I imagined this was how he looked growing up, before he enlisted, and definitely before he came home injured and pained. Part of me knew I needed to wake him because he’d set himself specific rules—one being that he didn’t believe it was safe for him to sleep when others were around.
We’d actually argued a little about that. I understood PTSD, knew how disorienting it could be to wake from a nightmare, soldiers trapped in their memories where they still felt threatened. During Owen’s first deployment, I’d taken to researching the subject, asking other military families for advice.
It wasn’t that I was buying trouble, expecting my husband to come back broken and traumatized. I was a realist. Pretending it wasn’t a possibility would do nothing to prepare me for Owen’s return.
He would need support.
He would need me to be his rock while he found his way.
I just didn’t expect my planning to be used by another. Listening to Cooper thrash as he lay on my couch triggered an even stronger instinct within me.
He’d once told me I was his light. Judging from the ragged breathing I could hear—Cooper was still locked in darkness, fighting his way back to reality. It went against my heart to sit there, silent and unmoving, holding my own breath as I prayed to God that he’d comfort my boyfriend.
I didn’t budge, closing my eyes as if it would somehow block out the screaming in my head to do something. We’d talked about this, trying to find a compromise so he would be okay with maybe spending the night in bed with me.
He’d stayed over plenty of times—he simply got up when I was dozed off and entertained himself until I woke. Finally, he’d relented, agreeing to a trial of sorts so he could know nothing would happen.
I wanted to be more than his light. I wanted to be his beacon of safety. I wanted him to know that being vulnerable with me didn’t guarantee he’d unintentionally hurt me.
Part of that agreement was me doing exactly what I was doing—nothing. No matter how much it pained me, he was adamant that, should he ever wake from a nightmare, that I would keep my distance. There was to be no rushing to his side, no soothing touches or gentle words.
Opening up the music player on my laptop, I scrolled through the list of songs I’d downloaded until I found what I was looking for. Soft classical music filled the air, the playlist of relaxation melodies I’d bought specifically for this reason.
I might not able to physically go to him, but that didn’t mean I had to sit idly by. Adjusting the volume so it was more like ambience and background music than the usual in-your-face decibels Rebecca and I both enjoyed, I waited.
Patience, I whispered, ignoring Cooper momentarily as I tried to focus on the assignment I’d been working on. With fingers poised over my keyboard, I reread the question . . . then reread it again . . . and again.
It was pointless.
Despite the pretty violin playing, all I could hear were his screams echoing in my head. The sound broke my heart, leaving me with this painful helpless feeling. It wouldn’t be so hard if I knew once he was himself again, he’d talk to me about it, share whatever it was that tormented him.
Was he dreaming about that day? Was he reliving the ambush? Of him being shot? Or was he locked in his subconscious mind—the misguided grief he felt over Owen’s death consuming him?
He refused to discuss it and for the most part, I tried not to press him. Questions were always right there on the tip of my tongue. I simply hated the idea of bringing Owen up . . . anything about Cooper’s service . . . because it meant watching him retreat into himself—hiding behind the walls he’d built as a method of self-preservation and survival.
One day I’d break through his defenses. Even if it meant I took the wall down one brick at a time. My hope, foolish or not, was that he’d eventually dismantle it on his own.
So until then I’d be patient.
Clenching my teeth as I held on tightly to my promise of not interfering, I didn’t hear him enter the kitchen until suddenly he was there. Sweat still lined his brow, his hair even messier than usual. Thankfully, the wildness I’d expected to see in his eyes wasn’t as vivid—a sign that whispered he was more himself than not.
And still I kept quiet, studying him as he rubbed his face, releasing a loud groan of frustration. I wouldn’t speak until he did. Instead, I offered him a smile, my homework completely forgotten.
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he finally said, coming over to sit by me at the table. Even though he’d dozed for an hour or so, Cooper looked haggard. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought he hadn’t slept in weeks.
“I went in to check on you and heard you snoring,” I teased, grateful when he returned my grin with one of his own. Life wasn’t so bad when he smiled. It’s what gave me the confidence to keep talking. “You okay?”
Something crossed his features, a thought or something, and he nodded. “I’ve had some pretty bad dreams in the past, but this one was bizarre.” Reaching over for my glass of water, he drained it in one go.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I grabbed the cup and refilled it, placing it back in front of him. “Do you want to talk about it?” I tried not to cringe for asking. He might not answer, deflecting like he usually did, but it didn’t stop me checking just in case.
Cooper seemed to weigh my question, something that gave me a spark of hope. He hadn’t instantly refused, firing off all the different reasons why he was fine and had everything under control.
“It was about Afghanistan,” he all but murmured, covering up his awkwardness with another sip from the glass. Still holding it in his hand, he took in a deep breath like it was liquid courage. “Owen and I used to carry candy bars around for some of the children we met.” His gaze darted back and forth between me and some spot on the table he fixated on.
“He wrote to me about it. Said it was one of the bright moments you two shared over there.” Each word was chosen carefully. One wrong move and he’d clam back up.
It was honestly the hardest part of our relationship—him feeling he needed to protect me from himself—him believing his experience was better left hidden. Cajoling didn’t work with him. If he was going to open up like he was now, it had to be on his terms.
Watching Cooper like hawk, noticing his body language, I took the plunge. “Can I ask what scared you?” When he began fidgeting with the water in the glass, swirling it around as it threatened to spill, I quickly added. “I heard you screaming, that’s why.”
Cooper blinked, then did something completely unpredictable.
He tipped his head back and laughed. “It started off as a memory that kinda morphed into something terrifying.” When I reached over for his hand to squeeze it, he returned the gesture. “I’ve had my fair share of nightmares, but never about Marty wearing a frilly girls dress.”
It was my turn to stare at him in disbelief. “Seriously?”
Cooper dragged his fingers through his hair, messing it more. “Hairy legs and all. He makes a really ugly woman.”
The small voice in my head that whispered there was more to this than what he shared took over. “And that’s what made you scream?” I asked, thinking back to the noise that had come from the living room. I might not have experienced it with him, but those horrified yells felt a little extreme to be over his friend dressed in drag.
My suspicions were correct. For the split second, Cooper’s countenance darkened, his gaze becoming vacant. There was more to the dream . . . he could talk all he wanted, his body didn’t lie.
And right now, it was like a neon sign flashing brilliant colors.
“Cooper?” I inwardly crossed my fingers he wouldn’t shut me out again, that he could trust me with this part of himself.
The crashing down of his walls was practically deafening. “I can’t, Caylee. Just accept that it was.” His gazed locked with mine, pleading. “Please.”
It was hard not to be disappointed.
Cooper was worth the wait, though. However lon
g that took.
Hiding my disappointment, I changed the subject, my chest tightening at the look of relief from Cooper. It was one of those situations where even though I understood why his first reaction was to conceal his emotions, it didn’t stop it from hurting. “I’m almost finished with school stuff if you want to go do something? Maybe go for a drive?”
“Caylee,” he whispered, dismissing my last comment. “I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you everything you want. I want to be that person for you.”
“It’s okay,” I lied, hoping one day it would become a truth. “I get it.”
Cooper stood, offering me his hand to help me stand. “No, it’s not.” I didn’t resist when he pulled me into his arms. I hadn’t noticed he was trembling. “I know it’s unfair to expect you to be fine with all of this. You want a normal boyfriend—someone who doesn’t come with baggage from Hell.”
“But I don’t want normal,” I interrupted, leaning into him. “I just want you, Cooper. Only you.”
“But . . .”
It was my turn to place my finger over his lips. “Yes, there are times where I wish I could read your mind and see what you’re thinking. But I also trust you’ll confide in me when you’re ready.”
Taking hold of my hand, Cooper kissed each fingertip, not once breaking eye contact. He was being so earnest—speaking from his heart. “I don’t want to hurt you. Yet that’s exactly what I’m doing. Just give me some more time, sweetheart. I promise I’ll answer any and all your questions.”
“I don’t want to trigger you, though,” I confessed.
His lips softly curled into a smile. “And I don’t want you walking on egg shells around me.”
There it was—the compromise. “So let’s take it one day at a time. I won’t push and you can share whatever you can. Deal?”
When I held out my hand, waiting for him to shake and seal the pact, he took it one step further. Cradling my face between his hands, Cooper pressed his mouth against mine—using his lips to show me how much he wanted us to work . . . how desperate he felt in making sure his inability to talk about his time with Owen in Afghanistan didn’t ruin our relationship.
I would’ve told him it wouldn’t, that it would take much more to scare me off, but I was too busy sinking into his kiss.
It spoke volumes about how he felt—the longing and need that went beyond mere words. That was one thing I loved about him. Like the songs he wrote, his kiss stripped away everything that wasn’t necessary until all that remained was his heart.
Until it was just us—two people brought together through a mutual grief and had somehow found something beautiful in the ashes.
This was the reason why I could push aside my selfish need to uncover all his hurts so I could fix them. It was why I would always find enough patience to weather each storm—his turbulence and thunderous insecurity.
I loved him.
Unable to keep still, I wound my arm around his neck, anchoring him to me. He wasn’t the only one with something to say. I returned his kiss with an equal measure of need. I might not have his talent for music, but I poured the harmony I felt whenever we were together into each blissful second we stood there—the nightmare forgotten.
After brushing a light kiss over the corner of my mouth, Cooper nestled his face into the crook of my neck and inhaled slowly. The sensation tickled my skin, causing me to squirm a little.
“How much longer until you’re finished with your homework?” he asked, his voice thick and husky. His arms dropped to my waist, one lightly grasping my hip while the other cupped my behind. I could feel how aroused he was—and my body responded in kind.
“What homework?” I replied, my focus shifting to how long it would take me to strip him of clothes. When he lifted me up off the ground, my legs naturally wrapped around his hips. “No more talking, Cooper.” I didn’t wait for him to reply. All I could concentrate on was how quickly we could get to my bedroom and naked.
Which of course sent some signal to the universe, my phone suddenly buzzing as my ringtone sounded.
“Ignore it,” Cooper growled, already headed out of the kitchen.
“Ignored.” I laughed, placing small kisses over his face. We almost made it to the privacy of my room before I was struck with a memory.
Phone call.
My parents.
I’d texted them earlier that I had some good news and we’d agreed to FaceTime each other. Glancing over my shoulder to the clock on the wall, there was no stopping the groan that spilled out of me.
“You need to get that, don’t you?”
“It’s my parents. I haven’t told them about the scholarship yet,” I added, apologetically. It was tempting to pretend I hadn’t heard the call come in, to keep undressing Cooper and spending the afternoon curled up in his arms.
He made the decision for me. “Then you better answer your phone.” And sure enough, we were back in the kitchen. Cooper released his grip of my hips so I could stand on my own.
When he turned to leave, I coughed, drawing his attention again. “And where are you going?”
“I’ll wait in the other room and give you some space.”
He honestly thought he could hide away while I chatted with my mom and dad. “Um, no you won’t. This is the perfect time for you to meet them.”
The look of pure fear was almost comical, like he had to face a firing squad or something equally as appalling.
“They won’t bite, Cooper. Trust me, they’ll love you.”
“Promise?”
Laughing at how adorable he was, I nodded.
They would love him, because I did. He might not see how incredible he was, but others had no problem seeing it.
“Just don’t forget to breathe, okay?” And with one last kiss, I answered my phone.
Chapter Thirteen
Cooper
“Wait up, Coop!”
Hand poised to open the back door to my parent’s house, I turned to find Marty jogging toward me. Rehearsal was over for another day and the others had already left.
I just needed to quickly talk with my mom and I’d be heading home, too. There’d be no brief stopovers at Caylee’s—no matter how much I wanted to steal a kiss or several. Exhaustion had begun creeping up, causing my thigh to start aching again. My limp was more pronounced than usual.
I recognized the early warning signs that I was stretching myself too thin. What I needed was some good sleep—in my own bed so I could relax. As much as I wanted to spend every moment with Caylee, staying at her house still presented certain problems—namely my fear of falling asleep and losing control.
It was a constant, pressing thought—kind of like playing Russian roulette because I never knew when the nightmares would come. I’d been lucky the other day when I’d drifted off on her couch. Sure, I’d woken up yelling, but that had been mild.
Bryce had witnessed how physically challenging sleep could be for me. He’d proven more than capable of pinning me down or defending himself should I come to and not know where I was.
It was barely tolerable realizing those moments ended in some hardcore maneuvering on his part. The idea of Caylee being on the receiving end of that? Unacceptable.
And frankly, I didn’t know if there’d ever be a time when sleeping together—actually sleeping with eyes closed and everything—would be possible. It wasn’t something I could foresee or even prepare for beyond making sure everyone’s safety was protected.
I felt like a fucking ticking time bomb. But that was the price of war . . . of serving . . . of processing things that relentlessly dogged each step I took. Alcohol and prescription meds took the edge off, but there came a point where even I couldn’t stand the level of drunkenness needed. Complete oblivion was the only way to truly get the rest my body needed.
It felt like I was robbing Peter to pay Paul. I didn’t want to be that guy anymore and it began with me wanting to be better for Caylee because she deserved that.
But over the la
st few months, that thought had slowly evolved into the faint glimmer that it went deeper than that . . . that the person who truly deserved peace of mind was me.
My old therapist would be dancing in his chair if he could see me now.
Maybe, just maybe, I was salvageable after all.
Maybe I could actually thrive and not just survive.
Stranger shit had happened.
Holding the door open for him, Marty brushed past, offering a rushed hello to my mom. “Hey, Mrs. H.” He grinned, his gaze darting around the kitchen.
Marty was as predictable as they came. He’d smelled something delicious and a hundred bucks said he’d leave with his own to-go container filled with whatever she was cooking.
He always pretended it wasn’t his intention but he’d been doing it for so long, Mom just played along, winking as I shook my head and laughed.
Without skipping a beat, Marty was over by the stove. He peered into the covered pots. When he picked up the wooden spoon to sample the marinara sauce, my mom reached over and slapped his hand.
“Last time I checked, Martin, we were civilized and had manners enough to wait until dinner was ready before we sneaked a taste.” The scolding tone in her voice was all for show—her eyes were bright with humor.
“I couldn’t possibly stay,” Marty answered, his fake sincerity making me snort in disbelief. “But . . .”
“Are we really going through this song and dance again, bro? You do it every single time you stop by.” I laughed as I walked over to my mom and kissed her cheek. “It’s okay to kick him out, you know. We don’t have to feed every stray that comes scratching at the door.”
Lovingly tapping my cheek with her hand, my mother smiled. “I know, but how could I possibly turn away such adorableness?” Sure enough, Marty was sitting on one of the kitchen island stools, batting his eyelashes like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
Bittersweet Symphony (The Damaged Souls series Book 2) Page 12
