by Jay McLean
Behind me, Cooper chuckles.
His dad shakes my hand. “Lance Kennedy,” he says. “It’s good to meet you, too, Ms. Sanders.” His smile is tight as his gaze shifts to Cooper behind me. “Sanders,” he murmurs. “She’s not Brian Sanders’ kid is she?”
I nod while Cooper says, “Yeah, Dad. She is.”
“Right.” Lance drops my hand, keeps his focus on Cooper. “Your mom and I are heading out to some charity dinner I knew nothing about until an hour ago. We’ll be home late.”
“Sure, Pops,” Cooper replies.
His dad looks down his nose at me. “Goodbye, Ms. Sanders.”
Once he’s gone, Cooper cackles. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you, sir,” he mocks.
I walk to his bed, pick up a pillow and throw it at his face. “Shut up.”
He attempts to contain his laughter as he tugs on my tee, pulling me down until I’m lying on top of him. He shakes his head, eyes on me, smile for me. “You’re so cute, all nervous and stuff.”
“You said your parents were out of town.”
He shrugs. “They were. I guess they’re home now.”
“I wish I’d met them properly.”
“What was wrong with that meeting?” he asks.
“I panicked.”
With a laugh, he says, “A little.”
“Did you know he knew my dad? And how does he know my dad?”
Cooper shrugs again. “My dad invests in a lot of property. They may have worked together in the past. Who knows?” He moves his hand to my back, under my top, moving higher until his fingers find the clasp of my bra.
“Really?” I ask. “Now?”
He kisses my cheek, moves across my jaw toward my ear, his tongue like fire against my skin. He bares his teeth, tugs on my earlobe. “Right now.”
I want nothing more than to get lost with him, but he was right. My mind is elsewhere. I lean back, look him in the eyes. “I’ll stay with you tonight but tomorrow, I need to do something.”
“Where is my bra?” I whisper-yell, panic swarming through me.
Cooper rolls around in his bed, using his pillow to muffle his laugh.
Two seconds ago, the front door slammed shut, meaning his parents were home, and we were in his bed… naked.
I stumble around his dark bedroom in nothing but my panties, searching for my clothes while he tries to calm himself down enough to switch on the lamp for me.
“How long were we…?”
“Were we what?” he asks.
I find my bra, slip it on while my face heats with embarrassment.
“You can’t even say it, can you?”
“Doing… it.”
“Having sex?!” he shouts.
“Cooper! They’re going to hear you!”
He laughs again. “The sex part, probably about twenty minutes…” He smirks, his eyes drinking me in. “The foreplay, though, that lasted about an hour.”
I slip on his t-shirt and get back into bed, doing my best to make my hair look presentable. Meanwhile, he’s still naked, a smug smile across his smug, post-sex face. “They’re home early, right?”
He shrugs and flops back on his pillow, the slight light from the lamp casting a shadow across his brow. “Cooper!” I shove him.
“What?” he asks lazily.
“Get dressed!”
He pats my head. “They’re not coming up here. Don’t worry.”
I whisper, “How do you know?”
“Because they’re too wasted to even remember I’m home.”
More doors open and shut downstairs, heels clank, footsteps thump. Another slam of a door. “Next time you want to act like a whore do it at home, Vivian!” Lance yells.
My jaw drops, my eyes wide and on Cooper.
“See?” he says. “Wasted. They always do this. Go to some function, drink too much, come home, argue.”
I hear his mother’s voice for the first time. “I was just talking to him! You embarrassed me in front of all my friends!” she yells.
“I embarrassed you?!” Lance booms. “My associates and business partners were there! How does that make me look? Having my wife—”
“All I did was talk—”
A chair scrapes. Glass breaks.
“Shut up!” Lance shouts. “Just shut the fuck up!”
I grasp Cooper’s arm, my breaths short, my pulse pounding in my ears.
“Come on,” he whispers, getting out of bed and slipping on his boxers. He removes the covers off his bed and takes my hand. Then he leads me to his walk-in closet the size of my living room and sits on the floor, tugging my hand for me to join him. I sit in front of him, my legs crossed, mimicking his position. He takes the ends of the blanket and wraps it around both of us. “I used to do this when I was a kid,” he says, his voice low, his forehead touching mine. “I used to be afraid, too, but then it happened so many times it became my version of normal. It’ll stop soon,” he says, kissing my cheek. “I promise.”
It stops then and there, the new silence deafening. We get back into Cooper’s bed, and a moment later, he’s fast asleep, his breaths even. I stare at his face, at the distant calm on his features, and I wonder how it’s possible he can sleep after what we just heard. It became my version of normal, he told me. I find myself frowning, an overwhelming sadness creeping in my chest, images of a smaller version of Cooper sitting alone in his closet, hands to his ears to avoid the anger around him. I kiss his lips, and his breaths falter, but he doesn’t wake. Then I spend the next hour tossing and turning, trying to find the peace he so easily found. The house is eerily silent, and my mouth is dry, my throat thirsty. I get out of bed, slip on my pants, and make my way downstairs and toward the kitchen. The tiled floors are cold against my feet, the rooms are dark, the curtains drawn. I walk with my hands out, hoping not to bump into anything, or anyone, on my way to the kitchen. A sliver of light shines from beneath the kitchen door, and I stop in my tracks, place my ear against it. I listen for sounds, proof that someone’s in there. When I hear nothing, I open the door and freeze in my spot, my gasp loud.
A woman, blonde and beautiful, one that stands proud next to Lance Kennedy in the pictures on the walls, sits at the kitchen counter, an ice pack to her left eye, dried blood on the corner of her lip. She glances up, shocked. “I didn’t know…” she whispers.
A shiver runs up my spine. “I’m… um… I’m Cooper’s.”
She smiles, sits straighter. “You must be Lois.”
I step closer. “Are you okay, Mrs. Kennedy?”
She shakes her head and removes the ice pack, revealing the onset of bruising. “I had a little too much to drink and stumbled, walked into the doorframe.”
“Oh.” I clasp my hands tighter. “I just came down to get a glass of water.” I move closer again, careful, not wanting to startle her. My mind and my heart want to believe her, but my gut tells me it’s a lie. She didn’t walk into a doorframe. She walked into her husband’s hand. I ignore my need for water and ask, “Do you need help?” I motion to her face. “Cleaning that up?”
“No.” She shakes her head again, freeing strands of hair from her once-perfect bun. “I’m fine.”
No, Mrs. Kennedy. You’re not fine at all.
“Do you have a first-aid kit?”
She seems to concede, drops the ice pack on the counter. “Under the sink in the guest bathroom.”
I find the kit and quickly make my way back to her. Then I sit in the stool next to her, wait for her to face me before getting the supplies. My hands shake as I dab at her lip with a wet cotton swab, removing the dried blood and the dark red lipstick now smudged at the edges, seeping into the wrinkles around her lips. In her day, she would’ve been so beautiful. Right now, she looks tired, not just from age, but from life.
“Cooper’s told me so much about you,” she says, her voice low, as if she doesn’t want to disturb the sleeping beast.
I pause, look into her eyes. Her concern mirrors mine. I won’t tell, Mrs.
Kennedy. “I hope they were all good things,” I say.
“Oh, they were,” she replies, her eyes bright. She’s acting like we’re meeting for lunch, not sitting in her kitchen late at night, her son’s girlfriend cleaning up the cuts and bruises caused by her husband.
I play her game, pretend the same. “I’m glad.”
She forces a smile. “After what happened last semester with that girl… he was so depressed, so dark, and ever since he met you, it’s like he sees the sun again. Feels the heat and the joy it brings. You make him happy, Lois.”
I find the cut on her lip, apply some ointment. Then I clear my throat, look down at her shaking hands. “He makes me happy, too.”
I get up to grab us both glasses of water and hand her some aspirins from the first-aid kit. She holds them in her hands, somehow still smiling. “Lance told me you’re Brian Sanders’ daughter?”
After a nod, I ask, “How does Mr. Kennedy know my dad?”
“He doesn’t know your dad so much as he knows Tom Preston.”
“Oh?”
“They’ve got history, so to speak.”
I stare at her, wanting more.
She downs the aspirin with her water, then says, “A while back they worked together on a massive development project.” She fixes the loose strands of hair across her brow. “Lance had investors come through from all across the country, and there was a big meeting. Tom and my husband were supposed to head the meeting. Tom showed up… inebriated, and blew the deal.”
“He was drunk?” I whisper.
She nods. “He’d just lost his wife…”
“Oh.”
“Are you close with the Prestons?” she asks, patting the swelling formed under her eye.
I don’t respond. Instead, I lower my voice, lean in closer. “Mrs. Kennedy… my dad’s girlfriend is a police officer and—”
The kitchen door opens and we pull apart, our eyes snapping to the sound. Cooper stands just inside, his gaze shifting between his mother and me. “I was looking for you,” he tells me, his jaw tense.
“I was thirsty,” I respond.
He steps toward us, his hand out for me, but his words for his mom. “You okay?”
She nods, smiles at him like mothers are supposed to smile at their children. “I’m fine. Had a little too much to drink and well, you know the rest.”
Cooper visibly swallows, plays her game, too. He takes my hand, helps me off the stool. Then he reaches out, his hand as shaky as hers as he cups her cheek, kisses her forehead like he does with me. “I love you, Ma.”
She chokes on a sob, grasping his wrist. “I love you, too, son.”
We go back to his room, back to his bed, where he holds me tight, his body curled into a ball as he lays his head on my shoulder.
“Lois?”
“Yeah?”
I expect him to tell me to ignore what I saw downstairs, to swear to secrecy, to apologize that I had to see it at all. But he looks up at me, his gaze searching mine. He exhales, his breath warm against my lips. “I’m falling so deeply in love with you.”
My mouth opens, but he doesn’t let me speak. Instead, his mouth covers mine, urgent and needy. Then he shifts until he’s on top of me, his knees parting mine.
We don’t make love.
He fucks me.
Hard and fast.
Because he’s hurting.
And I’m hurting for him.
So I let him.
Because he’s not the only one falling deep, deep, deeply in love.
Chapter Fifteen
LUCAS
“Laney’s here!”
I startle awake. Rub my eyes. Metaphorically open my ears to see if I’d been dreaming.
“Laney’s here! Laney’s here! Laney’s here!”
Nope.
Not a dream.
I throw the covers off me, get out of bed. I skipped my run this morning; my motivation lost somewhere amidst the chaos of my life. I go to the bathroom, pour half a tube of toothpaste in my mouth, then proceed to cough and splutter as I attempt to swallow it while I slip on some clothes and shoes. I open the apartment door just as Laney steps out of a black truck I’d never seen before. “Hey, rock star!” she shouts to Lachlan, currently flying down the porch steps to get to her.
I’m a lot calmer than he was when I descend from the apartment stairs and walk over to her.
“Hey, Lucas,” she says.
I point to the truck. “Did you get a car?”
She shakes her head, her smile as warm as the morning sun. “It’s Cooper’s gardener’s.”
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I rock back on my heels. “Of course he has a gardener.”
“That’s exactly what I said,” she laughs out, and that sound alone chips away at the cold, hard ice surrounding my heart.
“So what are you doing here?” I ask.
“I called your dad,” she says, grimacing as if she’s unsure she should be here. She’s always welcome here. This is her home, too. “I was hoping to get some time in with the Preston boys.”
“They’d like that.” I say they when I mean me.
She shuffles her feet, her hands clasped in front of her. “I feel like I have to tell you something,” she says.
“Okay…?”
“I kind of knew about Leo… I mean before you told me yesterday.” It’s the most she’s said to me since that night, and I bask in her voice, in her words, one after the other, and I wish she were holding me like she did in the tunnel because her touch is like oil, and my pain is the water. She creates a divide when I could be drowning.
I clear my throat, come back to the conversation. “You did?”
“Well, when we were younger, he’d always walk around with a book and I noticed it was the same book for weeks, and when I asked him what he thought of it, he’d kind of just shut down. Then he told me he had trouble reading, and I tried to help him through it. Once a week we’d meet up at the playground and read. Obviously, I didn’t help enough, and I’m sorry because I should’ve told you or your dad, he was just really embarrassed about it so…”
“So you were a good friend to him. You don’t need to apologize” My fingers itch to touch you, Lane. “I’m sorry for dumping all that stuff on you yesterday. It was just—”
Leo steps out of the house then, the screen door slamming shut behind him, putting an end to my apology.
Lane and Leo walk side by side, away from the house, away from me. They speak in hushed tones, sharing secrets and sorrow. And it dawns on me now why Leo had been so upfront about his feelings toward me, about how badly I treated her. Because he knew her. One-on-one. And he loves her, maybe even as much as I do.
They return an hour later and it’s Logan’s turn. He doesn’t get the same treatment. She yanks on his ear, physically drags him down the steps, and then she kicks his ass. Literally, kicks his ass. He jumps, surprised.
I laugh, not at all surprised.
Then I sit in the living room of the main house and pretend to watch TV—something I never do because the shows I want to watch are too mature for the boys who want to watch them with me. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m just waiting for the second hand to tick over until it’s my turn with Laney. I want that time with her, one-on-one, so we can do something I’ve wanted to do for what feels like forever.
Talk.
I just want to talk to her, to go back to the way things were, and if all she wants to talk about is Cooper, I’ll sit and I’ll listen and I’ll do my best not to show her that it’s killing me to have to do that.
Another hour passes and Logan returns, his general angry, broody mood replaced with laughter because Laney has the power to find light in the darkest of days and the darkest of moods. “Can I borrow the minivan?” she asks my dad.
He hands her the keys, no questions.
She steps out of the house, calls out to the twins wrestling in the front yard. “Feel like kicking my ass at the batting cages?” she asks.
&
nbsp; They immediately stop what they’re doing, grab their gear, and get into the car with her.
Another hour.
Well, an hour and six minutes to be exact, and I have no idea what’s happening on the television, I just know that there are two Preston boys left, and I’m one of them.
Dad comes marching down the stairs, Lachlan and an overnight bag in tow.
“You ready, bud?” she asks Lachlan, taking the bag from my dad.
“He gives you any trouble you just call and I’ll be right over,” Dad tells her.
“It’ll be fine,” Laney assure him.
I stand up, no longer able to pretend as if I care about who the hell “A” is on whatever show I’m watching. I’ve acted casual all day and left her to do her thing, but when the hell is it my turn? “Are you leaving?” I ask.
“I’m having a sleepover at Lane’s!” Lachlan announces, his grin from ear-to-ear.
My heart plummets, lands on my feet, heavy with the weight of her choices.
She says, “I got someone to cover my shift so we could spend some godmother/son time together.”
I manage to hide my disappointment, scruff Lachy’s hair. “Have fun. Don’t miss me too much.”
I obviously suck at hiding my feelings because he frowns, looks over at Lane. “Can Lucas come, too?”
Lane’s cheeks turn red while the air turns thick and suffocating.
“I can’t,” I tell him, saving Lane. “Dumb Name’s throwing a party so…”
“Okay.” He stands on his toes, his arms outstretched. He hugs my neck and whispers, “I’ll spend time with you when I get back. I promise.”
“Good,” I say through a chuckle. Then I look at Laney but she’s looking away, and so I hug my brother tighter, tell him what I planned on telling her. “I need my best friend.”
It’s 9:33 pm when my phone rings. “I’m so sorry to call. I know you said you had a party or something, but Lachlan’s been in my bed since seven and he won’t go to sleep. He keeps asking for one minute and I get into bed with him and cuggles him and everything but he won’t shut down and he says it’s not the same. He wants you to do his one minute.”
