Bittersweet Symphony (The Damaged Souls series Book 2) (30 page)

Without saying a word, Dr. Nicholas’s voice echoed in my head . . .
and how is that working out for you?

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there’s no special pill or
Harry Potter
style wand to wave about so everything miraculously gets better. It’ll be hard work—truth-revealing work. But I promise you, step-by-step, no matter how small or insignificant you think it is . . . each discovery makes a difference. You'll learn to cope. You'll adjust.”

“And I'll let go?” That seemed to be the mantra of my parents and Caylee. They’d said it so often I felt like I was stuck in some
Frozen
nightmare with that animated snow queen screeching it at me.

“You'll let go of it so it no longer dictates your life and controls your choices. It will happen over time. Sometimes just by taking your next breath and deciding to fight against the thoughts screaming inside your head to return to those memories and wallow. All those moments add up and, before you know it, you feel different. You see the world clearly.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Cooper, it might be the hardest thing you ever do. But deep in your heart . . . that voice you can't silence . . . what does it say?”

Pushing past the mocking thoughts that said this was all a bunch of crap, I found something worth holding on to . . . hope.

“That it will be worth it. That she's worth it.”

Dr. Nicholas coughed and I knew that I hadn't taken the lesson he was trying to help me see far enough.

“That I am worth it.”

His wide smile was instant and he nodded and sat back in his chair. “Congratulations.”

“What for?” I fired back, his praise surprising me.

“You just took another step, an important one. You’re winning your battle, Cooper. Be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

Even after Dr. Nicholas wrapped up the session, I couldn’t stop thinking about his comment.

Maybe I’d been looking at this all wrong.

Maybe I wasn’t the failure I’d claimed myself to be.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Cooper

Nine weeks later . . .

I would be released the next day and, like all the other nights, I found myself sitting in the center pew of the facility’s chapel.

The irony wasn’t lost that, of all places, this was where I gravitated. Most days, it felt as if it somehow helped me feel closer to Caylee—to the man I wanted to be. I wouldn’t say that being there was a religious experience. It didn’t so much improve my relationship with the God I’d spent so much time being angry with, but it had changed something inside me.

For whatever reason, I sat there contemplating my next steps, hoping I had the courage to do what was necessary. Healing wasn’t easy. Dr. Nicholas hadn’t lied about that part. It would be a lifelong journey, a series of victories and stumbles as I continued finding my way. Perfection wasn’t the goal. Mere survival wasn’t, either.

While I didn’t have all the answers, I knew I’d be leaving Fairview with a surer footing and a few extra tools to keep me going. It was a hell of a lot more than I’d arrived with. It was a start.

Owen’s dog tag remained where I’d placed them three months ago—in my overnight bag. One of the first things I planned on doing once I got home was taking my mom into my arms and holding her tight. I’d put her through hell and, sometimes, words weren’t enough to say sorry. They were a start—so was that first hug—but I would prove to her . . . to everyone, that they didn’t need to watch me like a hawk, worried I might fall apart.

A rocky road was a rocky road, but this time, I was determined to step around any future obstacles, and if it got too hard, I would reach out and not do it alone.

No, instead of Owen’s tag, I had a new anchor, a symbol of what I wanted my future to become. It was a photo Rebecca had taken of Caylee and I one night when we’d been acting a little goofy. After a particularly hard session, the doctor had agreed to give me back my phone long enough to retrieve it and print it out.

It wasn’t so much that Caylee was my future—although, heaven knew I hoped she would be part of it. She represented an idea. She’d brought a level of optimism into my life that I hadn’t believed I deserved. While I hadn’t fully embraced everything the treatment had offered, it had helped me start a foundation of success—one I fully intended on building on.

Some bridges remained burned, no matter how much I wished I could take everything back. I’d hurt Caylee a lot. I’d smashed at our relationship like the Hulk in his fury. In my own self-destruction, I’d attacked one of the few saving graces left.

She’d either forgive me or not.

She’d accept my sincerity or choose to protect her heart and keep me at arm’s length.

I wouldn’t blame her. I’d done the one thing I’d desperately tried not to do and been cruel. I was at her mercy—come what may.

But this photo of us . . . it was proof that there was still goodness out there for me to claim. I just hoped I would remain worthy enough to recognize it when it came along.

“Sorry,” I whispered, brushing my thumb tenderly over Caylee’s features, remembering each detail of her face and what it had felt like to be held captive to her loving gaze.

Fuck, I’d screw up. Waves of guilt crashed over me and I struggled to hold them at bay. It wasn’t going to help the situation to get trapped again by those thoughts—no matter how comforting and familiar they were.

I was relearning a whole new way of existing.

Damn, it was hard.

“God?” I tentatively asked, peering cautiously up to the ceiling. “Any last minute words of advice?”

This was our daily routine, me coming in here like a small child and Him listening. At least, I pretended He was. My faith was still shaky, but sincere.

No words echoed in the chapel.

No voice thundered in my mind.

But that was okay. It wasn’t why I’d start this ritual. What followed next was the answer I’d come to crave.

Peace.

A sense of not being so alone.

Those were things I held on tightly to and buried in my heart. They helped replace the fear and anger that had almost consumed me.

“I’m excited to go home, but terrified as well. What if I forget all this and fall back into old habits?”

It had been something the doctor and I had discussed, safeguarding the progress I’d made so far with referrals to a local therapist back in Black Canyon. Even though an appointment was already made, the thought still made my heart race.

I had so much to prove—so much to make up for.

To myself, more than anything else.

Somewhere over the past few months, my motivation had switched to its rightful place. While it was important to make amends for the hurt I’d inflicted on my loved ones, I also needed to keep myself as my first priority.

Love myself first.

Remember I am enough.

Always keep fighting.

Those were the mantras I wrapped around myself like a cloak, protecting myself from the storms of doubt and insecurity. I’d let go of my expectation, that my stay at Fairview was a magical cure and that suddenly I would be free from my demons. They were still there—maybe waiting in the wings for the rest of my life—but that didn’t mean I had to give them free rein in my mind.

If there was the one thing I took with me, it was that I chose . . . I decided what I gave my control to, and right now, I was choosing to make better choices.

“I thought I’d find you here.” The silence broke as Susan quietly entered the small room. “How’s your conversation going?” 

“I figured one last talk with the Big Man Upstairs before I headed home was in order.” I softly chuckled and scooted over to make room for her on the pew. I was going to miss my favorite nurse—for more reasons than simply because she’d been here during treatment. She’d been my connection to the past, a reminder that I’d survived one of the darkest moments in my entire life. By seeing her again, it let me know I could overcome this challenge too.

“You can keep talking with him when you go home as well, you know? It doesn’t have to end here.” A slight breeze danced over my skin as her sitting moved the air. “You call the shots, Cooper. A new beginning.”

“True.” I nodded. “Maybe I could go with Caylee when . . .” I stopped, the rest of my sentence too painful to continue. I hadn’t realized how deeply she’d broken through my defenses until she was gone. I’d found myself constantly bringing her up through treatment, only to remember that she was another relationship I needed to repair.

“Keep going,” Susan encouraged. “It’s okay.”

“She had this tradition where every week she went to the church back home and lit a candle for me and Owen. I guess she probably stopped doing that because  . . . you know.” My voice cracked. It had done that a lot lately. I was getting good at showing emotion other than despondence and bitterness.

“How do you know?” She gestured to the photo in my hand. “Something tells me she’s not the kind to give up so easily. You might be surprised to discover she still holds out hope for you.”

I grunted, not willing to yield to that thought. “I was an asshole, Susan. Trust me. She’s not lighting any more candles on my behalf.”

When she reached over to take the snapshot, I didn’t resist. “Love is a powerful thing. Even when we feel completely undeserving, it’s a part of who we are. True, your relationship may have changed dynamics, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t evolved into something different. You shared that she’s done this consistently for years.”

Nodding, I could feel myself hanging on each word Susan spoke.

“That demonstrates something much deeper than romantic love. It’s not something so easily broken or forgotten. I’m sure you’ve heard this sentiment over and over in here . . . making restitution to those you’ve hurt won’t be easy, but stick to it. If she’s worth fighting for, worth having in your life in any capacity, put in the time and effort. Show the same commitment and dedication. Open yourself to those you care for and let them truly see you—flaws and all.”

“You want to be my next therapist?” I joked, trying to lighten the mood before it suffocated me. Not in a bad way, though. It was overwhelming to finally see things clearly. Humor was just one way it kept me from shrinking back.

“Try not to overthink it, Cooper. You’ve got this. You’re a lot strong than you give yourself credit for.”

Her praise triggered a belief that still nagged at me.

“You saw what it was like, though. You were there. War. Destruction. How do you come back from something like that? I spent so much time convincing myself I was a machine so I could do what was needed . . . I guess I forgot to tell myself it was okay to be human again . . . to be me. I just don’t know where it all fits. Well, at least I didn’t. I’m still not quite sure, but being here has helped. I’m closer to forgiving myself for what happened and that it wasn’t my fault. Saying that out loud doesn’t make me flinch anymore.”

“Then say it again, Cooper, because I didn’t think I’d ever hear you admit it.”

“It wasn’t my fault. Susan. Owen dying . . . me surviving when he didn’t . . . Caylee finding me and us falling in love. Any of it.” My hand trembled causing the photo to shake, but my eyes never left Caylee’s face. “Who knows what the future will bring, but for right now, it’s a hell of a lot brighter than it’s ever been.” A stray tear dropped onto the back of my hand and I laughed. “Damn, I feel like I’ve run a marathon.”

“In a way you have. You’ve come a long way, my friend, and it makes me happy to see you smile again . . . really smile.”

“One that reaches my eyes, huh?” I murmured, remembering how she’d described the first time we’d met.

She’d later confessed she’d worried I wouldn’t make it—not because my wounds would kill me, but because of deeper scars that lurked beneath the surface. Susan had been serving within the military’s hospitals enough to recognize that some needed more than medicine and bandages. War changed people. She’d hoped against hope that I’d find my way back. It felt incredible to finally show her that her prayers hadn’t been in vain.

“God, yes.” She laughed and bumped shoulders with me. “I’ve never forgotten you, Cooper. I’m grateful I was here to witness your return.”

“Are we able to keep in touch?” I asked, knowing there were certain rules when it came to patients and staff. Policies were in place and, while I knew her answer already, I’d be lying if I didn’t wish she were a rule breaker.

She wasn’t. “As much as I’d love to hear how things work out for you with Caylee and the plans you have, we’ll just have to trust that maybe one day our paths will cross again. Life has a funny way of surprising us, you know?”

It was my turn to nod in agreement. “You were my angel then and angel now. You were there when I was all alone and afraid.” I’d never told her that and if this was the last time I would see her, I needed her to know just how much she’d influenced my life. “I don’t think I would’ve made it those first few weeks.”

Her cheeks reddened and she ducked her head, embarrassed. “I didn’t do anything another person wouldn’t have. Who you are and what you’ve been able to do . . . that’s all you, Cooper. I was simply someone who listened, a friend to hold up a light so you could find your way.”

“And you don’t think that made a difference?” I asked, surprised that she couldn’t see how much she mattered. “That light saved me. It was the only thing that kept me from retreating into myself, kept me fighting. Knowing that you’d stop by each day and ask how I was . . . it gave me something to look forward to. Don’t ever doubt it. You were my beacon.” I stared down at Caylee, marveling again over how the camera had captured her beauty perfectly. “She was another light. I became a moth to her flame, unable to resist getting closer, despite my fears of burning her.”

“You weren’t afraid of being burned yourself? Usually, it’s the moth in danger, not the flame.”

“I thought I was. Hell, I saw danger in every shadow, but it wasn’t until coming here that I realized I was never scared of her . . . only of what I would do to her, because all I could see was death and risk. I think I knew she was what I needed the second I caught a glimpse of her. It’s just taken this long to admit it.”

“So what now?” Susan’s short question was so much like Dr. Nicholas’s that I wondered if they all took the same training. What had at first been infuriating—challenging in nature—was now refreshing. It was so basic and without fancy jargon that I enjoyed the chance to answer.

“I have no idea.” I let out a loud breath and dragged my fingers through my hair. It was something I kept asking myself over and over again. The response remained elusive. That was until this very second. Sitting beside a cherished friend, in the treatment center’s chapel, it hit me. “Actually, I think I do.”

“You ready for it?” Again, another gentle prod. Damn, she was good.

I groaned. “No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Patting my knee, Susan slowly stood and straightened her shirt. “Let me leave you with something that’s helped me. I’ve shared it with others and I have a feeling it’ll do the same for you. The longer you're away from the light, the easier it is to believe the only thing that exists is the dark. So go be with your light—whoever or whatever that is. The time for hiding in the dark is over.” She blinked back tears. “It’s been a pleasure being part of your journey, Cooper.”