was going on between us was something more, you would’ve shared all about Tony with me last night. You would’ve known I could handle it. It’s really not your fault. I’m fucked up. I’ve been daydreaming and having nightmares about a dead man for the past two years. Since the moment I met you, I stopped dreaming about Nate and started dreaming about you. As much as I’ve tried denying and ignoring it, my feelings for you have slowly taken root inside of me and have grown into something I never even wanted. I was meant to distract myself from my pain, and instead I’ve opened myself up to more. Hell, since the night we made love in the park and followed that by spending the day together, I’ve been drifting to sleep with this stupid picture in my head. My hair is up in curls, a stunning white strapless dress hangs from my body, and I walk toward you in that damn park you told me you took Jake to. I’ve pictured this perfect life, built from the chaos we both had to endure.” I felt the tears cascading down my face, hitting my shoulder and seeping into my clothes. Disappearing like my misguided dreams.
I finally told him softly, “I know it’s crazy. And stupid. What can I say? I’m more dramatic and hopeless than I pretend to be. I’m just so sorry that I made you feel like you needed to be punished for not telling me. I’m aware that until a week ago I’ve tried to reject, ignore, and insult you. I should’ve realized my feelings were one-sided—”
“Don’t. We’re not just casual sex. You’re not crazy. Or if you are, then so am I. Because I dreamed about us too. I dreamed about walking into that damn café with Jake, except it’s this year and when we see you, we both walk straight over and start talking. I wrap my arm around your shoulder and Jake bugs Parker about his latest assignment. Because you and I are together, none of the events of that day have touched us, and we found a way to be happy with everyone in our lives.”
“In your dream, the only way we can be together is if we live in a perfect world?”
“Babe, any situation where I get to wake up and wrap my arms around you after the shit I grew up with is a damn perfect world. But it’s not as simple as wrapping my arms around you and living happily ever after—which is why I couldn't ask you to be a part of this last night or this morning. Asking you to stay with me is like asking you to get in the car with a drunk driver, I wouldn’t be inviting you to ride off into the sunset, I'd be inviting you to your death. I’m going to crash us straight into a ravine—”
“Then let’s crash. Together. Stop trying to protect every damn thing in your life. That’s what’s going to kill you. Fuck, you’re nineteen years old. And goddamn it, I'm older than you. If I'm not crazy, if this is more, I should get a choice. I can’t give you any proof, but I’m pretty sure I have the skill and know-how to jump from a careening car if necessary. But just so you know, if I lock myself in, then you aren’t inviting me anywhere. I'm attaching myself to you. And it’s not your fault.”
“Even if I was the idiot to believe in a con man?”
“Yeah well, we’ve all done stupid things before. Like forgetting my cell phone in the car.”
He smiled at my attempt to lighten our mood, but then his face went somber again, “Look, before you get your phone and we join the others, I truly want you to know that I didn't want to leave. It was eating at me this morning not saying anything. Last night, all that we shared . . . I just couldn't work out how to keep you safe and let you stay with me.”
“What do you want me to say, Cooper? That I forgive you? That you were bad for making a shit choice? I don’t want to punish you or cause you more pain. Anything outside that, tell me and I’ll do it. I’m yours,” I told him, my voice cracking. “I gave you me the moment I gave you my name, so please tell me what it is you want me to do or say.”
“I need you to promise me that you’ll get through this shit and live.” His voice broke on the last word. “That you won’t risk you or your girl. I can’t lose anyone else I love. You might be ready to sign up for a car accident, and you might not break, but I will. If my prison connections hurt Jessie—” He takes a deep breath. “I need to hear you tell me that if I’m about to crash, you’ll jump. If not for you, then for me. For Jessie.”
My breath caught as I heard each of his words. I took a step forward, wrapped my fingers around his neck, and brought him in for a soft kiss. When we broke apart for air, I whispered, “Okay. I promise if things are about to get too dangerous, I’ll jump. For you and Jessie.”
Staring into one another’s eyes, my heart raced. I wished for just a moment that we could leave together and start comforting each other alone. Instead, I kissed him softly again with the intention of letting go. However, the moment our lips touched, I felt the heat that always built between us when we touched ignite, and our kisses became rough
er—only to be quickly extinguished when the sound of exuberant clapping broke the silence.
We turned our heads and noticed that everyone in the kitchen was watching us, not even attempting to disguise the fact that they’d heard our entire exchange. Parker was wiping away tears. Gray was looking at the floor. Marissa winked at me. And D continued to clap.
When he finally stopped, he turned to Marissa. “You know, for the first time, you were right, Rissie. Daniels here definitely needed a tour of this place. He might’ve realized anything he said in that damn hallway can be heard around the whole apartment. I really wish I had popcorn instead of a sandwich during that exchange.”
“If you’ve finished your sandwich, that means you’re ready to get your groove on, right?” I asked D, not letting him continue teasing about our conversation. I knew we were both too raw, too exposed to have someone even joke about the things we’d just discussed.
“I’m all yours, dancing queen.”
“Then let’s get to it.”
Two hours later, I was in the lounge room instructing D and Gray to move furniture to make a mock dance studio. I was planning simple twists and turns in my head, hand movements that looked dangerous but were easily orchestrated. I researched poses on my phone that suggested pent-up frustration as Parker and Marissa removed all the breakables from the room.
I knew the authenticity of the fight would need to be sold by every football player’s body and the way they interacted before anyone noticed their faces. Therefore, I had worked out a way for every action to be plotted and meticulously thought out.
With D beside me, letting me know who had to be kept out of it, I decided to assign each player to a group as they walked into the house. Those who would be involved in the fight, those who would look like they wanted to get involved, the ones who would hold back the wannabe fighters, and the guys who needed to get in the faces of the coaches.
Trick was the only one who complained about his allocation. “I want in on the action.”
“We need you to win the game once we leave,” Gray informed him.
“Been waiting to show everyone what I was made of all season, but now I don’t want to,” he whined. “I want to help Coop.”
“Ah, cheer up, buttercup. You’re going to have a front row seat to the show. Plus, maybe when you’re captain, you’ll get to stage your own fake fight with Cooper right beside you every year,” D laughed.
“You think?”
“The team you’ll become with Cooper next year, you’re going to end up with jealous oppositions taking real swings at you,” Gray told him.
With the vision of a real fight in his mind, Trick happily faded into the background and helped motivate the other players, appointing himself as the fight’s mascot.
Unfortunately, I already knew building to the big fight moment wouldn’t be the problem. The Heron football players found pushing each other around second nature. When Gray gave them a talk about why we were there and what we needed them to do, half of them were shoving each other and telling each other to shut the fuck up and listen. Asking them to hit one another? No problem. Asking them to not actually hit each other, To follow steps and control their punches, would be the hard part.
Working out how to make it only as big as we needed for Marissa’s and the media photos, but have it die a natural death and get under control so fast that no one got benched or punished by the NCAA, was going to be close to impossible.
Each player watched with a little awe as I put on a demonstration. I threw Gray’s high school helmet to the floor, started muttering obscenities, moved my body toward Parker, and with as much dramatics as I could without losing believability, took a right cross to her face. When Parker threw her head backward, I saw Gray and every football player in the room flinch.
Thankfully when Parker spun around and smiled at the group, everyone wanting to retaliate relaxed. If I wasn’t so focused on the production quality of all of this, I would’ve thought it was sort of sweet that even the pretense of hitting the starting quarterback’s girlfriend had everyone on the team queasy. Parker blushed and started moving backward, never one for the spotlight. However, if she thought she was fading in the background today, I was about to correct her. There was no way I would be able to manage this massive group of guys by myself if we were going to have everyone ready to perform during the game that day. Forcing Parker to practice my angst-filled high school conceptual dance routines in her bedroom years before wouldn’t just inspire this whole activity—it would be the reason it might just work.
Before I sent them off in their groups to practice their individual roles, I reminded them of how serious they needed to take this rehearsal in my best teacher voice. “If you’re going to be pretending to get hit, you need to stretch. Your neck, your shoulder, or whatever body part you think you’ll be throwing around all day practicing. We don't want anyone here getting whiplash or not being able to go onto the field at any point. If you’re the one throwing the hits and you aren’t careful, you lose count, someone will get hurt. We’re all going to make this look as real as possible for the reporters, but someone moves too quickly, turns too slowly, these hits will land. We need the least amount of air between punches and people’s faces for things to look real. And with the amount of energy you’ll have to use to make it look even slightly believable, things can get out of control. I repeat, you lose count, it won’t be pretend anymore and the asshole that is Mr. Waters wins.” While everyone looked ready, angry, and about to take all of this super serious, I let them know, “Also, before anyone goes out to the yard to practice fake hits, we need everyone to take off jewelry so no one clips each other.”
I tried not to smile when this big group of guys started moaning and grumbling about taking their chains and championship rings off. When I felt heat at my back, I turned to find Gray anxiously staring at the door.
The moment we finished talking earlier, Cooper had snuck out the door to call Lizzie and visit his brother. “Do you know when he’s getting back so I can walk through your routine?” I asked Gray.
“No clue. I figured it might be a couple of hours.”
“Hours?”
“I’m hoping it’s sooner, but I have no clue how long it’ll take Cooper to convince his brother to do us a favor. Nate and I were pissed at each other for years. Just before the end, we’d made up. Parker was a big reason for that. But fuck, if Nate turned up at my house asking me for a favor like Cooper is trying to do, I’m not sure I would’ve listened. It might’ve taken me a while.”
“Do you want to have a backup plan?”
“Can I hit myself and it look like a punishment? Have my dad get off our backs?”
“Not really. I mean, we could try and make you look like the victim of a stray hit. Though I don’t know why Mr. Waters would stop bothering Cooper’s friends if he wasn’t the one—”
“If it’s not going to solve all our problems, then we wait.”
“Gray, Cooper hasn’t told me everything, but I have a good idea about who his brother is to him. From his stories about protecting the other kids in the house and some actions that his brother put into motion, I know he isn’t anything like you. You might’ve said no to Nate if he came asking for a favor, but that’s because you base your decisions off loyalty, integrity, and foolish pride. What you would never do is sell your decision to the highest bidder without regard to the consequences. I get the feeling that in the family Cooper comes from, the highest bidder is all that matters.”
COOPER
“THIS MEANS WE’VE GOT A deal,” I repeated back to Eli.
The same six words I’d been restating every five seconds for the past ten minutes with uncertainty dripping heavily from every word.
My head was aching, while the suspicion in my eyes and body language grew when he rolls his eyes.
His unfazed actions were freaking me way the fuck out.
“Little bro, I have this covered. You signed the piece of paper I brought w
ith me, the one the reporters told me I'll need. Now I visit your cellmate. You play a dramatic football game. In a few years, we’re both rich motherfuckers.”
“The paper will be worth nothing if the douche I shared a cell with doesn’t believe you. If I don’t play another game because I’m too busy dealing with the destruction of Millie’s, Lizzie’s, and Beth’s lives. We need you to tell him that Gray was seriously injured and pressed—”
“Bro, I heard you the first time. No point going through the whole story again. Fuck, dude, I did have to pass exams to join the police force. I’m not a complete idiot. I can remember a few fucking instructions.”
I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. “You screw this up, you know Lizzie will feel this,” I reminded him. “This isn’t me begging you not to tell the Walters to send Jake back to the fucking group home. This isn’t some hypothetical bad-case-scenario bullshit. He sent me photos, Eli. If I don't do something, they will get hurt. It’s black and fucking white.”
“You know I've done a lot of things that have led you to not trust me, little brother. I’ll own that. But I never surprise you. I’ve been what I am for years. You knew I was going to call the Walters even if you didn’t want to admit it to yourself. Get more kids in the home. That was always my instruction, and you knew it. I’m a guy who looks out for number one and works for a price. I’m a survivor. This arrangement isn’t a favor you’re asking me to do for you without compensation. It’s something we both need to survive a little longer, and so I’ll make it happen. You can stop carrying on and crying like a little bitch.”
Flash (Penmore #2) Page 21