by Dee Ellis
“Charli,” The horror and grief in his voice stuck with me still, that last phone call that had changed both of us forever, “I love you so much. I do. No one has ever...no one knows me the way you do. I tried, angel. I did, so hard. You know...you know I didn’t want to...to be...” By then I had come to realize Tucker’s truth and I loved him more for trying.
“Tucker, baby I love you. You’re my best friend. I love you despite it. As long as you want me to, I’ll play your bride. If you need me to. Whatever you need until you’re ready, Tucker. You live your truth, baby.” I had no idea then how long I’d have to play the bride.
The widow for the husband that never was. We never spoke again because three months later he was killed after his convoy was ambushed. Though stationed elsewhere, my brothers had been hurt at the same time. Because my life doesn’t just give me tragedy, it rains it down upon me. Just like that my entire life changed again because they shipped my brothers home to recoup, and discharged them soon after.
Tucker came home in a box and I was a widow before I got a chance to be a bride. The only peace I got was knowing Tucker had gotten a chance to live honestly. Still his funeral had gutted me. A letter arrived from him, just days after. I never opened it because I knew what it would say and I hadn’t been ready to let his truth out.
That letter and the hatbox of my mother’s was why I had left home. I knew what his words would say. Knew that my mother would not want me to have a box full of regrets when I had time to make dreams happen. The day after I closed the shop because of Widow Jenkins and Mrs. Rawlins, I sat down with my brothers. My brothers had wives and homes and a life. Experiences I had been robbed of. Eventually, we would figure out the house and the shop.
“Now you go live your truth,” Maisie had said, her words startling me, “you follow dreams, fail, succeed, fuck around, and fuck up. Break hearts and get your heart broken. Don’t live with regrets.”
“We don’t want you to come home,” Sadie had sobbed as she urged me to take a chance, "but if you do you’ll always have a home.”
It was all I needed to hear and days later I had reached out to Sara, packed up the truck and hit the road. I suppose I chose Chicago because it wasn’t New York or L.A. It was still close to home if I wanted to run back. We had had talked about it once, Tucker and I. We thought maybe there we could live the way people were meant to. Without people knowing we were even living at all.
Just living because we could and no one had to know a damn thing about us. I had loved the idea and so when the library job had come up, I thought maybe it was Tucker telling me to go. To do just what Maisie had said; break hearts and get my heart broken and maybe find someone like Ryder who made me feel something.
Now that I had a home, the library and my fairy godmother Sara, I thought maybe I could finally start living my truth at last. Might even fuck around and break some hearts and get my heart broken.
Cage
Two hours into picking up paint with Regan and helping her pick out some rugs and Tegan calling to offer help, I was frustrated. I loved my sisters and I didn’t mind helping out with the cottage, but I had pulled a few long shifts so I was beat. It was chilly out, and Regan had us walking the streets shopping for furniture.
Apparently the new tenant worked with Sara Meyers, Mom’s best friend for as long as I could remember. Which meant Pop was willing to do just about anything, including furnishing the home, for her. Because what my mom wanted is what she got, especially if she was asking Pop. I really didn’t mind helping, and I was even curious as to why Sara, who was like part of the family, had pulled strings to get the cottage for a random new librarian.
I think I like librarians. Good place to pick up women, at a library. Especially now that I had better knowledge about Gigi’s list. I had spent most my down time this week doing just what she suggested. I had Netflixed almost every film I could find with her rating scale chicks.
Most of them were hot. I agreed with her on most of them, although I thought Jo March should be further down the list. I liked Emma better, to be honest. Gigi had laughed when I called her after the second film I had sat down to. Something seemed off about it and so I called to confirm it.
“Red, why are there Zombies in Lizzie’s story? How is that a love story? Also, how is Mom, in comparison to the Lizzie I’m watching, a Lizzie at fucking all?”
“You idiot,” Gigi was all giggles and mean names, “you watched the wrong one. Pick up a book once in a while, dear brother. Its Pride and Prejudice; that’s Lizzie’s story. Not Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. Which is a ridiculous attempt to cash in on the recent influx of zombie love. Thank you, The Walking Dead.”
After that, I decided maybe I could fit in a reading one or two of the books she had mentioned. In fact, she had texted me a list and I had intentions of making time to check some books out when I had my mentoring classes this week. It struck me as interesting that our new tenant was the new librarian.
Sara and Pop had talked me into a mentoring class at the library, part of Sara’s programs for offering career training for her kids. It was a great program, kids got to learn finances and how to apply and interview for jobs. I was a little nervous about mentoring kids, but I loved my job and I would do anything for Sara. Not that Pop had given me much choice about the gig.
“First week of September. Sara is starting a mentoring program. I want you to start it; talk to the kids, show them the fire house. If any of them show interest, you might let them shadow you a little. Sound good?” That’s how Pop was; direct and to the point, no bullshit.
“Sure Pop. What about the fire house? My shifts there?” Pop had never been my house captain because I had wanted to earn my own way.
“I talked to Byrne; he thinks it’s a great opportunity for the kids. Also for you. Thinks you might be a good leader. Teacher. I think so too.” Again, just like Pop; he said these things like he knew they were true but he hadn’t thought to let me in on it.
By now I believed Pop was proud of me, he just wasn’t the best at showing it. That he had asked me to lead a mentoring class spoke volumes. I hoped I didn’t fuck it up or ruin some kid’s future. I knew it was important to Sara and if Pop asked me, I didn’t want to let either of them down. I had worked on my lecture and what I might show them at the station all week.
“Do we know what the new tenant wants, Regan? Matter of fact, tell me why Pop suddenly foots the bill for furnishing the place?” I knew the answer, it was because Sara asked Mom and that was reason enough.
“Pop said she’s from the Midwest. Good kid, bad story; he wanted to help. I have no clue what she wants but I figure if she hates it I can change it. Also, I’m footing the bill, not Pop.” Regan had her short, thick hair tucked behind her ears as she ran a hand along the back of a couch at her shop.
After picking up paint, which Regan had to approve, in a slate gray color and the two huge blue and gray throw rugs, we had stopped here. Tegan had met us and the two of them were sitting in and matching pieces of furniture.
While I waited we talked about the tenant because something felt off for me. Not in a bad way. I didn’t believe my pop, who was an excellent judge of character, would meet someone and not pick up on something wrong. Everyone trusted his judgment.
Which was why him renting the cottage, which we all knew was important to him, and then offering to paint and furnish the place had me curious.
“Sara adores her, Mom said,” Tegan nodded at a mirror and Regan smiled in agreement, “guess before the girl even set foot in town, Sara had her running the library and moving into the cottage. Ooh, Regan, I love this couch. Yes?”
As they cooed over a soft velour couch in deep blue, I laughed. Sara had just as good a judgment as Pop did. Back when Regan first brought Parker home, she had been sold right away. In fact, since she was so close to my mother, the two of them liking Parker certainly helped his case with Pop. Deacon thought highly of the women in his life, so he knew they had been right abou
t Parker.
That Sara liked this librarian enough to con my pop into us furnishing and slaving away at the cottage made me wonder what was so special about her. Obviously I’d find out soon enough. I’d likely deal with her a little at the library for the mentoring, and she’d no doubt be around the cottage while we were getting it ready.
“Huh, I wonder what her story is?” I said to no one in particular.
My annoyance had left somewhere between the girls picking a couch and Regan insisting on a massive king bed, because it was so lovely. Even though I knew I would be the one setting up the bed, I just smiled and agreed. Best to smile and nod when Regan was on a roll.
After we left her shop, with the entire damn cottage newly furnished, we headed right straight there. I realized as we got there, I was hoping the new tenant would be there. I found myself wondering if I would sense whatever it was about her that Pop and Sara had. As we were unloading paint and supplies, my phone went off in my hip.
Unknown Number: Miss you. Been too long, Cage. Frowning, I set the buckets of paint on the steps leading inside.
Me: Sorry. Who’s this? I felt like an asshole, but I never kept numbers from the chicks I banged.
Unknown Number: Ariel! Really, Cage? Still mad at me for...” Before I could read the rest of her message, I deleted it.
“Flavor of the week, Bro?” Regan was less gentle about my assumed man whore status.
“Not any more. Come on, I thought we were painting.”
It had been more than awhile since I had talked to Ariel. We had slept together twice. I was hoping for more the night she went home with Finn. To his credit, he missed out on the fact that I had fucked her every which way from Sunday before him.
There was some tension there for a while, but bros before hoes and all that. Besides he really did me a favor. Now no one from my station gave Ariel the time of day and I figured that stung just a bit. It was all literally ages ago, more than two years since and I kind of doubted she had been on a drought since. Didn’t matter to me if she had, though. The last thing I needed was trouble with a capital A.
Not now. I had a soul mate to find and at last some real ideas how to find her.
1
Charli
“Absolutely, Mr. Cooper. Deacon. Sorry. I might want to apologize ahead of time, Deacon,” I laughed as I spun in my chair, filled with excitement, “Where I come from, I don’t know any better than sir and ma'am. I don’t know any better than please and thank you, bless you and pardon me. I also curse like a ranch hand if I’m mad and I stay mad for days. I am prideful but no more than I should be and I want a lot more out of my life than what I’ve had. I promise I will likely call you sir, call your wife ma’am and thank you for any courtesy you extend me. You painting and furnishing a place that I can call my home is absolutely blowing my god damned mind and I will absolutely pay you in sweets until diabetes comes calling.” Now Deacon was laughing, warm and hearty.
“Sara knows how to pick them. I think you and the Coopers will get along just fine, Charli. Just fine. Regan is finishing up furnishing the place today. Cage said paint is done and it looks like a brand new place. If you need his help getting you moved in, you let me know, Charli. Matter of fact you might see him before I do; he’s set to lead a mentoring program Sara is starting there.”
For some reason I knew Cage Cooper was his son, knew I had seen his name in the files for the mentoring program. Yet until he voiced that out loud, I forgot I would in fact be working with his son. All at once I became nervous for some reason. I pictured Deacon’s handsome face with his laugh lines and the graying at his temples. The deep laugh and bright hazel eyes. Then I pictured that decades younger.
I imagined he must be just as handsome. I met Regan briefly when I stopped by the house on my way home Saturday. She had refused to let me in, wanting her work to surprise me; not only had I liked her immediately, she was stunning. I had to assume all the Coopers were.
Which meant Cage was likely a handsome young man; and what’s more, a fire fighter who wanted to work with kids. Sounded like something out of my favorite trashy novels.
“The mentoring program. I uh...I am actually overseeing that now, sir. Deacon. Guess I might get to know your son.” Suddenly I had all sorts of questions to ask him about his son, but I bit my tongue.
“Good for him. A dose of someone like you might be just what he needs. See you soon, Charli.” Before I could ask just what that meant, he hung up.
Before I could let that parting comment bother me, I caught sight of the time. It was just after noon. Which meant I was running late. The kids for the mentoring project would be here just after lunch for the first lecture. Grabbing the overflowing binder that had become my bible for this project, I hurried from my office.
For some foolish reason just before I reached the atrium, where the lectures would be held, I stopped myself. Ducking into the closest ladies’ room, I took a moment to compose myself.
I tried to fix my hair, which was piled in a purposely messy topknot, with wide bangs sweeping over my left eye. Adjusting my glasses, because I had no patience for contacts this morning, I noted how flushed I looked. I was nervous and for all the wrong reasons.
Besides wanting to make a good impression on Sara, on the other staff at the library, I wanted to make a good impression on Cage. On the Coopers, really. I was so grateful for how welcoming they had been so far.
When I had met Regan this past Saturday she had been warm and had laughed easily like her father. She talked a little about her sisters, Tegan and Gigi but hadn’t mentioned Cage. The girls had apparently taken charge of the decorating and in fact, seemed excited about it.
As I adjusted my pencil skirt, smoothing my hands over my too wide hips, I realized I was anxious. I had heard little about Cage so it made me all the more curious. Making a face at my reflection as I dusted non-existent lint from my pink cardigan and matching tank, I silently reminded myself what curiosity did to the cat.
“It killed the bitch.” I said aloud, squaring my shoulders as I headed back out.
The atrium was much like a commons at a college; with sections full of couches and low tables, a corner with a winding low book case with comfortable loungers situated in front of it and another with high top tables featuring laptops, and a wall of study aids and text books. It was perfect for gathering small groups.
Before I had gotten busy this morning, with library work then my brief and strange talk with Mr. Cooper, I had readied an area for today. I spent a lot of time prepping the lounge area; besides setting up pamphlets and posters detailing life as a fire fighter, I had spread drinks and snacks on the low book case. Sara was waiting there with the students, our speaker keeping her in rapt attention as they spoke.
With his back to me, I saw immediately I had been a little right. He was every bit as imposing a figure as his father based on his massive size alone. Taller than Sara by at least a foot, which meant even taller than me, he was a mountain of a man.
He was dressed dark in faded jeans, boots and a dark navy Chicago Fire Department t-shirt, a badge with 71 centered in it stretched over his wide back. Thick arms were bent at his sides, hands on his hips as he charmed Sara.
I say charmed because she was gazing up at him much like she had his father days before. I noticed one entire arm was darkened with tattoos and I wanted immediately to know what they were. As they talked, he rocked on his heels a little, fingers drumming at his hips. Anxious too, maybe?
Realizing I hadn’t moved since starting my sneaky once over of him, I silently cursed myself for being so silly. Then he spun and my eyes flashed to Sara’s and I watched hers widen, head tipping towards him. I frowned at her, my entire face turning up and then I focused on him again. He was smiling. Brightly, with the deepest, sexiest dimple in the left side of his cheek.
Watching me as I watched him. I had not expected him. Well I had, but not...this him. If his father was a handsome, warm man I wasn’t sure what you might c
all Cage Cooper. Because handsome hardly did him justice and he was a whole hell of a lot more than warm. I felt hot and sticky even in the always cool air of the library.
With dark hair, short on the sides and tangled and longer on top, and warm honey-hazel eyes, he was stunning. I thought I had always used that word properly before. I was good with words. But I had always been wrong. Because Cage....he was stunning. With a defined jaw that models would sell their soul for, a perfectly straight nose, that dimple and a smile warmer than the fields back home on a hot July day, he was fucking stunning.
Not just stunning. Fucking. Stunning. The CFD shirt he wore seemed to be ill fitting, barely containing the mountains and valleys of his impressive chest and narrow waist. Massive arms like tree trunks threatened to rip it to shreds.
Watching him as he twisted to face me, hands still drumming at his hips, my eyes went south. It was because of his drumming fingers, I would claim, but mostly because he was massive everywhere so I was curious. Sweet Jesus. There too, I guess. My face felt hot and I still felt sticky so my eyes swept up.
Then I was lost as he took a step forward, forcing me a step back. His eyes were...they were watching me but moving. Flicking over me in a way that felt like warm touches, though he wasn’t close enough to touch me. How could I feel like he was right there, close to me when he was so far away? Blinking when I saw his mouth moving, wondering if he was talking to me, I took a step forward.
“.... Cage. Sara was just telling me...” That was all I made out because I was fixated on his mouth.
It was beautiful and so was he. His mouth made heat lick between my legs and I clenched my thighs, curious about that. That was new. I watched in fascination as the dimple peeked out, that side of his mouth hiking up in a smirk. Jesus. His tongue came out, whip fast, wetting his bottom lip and I stepped closer.
