Bittersweet Symphony (The Damaged Souls series Book 2) (10 page)

When Cooper didn’t move, still silently scrutinizing me, I decided to do the same. Childish or not, he needed to make that first move. He’d wanted to talk . . . he’d even come over. If all he was going to do was stare, then tit-for-tat.

I finally caved. “You’re making me nervous, Cooper. Can you please come sit down? We need to talk.” And with baited breath, I watched as he took that first step forward.

If he sat in the chair across from me, it was yet more proof he was trying to place distance between us and all my assumptions had been spot on. I’d had enough therapy sessions back home to know the signs and understand reality.

If he sat beside me, close enough to touch; it would give me hope enough that we’d get through this. It might be somewhat messy, but we’d make it.

Please, Cooper
, I begged inwardly, closing my eyes at the last moment in a desperate attempt to hide from a possible truth. It wasn’t cowardly when you were trying to protect your heart from shattering.

When the cushion beside me dipped under his weight, I almost lost it again—this time in blessed relief.

Slowly opening my eyes, I found him looking at me with unbridled concern—much like the expression Rebecca had worn earlier, making me want to excuse myself and go look in the mirror.

“You’ve got me worried,” was all he said. Cooper glanced down at my hand. He appeared hesitant as if he wanted to reach out and touch me, but wasn’t sure. It was a complete switch from last night when there were moments I hadn’t known where he ended and I began.

“Me?” I exclaimed, not even bothering to hide my disbelief. I was not the flight risk between the two of us.

“Of course. I call and text with no response and then when I show up, no one answers the door, even though your car’s outside.”

And just like that, I felt like an idiot. All this time I’d agonized over things, without realizing how it might look entirely different to him. I’d given into my own anxieties.

“I come inside, thinking you’re busy or got your headphones in so you couldn’t hear and I find you and Rebecca deep in a conversation that’s obviously upset you.” He finally leaned in and lovingly traced this finger over my cheek. “If your puffy eyes weren’t a dead give away, sweetheart, the tear streaks are.”

My mouth formed an
O
. It was the best I could do, as I peered at him in a new light. I’d gotten it so wrong. Sure, we hadn’t even begun to really talk yet, but if this was any indication . . . yeah, I’d missed the mark horribly.

It renewed my faith, encouragement enough to lower my defenses.

“Caylee?” The sound of my name brought my attention back to his lips before my gaze rose higher to his eyes. There was nothing scary there—no dismissal or regret. “I was halfway home this morning when it hit me like a ton of bricks. I’m sorry I didn’t come straight back. I should’ve.”

My bottom lip trembled as I bit at the inside. “I should’ve called.”

“We could sit here and play the
should
game or we can accept that we needed some time to figure it out ourselves before we talked together.”

My heart thudded, the sickening sensation returning to my stomach. There it was—the opening to the inevitable
things are moving to fast. Maybe we should slow things down . . . keep things casual
speech I’d been mentally preparing for.

Here was the other
shoe dropping
moment I’d been anticipating. There must be some kind of messed up law that stated whenever things became too amazing, life would then throw a curve ball that threatened to destroy all that person’s happiness—stripping all the goodness away in one cruel blow.

“Whoa, what did you just think?” Again, his question ripped me from being stuck inside my own head. “Whatever it was, tell me, because I don’t like the way it made you look.”

Part of me didn’t know if I was brave enough to say it out loud. “We forgot to use condoms last night.”

I had no idea how he heard my muffled, barely-whispered response, but he did. “And?” He held my gaze boldly and refused to let me break contact. When I tried, he simply placed his finger under my chin until it returned.

“And, here’s your chance to leave.” There was no chance of disguising the anguish in my voice or the startled flinch from Cooper. In fact, he looked speechless, baffled that that’s where I’d taken the discussion. “Face it, Cooper. You didn’t even want to be friends in the beginning. I understand if this is too much.”

My reasoning had been solid when I spoke it to Rebecca.

Now it sounded weak—hollow and less like truth and more like my own insecurity.

The muscles along the bottom of his face tightened. I could see the hurt that flashed in his eyes and the way he kept blinking as though he couldn’t quite comprehend what had just happened.

Closing my eyes, realization dawned on me.

He wasn’t going to leave. He’d come over to talk it through, but because I’d allowed my own fears to take over, I’d revealed my own doubts in us.

In him.

There were only a few situations where I’d wished with every fiber of my being that I could take back something careless I’d said without thinking.

This was now added to that list.

His response could’ve knocked me over with a feather. “Honestly? I was an asshole then. You should’ve gotten up and run to your car, grateful that you dodged a bullet.” We both winced at his last choice of words but it didn’t prevent him from continuing. “I know I’m not an easy person to be with, but Caylee, I thought you knew how crazy I am about you. How incredibly happy I’ve been since we’ve been together.”

Movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention. It was Rebecca creeping past the living room entrance, on her way out. She paused long enough to mime,
I told you so
, her mouth forming each word in an exaggerated fashion.

Sooner or later, we’d need to get a sign to flash at each other whenever this happened in the future.

New tears fell.

“I feel so foolish,” I admitted.

“Why? I know who and how I am, sweetheart. I’m not easy. Another time, you’d have been spot on with how you thought I’d react. Hell, I’ve walked away from relationships for less. But hear me, now, Caylee Sawyer. I am yours. Yes, I spook, but I’m also learning. Some things are worth fighting for. So, while I can’t promise to always act like a mature adult and you might have to beat me over the head until I start seeing sense, I’m not ready to say goodbye to you.” He pressed his lips against mine in the sweetest kiss we’d ever shared. It was oh-so light, but it held the promise he’d spoken.

It was one that whispered peace to my heart.

It was one that washed away the worry that had churned furiously inside me as if it had never been there.

“Caylee?” Cooper murmured over my mouth, reluctant to move away.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t ever want to say goodbye to you.” It was the most honest thing he’d ever said—definitely the most vulnerable. “I love you.”

Three words that every girl longed to hear and while it made my insides melt, it wasn’t the phrase that I held on tightly to—memorizing it so I remembered it for the rest of my life.

I don’t ever want to say goodbye to you.

We were beyond okay.

Scared or not, this actually made us stronger.

Throwing my arms around his neck, I climbed into his lap, craving the closeness. “I love you, too, Cooper. So much.”

He softly stroked my hair before lowering his hand to the small of my back. “And should we discover there’s a baby in a month, we’ll take it from there . . . together. Don’t you worry about me, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

A sob escaped, muffled against his chest. “I was so worried.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, I’ve been driving Bryce crazy all morning. I dropped a load of bricks earlier, busting a bunch. Then I added the wrong ingredient to the cement I was mixing, rendering it basically useless. In the end, he ordered me to get the hell away before I bankrupted him with my incompetence.”

“He did?” The warmth from his body felt comforting.

Cooper chuckled. “Yeah, he also told me to get my head out of my ass and to not come back to work until I made things right with you.”

“You told him?” I asked, playing with one of the buttons with my fingers.

“No, but he noticed that I got progressively worse each time I picked up my phone. He put two and two together.” It was Cooper’s turn to let out a weary sigh. “And just so you know, I’m clean. Last night was the first time I’ve ever messed up like that and it killed me that I’d been so irresponsible with you. I’ve made it a point to always use a condom because I didn’t want any surprises or added complications to my life.”

I stiffened in his arms without thinking. “I don’t want to be a complication.”

For some reason he found my comment funny. “You, sweet, beautiful woman, will never be that. Do you hear me? In fact, it’s because of you I’ve started acquiring the taste for surprises.”

I inhaled sharply, sitting up straighter so I could see his face. “Cooper Hensley, you say the sweetest things. You should write songs!” I teased.

“Maybe I will,” he fired back, throwing in a flirtatious wink with it. “In fact, I’ve got the rest of the afternoon off . . . I have no problem showing you how much I’ve fallen for you.” His finger twirled a loose strand of my hair, tugging on it before he dropped it in favor of drawing a soft line down the side of my neck and collarbone.

I slapped his arm playfully. “Isn’t that how we ended up in this predicament?” Damn, it felt good to be laughing again.

“True,” he admitted, not even trying to apologize for where his thoughts had naturally led. I wouldn’t have either. Mine were there as well. “How about . . . I make you something to eat?”

My stomach rumbled—making any response I planned pointless.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Cooper carefully stood, holding onto me before letting me slide slowly down his body until I was on my own two feet.

“Yes.” I nodded, keeping a tight grip on his hand as he started pulling me toward the kitchen. “I’m famished.”

Later on, when I lay in bed thinking over the day, one thing stood out above everything else—about how quickly life could change in the blink of an eye. I’d woken up deliriously happy only to have that contentment dashed upon the rocks of fear. I’d allowed those thoughts power and they’d marched destructively over my heart until all I could feel was a sense of hopelessness.

I’d thought things were over and then . . . blink. Cooper had come and things stopped being so topsy-turvy.

Not every situation ended in heartache.

Not every situation meant certain death, just because I’d once blinked and Owen had died.

Maybe Cooper wasn’t the only one who feared letting go of his demons. Maybe he wasn’t the only one still healing.

Chapter Eleven

Cooper

Someone needed to rename this damn country the place of infernal heat. Once again, the sun was beating down on everything it touched without mercy.

Growing up, I lived for days like this because it meant fun with my friends, especially in the summer when the pool was opened. Countless hours were spent splashing, diving, and bombing each other. Then there were the daily trips to the corner store for an icy, or something else to slake my thirst, before rushing out again—riding the neighborhood streets on my bike.

Times were simpler back then.

There’d be no hollering out, “Catch-me-if-you-can” to my best buddies. Well, that was a lie—it was just drastically different.

Hide-and-seek was still the game.

We played it with our enemies now.

“Here we go, Coop. You know they’re going to ask.” That voice sounded familiar—painfully so. Glancing up, my breath caught in the back of my throat.

I was dreaming.

This wasn’t real, even though my racing heart contradicted that belief. I was back in Afghanistan, weapon slung over my shoulder, combat boots stirring up the dust from the ground.

All around me, people milled about their day, used to seeing Marines patrolling—seeing us guard the peace and following orders.

And that voice—the one that haunted me in my dreams and often while I was awake—that voice . . .

Owen.

I answered without thinking—the memory constantly fresh in my consciousness—frequently repeating while I slept. It was one of the more better, easier, things to be reminded of because on this particular day . . . no one died.

“Sometimes I think we’re doing more good handing these candy bars out than anything else we’ve done, Sawyer.” I slipped my pack to the side as I carefully searched for the treats I’d purchased earlier. Others had a hard time understanding why Sawyer and I
wasted
our limited allotment on the native children—arguing that it didn’t make a lick of difference.

I begged to differ. Good will was good will.

Besides, in my eyes, the children were yet another casualty in a war they’d never agreed to be a part of. They couldn’t control what happened around them or the choice their parents and leaders made.

What I also didn’t add, whenever I was asked, was I also had a selfish motive. For each smile received, each blissful cry of enjoyment I heard from those taking that first bite of American candy, it made the screams and the scenes of devastation grow dimmer. My hope was, given time, I’d stop imagining the aftermaths of bombs denoting—of children caught in the crossfire—their bodies strewn across the wreckage because they’d been deemed . . . dispensable.

We all had a role to play.

We all had our orders.

But that didn’t mean the consequences weren’t brutal. At the end of the day, we each had to find something to cling to—to believe in—to focus on because the alternative was unacceptable. I refused to become so conditioned and dead inside that the slaughter of innocent people—regardless of which side of the battle they were on—turned me into a monster.

Owen had felt the same. Now it was a thing we did—something we continued doing until . . . we couldn’t.

Even now it surprised me how much I missed those moments of simplicity while the world raged all around us. Who would’ve thought I’d find a semblance of human kindness and peace in the midst of war.

Deep down, though, I knew I was fooling myself. As the village’s children saw us, their little legs racing toward us, it was hard not to imagine some of the scenes I’d witnessed—the realization that even children could be forced or raised to further a political agenda.

Anyone could be a suicide bomber.

Anyone could be a target.

It was the kind of thing that tormented a person—that pervaded even the strongest of resolves to banish the horror to the deepest, darkest recesses inside.

It stripped away innocence, making even the most vigilant doubt themselves. As eager hands clapped, excited for candy, a nagging voice whispered: only trusting what your eyes could see was dangerous.

Serving as a Marine had added countless lessons to my education. Never in my wildest dreams did I believe it would involve skepticism of young children. Walking onto that first scene and being struck by the onslaught, the utter contempt and disregard for life had forever corrected that oversight.

And yet, here Sawyer and I both were—the Willy Wonkas of our unit.

There was a tugging at my sleeve—a little girl maybe five-six years old—her small face smudged with dirt and sweat from playing outside in the heat. Her eyes were bright and curious . . . it was faces like this that made it hard to remember the possibility that one day she could walk into a crowd with a bomb strapped to her body—willing to sacrifice her life in the name of her God.

No amount of candy or chocolate would change that.

I recognized this memory—grateful that it was one of the more pleasant that I held onto. There were only so many nightmares I could stomach . . . so many demons I could fight.

“Hey, sweetheart.” I smiled, pulling out a treat. A quick glance at Sawyer showed he had his own excited kid begging for something sugary. A group was starting to gather—something we’d been told to try and avoid. We couldn’t remain cognizant of our surroundings if our entire focus was on the little people currently vying for our attention.

Remember protocol.

The mission came first.

Don’t become predictable.

Never forget that looks could be deceiving.

“Make sure you share with your brother,” I counseled, pointing to the timid toddler peering from his hiding place, his gaze never leaving who I guessed was his sister. I’d seen them running around together the last time we’d passed through their town on patrol. There was a protective element to the way she placed herself in front of him.

She’d deemed us safe—just not safe enough to risk her younger sibling.

It reminded me of Bryce. For the hundredth time today, my heart ached for my own family. It wouldn’t be much longer before we were reunited. A few more months and then I’d be home.

“You finished?” Sawyer asked, staring at me questioningly. Sure enough, he’d already handed out his, shifting the focus onto me.

Knowing we’d lingered long enough, I finished giving out the three or four bars I had left before holding my hands up. “All gone.” My declaration was answered with a chorus of disappointed cries, words spoken in the local dialect. I’d picked up enough to recognize their queries for more.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed the small girl retreat into the dusty background, her steady footsteps making a path to where her brother still hid, sheltered from prying eyes.

Judging by the state and shabbiness of his clothing, I wondered whether these two were in fact orphans—left to the care of the village. Where were their parents . . . their family? Were they dead or had they answered the call of local insurgents—determined to sacrifice everything in order to win?

“Daddy?”

The crystal clear voice, totally void of accent, drew my gaze away from the street urchins to the small figure at my feet. Blinking rapidly, I wasn’t hallucinating, even though this dream, or whatever it was, had changed.

There was never a young girl in a frilly yellow dress the color of sunflowers and sunshine. With delicate brown curls that framed her freckled face, there wasn’t a blemish that marked her skin—her clothes clean and freshly laundered.

She resembled the children who used to gather Easter Sunday on the local church’s lawn to hunt for Easter eggs.

“Daddy? What about me? Do you have something yummy for your baby girl?” Her impish eyes twinkled with happiness, completely foreign to everything else surrounding us.

Suddenly, an overwhelming need to gather her in my arms and run as fast as I could beat down on me. She was mine—mine and Caylee’s. I knew that as strongly as I knew my own name. With Owen standing next to me, watching the interaction with curiosity, I wanted to scream . . . to apologize.

Caylee wasn’t mine then . . . now . . . whenever this dream was.

But there was no denying this little girl was ours because she had her mother’s beauty and my smile. My heart ached each time her lips curled—the resemblance all too familiar.

She was the perfect blend of us.

She was what we could have in the future . . . that is if I ever woke and didn’t screw things up. That last part was still somewhat iffy just because of who I was.

I had a long history of fucking up.

Sometimes, I felt it was inevitable.

“Who’s this, Coop?” Owen asked, his brow crinkled as he studied us both. Fuck, I wonder if he could see it too?

“Yes, Daddy, tell him who I am!” The innocent way she peered up at me with complete trust was like a bittersweet knife plunged in my heart. If left alone, there would be a good chance I’d survive. Twist it and it would shred everything it touched—leaving me to bleed out and eventually die.

Wetting my lips, and praying for a miracle, I cleared my throat. No words came.

“Is this your daughter?” Owen pushed, ignoring the now growing crowd who’d stopped to watch us, the slight breeze carrying their hushed conversations. “Cooper?”

Shaking my head, desperate to know what to say, I scrambled to think of anything. “Owen . . . I—”

Say it, you coward. Tell him how you will later betray him, that after failing to protect him from the future ambush, you went home and would eventually fuck his wife.

The crassness of that last thought made me shudder. But truth was truth, even when it wasn’t wrapped neatly with a frilly bow and glitter.

Would I ever not feel guilty for being in love with Caylee?

Would there ever come a time where that buried piece of myself didn’t flinch whenever I remembered I wasn’t her first love? That I was responsible for her grief?

Even in my dreams I was a nut job.

A small hand slipped into mine, squeezing it in support. “Come play with me, Daddy.”

Wait . . . what? That voice. How the hell was this even freaking possible?

“Play with me!” Gone was the syrupy sweetness. Gone was the freckled face of youth. Gone was my daughter.

Marty. She’d morphed into my best friend and band mate—the scowl and unshaven stubble unmistakable.

“What the . . .?” I stammered, stepping back as I dropped her . . . his hand. In slow motion, the body grew, all while still wearing the yellow dress. If I weren’t completely stunned and weirded out, I would’ve laughed my ass off at the sight of a grown man with hairy legs standing in the middle of the street wearing a summer dress.

“Look what I can do, Daddy!” And in a nightmarish turn of events, Marty revealed the ignition device in his hand, his thumb pressing on the switch as he rambled on about how he was given a special job that would make me proud.

“Cooper!” Sawyer yelled, swinging his gun around and pointing it at Marty’s head. Marty didn’t even notice, however, his focus was squarely on me and my reaction to his surprise.

“Wait!” I replied, flinging my hand out to keep Owen from firing his weapon. There was no way this was truly Marty or my future anything. This was an illusion—my mind playing tricks while I slept, but fuck, did it feel real.

My head said to walk away or better yet, wake up.

My heart said something different, though. It said protect at any cost.

Sawyer’s finger rested on the trigger, steady.

Marty’s thumb didn’t move either.

“Wake up, Cooper,” I cursed beneath my breath. Everything around us had stilled—all eyes watching the stand off currently happening. Reaching for my mike to call for assistance, I found nothing. Reaching for my own weapon, it too was mysteriously gone.

“It’s time, Daddy.” Marty giggled, scrunching his nose in excitement.

“Stand down,” Owen ordered, releasing the safety.

“I love you,” Marty whispered, and like a dramatic scene in a movie—the ones where everything drastically slowed down, dragging out the anticipation and suspense—he released the trigger, the air igniting instantly.

As the explosion blasted me off my feet, the only thing left to do was scream and scream and scream . . .