Cooper (The Family Simon Book 6) (18 page)

A
pril gave way to May
, and Cooper was still in Fisherman’s Landing.

He’d finished his book, had a few months off until edits, and normally would have been long gone. In the past, he would have flown to Vegas or Miami and spent a few weeks drinking, partying, and having sex with the most inappropriate women he could find.

That was his MO. Work and then leave. Find a distraction to make him forget the pathetic life he led. But then, he’d never had a reason to stay. And even though it surprised the hell out of him, Morgan Campbell was his reason, and he was totally fine with that. She spent her nights with him, making love and making him laugh (the girl had a serious sense of humor), and her weekends camped out at his place, either in bed or nestled against his chest while they watched a movie or read a book.

It was a simple existence—at least for the moment. There’d been a flutter of pictures in the tabloids after the Bruins game, and he’d been unable to convince her to go to any of the others in the series. He got it. The tabloids probed and prodded, always on a quest to uncover something juicy. The fact that no one had been able to nail down this “mystery woman” fueled the fire even more.

His gut told him the honeymoon was nearly over. He just didn’t know how much time he had. In this day and age, it was a damn miracle no one had tracked him down to Fisherman’s Landing. It was a testament to the tight-knit community and their need to protect their own. It was also one of the reasons that made it harder for him to leave. Out here on the coast of Maine, he went about his business with a freedom he didn’t experience anywhere else.

It was liberating.

His cell phone pinged—again—and he scooped it out of his pocket. It was his agent, Seth. There were also several missed calls from his brother, one from his cousin Jack, and another from his cousin Beau. He frowned, his hand scrolling over two from an unknown number.

Something was up.

His agent was on him to fly to Europe and attend the world premiere of
Soft Hands
, the latest film adaptation of one of his books. Seth was like a broken record when it came to this—he did it for every single premiere. He didn’t understand why Cooper wanted to keep Lee Holloway a secret, and it was a conversation Cooper had never wanted to have with him, because there were a lot of demons he still needed to face.

Restless, he slid his cell into his pocket and glanced at the clock. It was only two thirty in the afternoon, and Morgan never showed up until around five o’clock.

He thought about Europe in May with Morgan by his side. The premiere was coming up, and not for the first time since Seth had begun pestering him did he think that maybe it was time to “come out,” so to speak.

But would Morgan go with him? Hell, he hadn’t even told her about the Holloway thing. Just the other night, they’d watched one of his movies. He’d had the chance to say something then, but it had slipped by. What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he just tell her?

But he knew why. Telling her about Holloway would lead to other things. To a past he’d been trying so damn hard to forget.

“Shit,” he muttered.

It was an ironic fact that this particular movie not only starred his cousin Beau, but Beau had directed it. And from what Cooper had been told, he’d done an amazing job with the material. Maverick had scored the film, and his entire family would be there for the premiere. None, save for his brother, his cousin Jack, and now his mother, knew he was Holloway.

There is someone else.
He pushed the thought aside as quickly as it had come.

So what the hell was he going to do?

His phone rang, startling him, and he scooped it out of his pocket, the action without thought because he was too damn preoccupied.

“Cooper?”

He stilled as the blood that ran through his veins went ice-cold. The voice was still the same. It was raspy and whiskey soaked, the kind that sounded like a pack-a-day habit.

“Don’t hang up.” The words came slowly.

Cooper walked onto his front porch and gazed across the green grass and the riot of wildflowers that had popped up in the adjacent field. His Godzilla weather vane twirled in the late afternoon breeze, and the scent of rain was in the air.

This was his sanctuary. And she’d just invaded it.

“How’d you get this number?” He bit out the words, turning in a full circle as a wave of rain hit him in the face.

“Maverick. But don’t blame him, I didn’t really give him a choice.”

Son of a bitch. As soon as he got off the phone he was going to hop in the truck, drive to town, and kick his brother’s ass all over the goddamn state.

“What do you want?” A muscle worked its way along his jaw, and he followed the trajectory of a robin as it skimmed the edge of the tree line before bolting up over the house.

“We need to talk.”

“Never going to happen.”

There was a pause. “I’m not leaving until we do.”

“That’s your call.”

Another pause. “I’m not leaving Fisherman’s Landing until we do.”

Cooper stopped pacing and swore. He said every foul-mouthed cuss word he could think of, and none of them made his anger go away.

He eyed his truck and felt for his keys.

“Where you at?”

“This little diner—”

He was already moving toward his truck. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

He was there in fifteen. Cooper strode into A Charmed Life and came to a halt as he scoped out the place. A young mother and her son sat at the counter, the little boy digging into a bowl of vanilla ice cream while his mother toyed with her phone and stole an occasional scoop. The two front booths were taken—one by four young girls who saw Cooper and immediately began whispering. The other by a teenage couple who held hands as desperately as the looks they tossed at each other over the menus.

Near the back, four older guys occupied a table, and not too far away in the last booth, he saw an elegant foot bob along to a mystery beat. He started forward. The black boot was expensive, probably Louis Vuitton, if her tastes were still the same. As he came abreast of the table, the elegant boot gave way to dark denim jeans and a green wool jacket. Long blonde hair tumbled down a narrow back, though she gazed down at the table where her hands were crossed.

She was still, and Cooper paused, scowling at the taste of bitterness in his mouth. She glanced up suddenly, and Cooper would have liked to say he was prepared for her, but he wasn’t. He was also struck by a few things. Her complexion was sallow and tired, and her makeup couldn’t hide the circles under her eyes. Her hair wasn’t as lustrous as it had once been, and she was thinner than he’d ever seen her.

Holly Adams was still a beauty, but she looked fragile as hell. She stared up at him. Licked her lips nervously and waited.

Cooper didn’t make her wait long. He slid into the booth across from her and set his phone and keys on the table. Her hands were still clasped, but when she undid them, he noticed a tan line on her ring finger. A ring finger missing the proverbial ring.

He raised his eyes and met her gaze, not liking what he saw there. Not liking the stab of fear that punched him in the gut. Suddenly filled with the urge to get this over with and leave, he decided to cut to the chase.

“Why are you here?”

She blinked slowly, as if coming awake from a long sleep, and he wondered briefly if she was medicated. She glanced away, and then she moved her full coffee cup to the side.

“You look good, Cooper. You look happy.”

“Pretty sure right now I look pissed-the-hell-off.”

A small, wistful smile touched her lips. “Is this how it’s going to be?”

“Yeah.” It was all he had, and he glared at her, angry that she was here. “Why the phone calls? The need to see me?”

She moistened her lips, and he noticed a tremble there. That earlier punch to the gut returned, and he clenched his mouth tightly, waiting for her response. Dreading it, even, but wanting this over.

“They know.” Her eyes watered, and she exhaled shakily, glancing around as if afraid someone was listening in on their conversation.

“What the hell are you getting at?” He leaned back, as if space would make a difference. But he knew what she was going to say before she said it, and as her lips moved and the words came tumbling out, he kept shaking his head, hoping it was a lie. A misunderstanding. Yet the misery reflected on her face told him otherwise, and for the first time since he’d laid eyes on her, he felt something other than anger.

He felt pity.

“After I was released from Still Waters, I decided to stay in Switzerland. I had no desire to come back here to a career that was over, a life that was in chaos, and to a man who hated me. The stories had died down. All the lies my publicist had thrown out there had been dissected and picked apart, but because I was gone, they eventually went away.”

She kept her gaze glued to her hands, her fingers worrying the edge of a napkin as she continued. “I met someone.” Her voice broke. “A lovely, simple man who…” She smiled suddenly, but it was small and sad, and Cooper moved restlessly in his chair.

“He was a farmer, if you can believe it. I was staying in a B and B, enjoying the anonymity, and suddenly, he was in my life and he had no idea who I was. He asked me to marry him six months ago.”

Her head jerked up, and the weirdest thing occurred to Cooper. He didn’t care. Not one damn bit.

“I would have happily lived my life with Nolan. On a farm. In the low country.”

“So what happened?” She winced at his tone, but Cooper wasn’t quite there yet. Forgiveness was still way the hell off his radar.

“A few weeks ago, my apartment was vandalized. Things were stolen.” She held his gaze, and for the life of him, Cooper couldn’t look away. “Personal things. Private things.” She shuddered. “Things about you and me.”

He sat up, ramrod straight. “What are you saying?”

“They know, Cooper. About us. They know about the baby and what I did.” Her eyes welled, and she shook her head, unable to speak. She gained her composure and plunged forward. All the while, she watched him, beseeching him, begging him for something.

“They don’t care that I was sick. All they care about are the crazy things I’ve done. The drugs, the promiscuity. They don’t care that mental illness factored into every aspect of my life.”

He didn’t know what to say. Hell, even if he did, he wasn’t so sure he’d be able to get it out. Throat tight, he stared across the table at a woman, who, years ago, had meant the world to him. Until that night when it had all gone to shit. Until that night when she’d broken his heart into a million pieces. Shattered it so badly, he thought it would never be whole again.

But it was whole. It was strong and happy, and he had Morgan and…

Cooper sank back into his seat. Holy hell. He loved her.

“They’re running a story.”

Distracted he looked up. “What was that?”

“A tell-all.” A single tear slipped down her cheek. “I had to tell Nolan everything.” She laughed, an awful sound that, in spite of himself, tugged at a sliver of compassion. “He had no idea Holly Cronkwright was really Holly Adams, former ‘it’ girl on the Hollywood scene. Former junkie with a nose for disaster. Had no idea of my past, the crazy shit I did when I was off my meds. He had no idea about you.”

She paused and a sob escaped. “I’m so sorry, Cooper. About everything. But if it’s any consolation, when he found out he broke up with me. He pretty much said the same thing you did the next day when you came to see me in the hospital. Do you remember what that was?”

He did. As if it were yesterday. He’d walked into her room, saw her parents huddled by the bed—her wrists shackled because they were afraid she’d hurt herself—and all he could think about was…

You’re not human. I don’t want to ever see you again. We’re done.

Her howls of pain as he’d left her there were howls he heard every night for years. She’d tried to kill herself but had only managed to kill their unborn child. A child he hadn’t wanted. A child he’d accused her of manipulating him with. A child whose early end was an end he blamed himself for.

He saw the hurt on her face. The pain that still lived there.

“I don’t blame Nolan. I guess I am a monster and now the whole world will know.”

Cooper didn’t know what to say. His thoughts were jumbled. Scattered. He’d been angry for so long, he didn’t know how to feel anything else. He’d met Holly when he was traveling in St. Petersburg. They’d fallen into a passionate, volatile relationship that slowly deteriorated along with her mental health. The fact they’d stayed in Europe for the duration of their time together was the only reason they’d been able to keep things on the down low.

“But that’s not all. Alice, remember her?”

Alice? He had no clue who she was. He shook his head slowly, dread making him anxious as hell.

“She was my publicist back when I had a career and needed one. She called me two days ago because she was getting phone calls, media outlets looking for a comment on rumors circulating.”

“A comment about what?” he asked harshly.

“Cooper, the things that were stolen from my apartment were journals, and in them, I talked a lot about us. About you. They know you’re Lee Holloway. They know your first book was based on what happened between us and…” Her face crumpled.

“And?” He slid from the booth and was on his feet, pushing back even as he waited for her answer.

“They wanted to know if your next book would be about your new girlfriend.”

Face grim, Cooper waited for the hammer to fall, and for what it was worth, Holly looked truly upset.

“Apparently, her life has Lee Holloway written all over it.”

“How much time do I have?” he asked harshly, feeling that cold dread work its way into his gut until he felt sick.

She slowly shook her head. “Not much.”

M
organ knew
that life could turn on a dime and alter your course so far left, it would take years to find your way back. It could cripple and maim and destroy.
She knew this.
It was the main reason she’d pulled back, content to watch things from the shadows. Safe in the protection the dark, silent corners afforded. If you didn’t let yourself care or love, then the probability of getting hurt was pretty much zero.

She’d lived by that code ever since the accident. But somehow, Cooper Simon had managed to smash down those walls, and now she was out in the open, her face turned to the sun, her heart exposed and vulnerable. She’d realized it days earlier and had managed to convince herself that maybe this time, things would be different. Maybe this time, she wouldn’t get hurt.

But that’s the thing about life. Its unpredictability is the one thing that makes it so damn predictable.

It was late afternoon when the doorbell rang. Morgan had spent most of the day in her father’s office. Along with his general lack of enthusiasm for most things over the past six years, his records were in shambles. She couldn’t spend every waking minute out at the McLaren place, and with her head in the clouds, she needed a distraction.

Once she’d exited the bookkeeping program, Morgan glanced at her watch and headed for the door. It was almost four, and anticipation tingled along her spine. Within the hour, she’d be at Cooper’s. She smiled at the thought.

Not bothering to glance through the side window, she opened the door expecting, well, she didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it sure as hell wasn’t a flash going off, along with a stranger standing on the porch, holding what looked to be a video camera and a microphone.

Confused for a moment, it took a bit for her brain to catch up and comprehend what exactly was going on.

“Miss Campbell, any comment for us on your relationship with Cooper Simon?”

Ice rushed through her, and she froze. “I… Who are you?”

Dressed in jeans and red-and-blue-plaid flannel, the stranger was on the tall side. He wasn’t as young as he’d first appeared, and his dark, curly hair was peppered with gray. It stuck out from beneath a faded ball cap. Overly large framed glasses magnified shrewd blue eyes, and she shuddered as they did a slow perusal of her body. The fact that they lingered along her right side, there where her collared shirt and hair hid her scars, had alarm bells ringing almost immediately.

“You’ve heard of
Hollywood Tattler
?”

“I…” She had. Of course she had. Everyone in America had.

Those damn alarm bells intensified, and she took a step back, hands clawing at the edge of the door as panic rolled through her, accompanied by a healthy dose of fear.

The man took a step forward, his large foot shooting out and effectively stopping the door from slamming shut.

“Can you give me a comment on Lee Holloway being the pseudonym for Cooper Simon? Can you tell me when you found out? How you found out? Did you know about Holly Adams? About their baby and the attempted suicide?”

Shock held Morgan still. Cooper was Lee Holloway? Who was Holly Adams? Why did the name sound so familiar? And…baby? Cooper had a baby?

“Morgan?” Cold and calculating, the man stared back at her through the five-inch opening his foot had created. But his face began to shimmer and blur.

“Please go away,” she whispered.

“Give me a comment, and I will.”

She swayed a little and closed her eyes, but it was no use because the reporter’s voice was right inside her head.

“Lee Holloway has a history of writing about things that supposedly impacted his real life. In retrospect, his first book is somewhat autobiographical in nature, considering the subject matter.”

Dazedly, Morgan’s eyelids fluttered open. Her throat was dry, and she croaked, “Subject matter?” She couldn’t think. Couldn’t process.

“Yes.
Long Time Gone
seems to be about his rocky relationship with Holly Adams. Do you think your story will make it to print? The accident that claimed your mother’s life and ruined your track career? Sounds like a juicy movie to me.”

Morgan’s stomach tumbled all the way to her knees, and she clung to the door, because if she didn’t, she would have collapsed.

“Go away.” It started as a whisper but ended on a wail. “Go away!”

“You heard the lady. Get the hell off this property, or I’ll toss your skinny ass myself.” The threat was real, and as Hank jumped onto the porch, quickly followed by Sara, the reporter realized he’d overstayed his welcome. Clutching his equipment against his chest, he slid past Hank and jogged to the van parked at the edge of the driveway.

“Morgan.” Sara’s voice was soft, and all it took was one look. One look and she fell into her sister’s arms.

How long they stood in the doorway, Sara’s arms around Morgan, was unclear. But after a while, the room came into focus, and, like an old friend returning, the mask she’d put away weeks ago came back. It slipped over her. In her. There were no thoughts in her head. No questions. No possible answers to questions. There was nothing.

It was strange but familiar.

She extricated herself from her sister’s grasp, and Hank and Sara followed her all the way to the kitchen. No one said a thing, and for nearly five minutes, Morgan stared out the window into the backyard. She noticed the lilacs in the corner near the shed were blooming. The grass needed cutting. The garden should be tilled.

Eventually, she became aware of a few things. One, she’d dug her nails into her palms so hard, they’d drawn blood. And two, her sister stood beside her and was speaking.

“What was that?” she asked Sara, voice calm as she reached for the tap to run her hands under the water. She stayed focused, scrubbing methodically until the blood was gone.

“Are you okay?”

Morgan didn’t ponder the question. Didn’t bother to answer it. Instead, she turned around and smoothed her hands over her thighs. Damp marks trailed across the worn denim, and she rubbed at them, glancing up at her sister.

“How did you know?”

Sara looked at Hank, and the big man shrugged.

“I was over at Hank’s place, and we were, ah, just talking, and I wanted to know what the weather was going to be on the weekend because we were thinking of going to Boston.” Sara waited a few beats as if expecting some sort of reaction, but Morgan stared at her blankly, waiting for her to finish.

“I put on the TV and was channel-surfing for the weather network and I…well, we saw the story on some stupid tabloid show.”

Morgan pushed away from the kitchen sink and headed back to the front room. Sara and Hank followed quietly, and no one said a word as Morgan scooped up the remote and turned on the television.

She didn’t have to look long. Not only were the trashy tabloid sites carrying the story, but other, more traditional outlets were as well. She leaned against the chair and, suddenly cold, wrapped her arms around herself. A young blonde reporter read from her teleprompter as the screen behind her lit up with pictures of a young Cooper Simon and an ingénue, a young starlet named Holly Adams.

A loud knock at the door sounded, but Morgan didn’t bother to look up as it opened. She couldn’t even if she wanted to. She heard voices, Hank, Sara, and…

With a deep exhale, she glanced over to the entryway. Hank stood with legs spread and arms folded, the large body all but blocking Cooper’s way into the front room. She couldn’t look into his eyes, not yet.

“Let him in.” She spoke quietly, and at first no one heard her. She repeated herself once more, this time much louder, and when the voices stopped, she turned her attention back to the television. She knew Cooper was in the room. She felt his gaze on her. And she knew when he turned away, lured by his past and the truths he’d kept to himself.

The reporter’s Boston accent was muted, and the soft cadence of her voice filled Morgan’s head.

“Miss Adams has been living in Switzerland since her parents whisked her out of the country and committed her to a treatment facility that specializes in addiction and mental illness. No word on whether she’s been in touch with her former lover, Cooper Simon, and so far no comment on the sordid details of their split.

As for Mr. Simon, the news that he’s in actuality the elusive Lee Holloway, whose best-selling books have been made into movies, is a surprise. Long heralded as the playboy of the Simon family, he’s been linked to several socialites, actresses, and a model or two. Some of whom were otherwise married. With this new insight into this fascinating member of the Simons, one has to wonder if his new relationship was born out of love or is it just research?”

A picture flashed across the screen, taken the night Morgan and Cooper had attended the hockey game in Boston. The caption below it:
Cooper Simon’s New Mystery Lady Revealed.
Another photo came up and stole Morgan’s breath.

It was a picture of Morgan after she’d run an Olympic qualifier. She stood there, a huge smile pasted on her face, her lithe body shiny from sweat as she accepted her award. She was young, vibrant, and beautiful. In that moment, she was whole. Undamaged.

“Cooper’s mystery woman is no longer a mystery. Her name is Morgan Campbell. At one time, she was touted as the next big thing in the sprinting world. Sadly, her career came to an end when a car she was driving hit a transport truck, killing her mother and horribly maiming the young woman. She spent several months in the hospital recovering from major burns sustained in the fire and, according to a source, was left horribly scarred.”

The reporter paused as a video rolled, showing the last ten seconds of the last race Morgan had ever run. It segued into video footage of the crash site. A close-up of the mangled car and the blackened road, burned from the fire. Along the side of the road, a body was covered. A body? It was her mother.

Throat tight, she felt her mask slipping. She’d never seen these. Not once.

She stared carefully at the image, aware that Sara was crying and in Hank’s arms. Aware that Cooper stood inches to her left.

The bright orange beanie she’d worn that night lay on the ground, inches from where her mother lay. Odd, but Morgan wondered whatever happened to that beanie. Did she still have it? Would she have kept it?

The reporter launched into more details, but Morgan didn’t want to see anymore. She clicked off the television, and then there was silence. She tossed the remote onto her father’s worn La-Z-Boy and slowly turned to face Cooper. It took a bit for her to manage to get some words out. When she finally did, she was grateful she sounded calm and composed.

“Is all this true?”

Grimly, he nodded.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

Again, he nodded. “Yeah. I was.”

Already cars were pulling up outside, and there was a gathering of people at the curb. All of them from out of town. All of them with Morgan Campbell in their sights. It scared the crap out of her.

She was afraid her mask would slip again and took an extra heartbeat to get her shit together. She couldn’t do this. Didn’t want to do this. But it was the only way she knew she’d survive.

Retreat.
The word screamed inside her head.

She moved past him, sidestepped when he would have grabbed her arm, and headed for the stairs. She heard Cooper swear, and Hank stepped up, blocking him from following Morgan.

She took the first step but paused before fleeing to the sanctuary of her room, searching for the right words to convey what was inside her. He’d lied to her from the beginning. About everything. And now her past, her pain, and her guilt, was there for everyone to see.

“Morgan, let me explain.” Cooper took another step toward her.

“Was I just a muse to you? Inspiration for that book you’ve been working on? Did you use my pain for your art? Is that all I was?”

“No.” The word tore out of him. She almost believed him.

“How can I believe that? You’ve shared nothing with me, and yet you know everything about my life.” She laughed bitterly. “And now the whole world knows. They know about us, my mother. My scars. I tried to hide for so long.” Anger washed over her, pressing hard. So hard she could barely get the words out. “You pulled me out into the open. You made me want to live again and be normal, and, God, you made me feel beautiful again.”

She would not cry. Not in front of him.

“Morgan, please let me explain. I
need
to explain.”

“I’m sure you do.” She looked back one last time. “But you waited too long.”

He took a step forward, but Hank moved, his large frame blocking the way. “I think you should go.”

Morgan grabbed the railing and, with every ounce of strength she had left, took the stairs in a methodical, controlled manner. She reached her bedroom and closed the door. Drew the blinds. Tried like hell to un-see the images from the report. To un-feel the overwhelming emotions inside her. But the images were there. Burned into her mind so deeply, it left her numb. The pain in her chest cut deep, and with a gasp, Morgan fell onto her bed.

She grabbed her pillow and stared at the wall until hours later she fell into an exhausted sleep. And all the while, a storm gathered out front.