“Cooper?” Fuck.
Story’s eyes leave mine and narrow on the owner of that voice—Camille. When I turn around, Camille has almost reached us. It’s not her presence that has me tucking Story out from the line of fire. It’s the folder she’s tapping in her hands.
Fuck my life. And the next after this, for that matter.
I turn back to Story, knowing I have no time left to prepare her for the onslaught of what’s about to happen. Grabbing her arms, I lean down and look into her eyes. “You have to listen to me. Whatever they say, you can’t believe it, okay?”
“What? Why?”
“Please, just trust me. Trust. Me. Story. Only me.” I hand her the claim check to my car. “Go home, and I’ll be there later to explain.”
“What’s happening?” she asks, panic already set into her eyes.
“Go, babe. It’s okay. I promise you. It will all work out how it’s supposed to.” I don’t know why I say that other than I can feel the walls closing in and the cage ready to fall over my head.
Her gaze darts from Camille to me. “Cooper?”
“Go. It’s okay. I’ll be there later.” I kiss her quickly.
She starts walking away, slowly at first, and then she says, “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Camille comes closer, and asks, “What are you doing, silly goose?” She watches Story rush across the lawn to the valet stand and then turns back to me with a fake smile on her face. “Aw, poor thing. Did you guys have a fight?” She touches my brow to brush my hair aside, but I duck away.
It was always best when I ignored her and removed myself from the situation, but I have a feeling that won’t work this time. I start for the house anyway.
Camille says, “Your dad wanted me to give this to you. I think it’s something about her mom?” The doe-eyed innocence she’s aiming for is lost on me. I see her for who she is. I always did.
She starts rambling like this is just another day in paradise. When I reach the house again, I turn back to see Story driving away. Not sure if she can see me in her rearview mirror, but I wave just in case she can.
Camille reaches the bottom step, and asks, “When are you going to stop fighting against a system that’s rigged in your favor?”
“I love her, but you’ll never understand because you conflate happiness with a bank account. They’re not the same thing.”
“You’re right, but you need to decide whose happiness is worth more to you—yours or Story’s?”
“Story’s. Always hers.”
She comes up the steps and hands me the file. “If that’s true, sign the contract, and let’s start our life then.”
Story can get a new degree. It’s a glitch they’ve rigged. She’ll take a class or two over, and I’ll pay her way. She’ll be disappointed, but we’ll be together.
Maybe she’ll want to know her mom’s real name. We can overcome these threats together. We’re enough. Our love will be enough for us.
I need to find a ride back to Atterton. I can hole up in my room, take anything that ever mattered, and get the hell out of here when the car arrives. I take the file, not na?ve enough to believe it’s the only copy, and start inside.
“She’ll end up hating you, Cooper.” I stop and look back, her voice sounding genuine. “You know as well as I do that she’ll be gone when it becomes unbearable. And it will be . . . her life will be unbearable if you choose her. What’s in that file will change everything.”
“Tell me something, Camille, you’re okay with marrying me and having a kid with me, knowing I despise everything about you? And all for money and the Haywood last name?”
“I’m jealous that you feel anything other than numbness. I’m envious of Story because you love her. I don’t know what I want anymore. Everything you said before Christmas still plays on a loop in my head.” She comes closer and looks around before whispering, “I’m not strong like she is, but I’ll be a good wife to you.”
My gaze volleys between her eyes, not an ounce of lie found in them. “But I can’t be a good husband to you.” I walk inside and take the stairs by two. As soon as I get inside my childhood bedroom, I lock the door and flip open the file.
The kinds of threats thrown out today will only work if they’re backed in substance. I also believe my father has more tricks up his sleeve than a bomb with a faulty detonator. The degree aside, I don’t think Story would mind knowing her mom’s real name based on discussions we’ve had before.
Scanning each page rapidly, I search for the bombshell that must be hidden in here. There’s nothing, though . . . until the last page.
And that seals our fate.
31
Story
Night had fallen before I got home.
The minutes matched the miles, every one of them feeling longer than the last and stretching between the heart I left back in Haywood and the home I was driving toward.
But wasn’t Cooper one and the same—my heart and home. I couldn’t distinguish between the two any longer. Each waking hour of this separation that passes brings a fresh surge of pain and leaves more questions unanswered.
Did he stay?
Party on like we’d never met?
Choose them over me?
Choose the money?
My mind’s going wild, and he hasn’t answered his phone. Did something happen to him? Was he in an accident? How was he even getting back to me when I have his car?
Curled up on top of my desk, I’ve wedged myself into the frame of the window, not wanting to miss Cooper’s arrival. I check my watch, convinced he would be right behind me, but now I’m not so sure. It’s been hours since I arrived home.
I can’t eat, and nothing can quench the loss of missing him. Except Cooper.
“Please, Cooper. Please choose me,” I whisper like a prayer to the universe.
Ten o’clock passes.
Eleven forty-seven.
Twelve fifteen AM . . . I finally decide to give up hope and go to bed. But then I see headlights turn onto my street and sit upright. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.
The car passes without so much as slowing down.
Deflated, I hop off the desk, my butt aching from being pressed to the hard wood, and climb into bed. My stomach growls, and I try to remember the last thing I ate. I know what it wasn’t—a plate full of cheese, fruit, and macarons at the party. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve eaten since breakfast yesterday.
Knowing I’m not going to be able to fall asleep with my hunger keeping me awake, I flip off the covers and pad into the kitchen. The bag of chips on the counter isn’t appealing, and I always have the option to make popcorn in the microwave. Eh. I open the fridge and grab a yogurt, too tired to debate what will satisfy these pangs.
With no energy, I lean against the counter and start eating, but I only take a few bites before my stomach gets upset again. Maybe it’s gone bad? I scoop another spoonful into my mouth, and with the utensil still there, I tilt the container sideways to look at the expiration date.
Fortunately, it’s still good for two more weeks. I eat more, but then a cramp shoots across my belly, causing me to squeeze the spoon in one hand and the container in the other until it passes. Exhaling through pursed lips, I slow down, closing my eyes, and try to breathe through the pain.
A roll of my stomach surges again, and I throw the stuff into the sink and dash into the bathroom to throw up. I grip the seat, and wave after wave rips through me until I’m exhausted and sweat dots my forehead.
Food poisoning?
Resting against the side of the tub, I drop my head into my hands and start crying. I’m alone. I could die, and no one would even know.
Cooper left me with his car when I would have preferred a love note instead. I’m not surprised that my body’s rejecting everything that would make it feel better right now. How could it when my heart and my head know the truth? It’s not going to be better until Cooper comes home.