“Face it, Coop. She loves me.” He narrowly avoided me throwing the roll of paper towels. He caught it before it fell to the ground. “And if you don’t watch that temper of yours, she might start liking me more than you. We all know I’m her favorite.”
“I love all my boys,” Mom corrected, choosing to turn around right when I flipped Marty off. She was used to these kinds of antics between Bryce and me. Since coming home and joining the band, she’d unofficially adopted Marty as her kid as well. “You staying as well, Cooper?”
In that knowing way of hers—a studious look that all mothers seemed to have in their arsenal—she informed me there’d be no leaving until I’d placated her worry and eaten a few plates of the spaghetti currently cooking.
I could say I was fine until I was blue in the face, there was just no arguing with her. She would always win the discussion on the sheer fact I was still a little boy in her eyes.
“Sure,” I replied and noticed the way she lit up at my response. Tired or not, wild horses wouldn’t be able to drag me away. It went beyond being a dutiful child—regardless of my age. I simply loved seeing her happy, especially knowing I’d caused so many tears, not just her, but my dad as well.
Resting my elbow on the counter, my foot hitched on the side rung of my stool, I nodded my thanks as she placed a glass of water in front of me. It felt good to be pampered every now and then.
“Is my suit still in then guest room closet?”
She paused mid-stir, her head cocked to the side as she thought about it. “I’m pretty sure it is. Check in the very back. Last time I was in there, it was still in the dry cleaner’s protective plastic.” Wiping her hand down on the tea towel beside the stovetop, Mom leaned back against the counter. “You going somewhere special?”
I nodded. “Caylee’s got an award ceremony to attend for her scholarship and the invite said to dress nicely.” I crunched on a piece of ice that had escaped the glass when I’d taken a healthy gulp. “I thought it might be nice to dust off the suit and tie.”
“Because he loooooooves her,” Marty teased, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Because I’m not an asshole,” I corrected, quickly calculating the effort it would take to throw him back out into the yard. “I’ll go look before I leave later. If I can’t find it, there’s still time to go rent one or something.”
“Why don’t you wear your dress uniform?” Mom asked, her gaze never fully meeting mine, as if she wanted to somehow convince me the question wasn’t a big deal.
My jaw clenched, and then released. “I think it’ll be fine just wearing a normal suit.” If Caylee asked me to, then I would. But until then, I was fine outfitted like everyone else. It wasn’t that I was embarrassed by my service or being a Marine. There was an immense sense of pride that resided inside me—the honor in having served my country and being forever tied to my fellow Marines. But it was easy to mistake my unwillingness to talk about my experiences as shame. It wasn’t.
No, my guilt came from my failure to protect and not my decision to serve. I was grateful for my place amongst the elite. Had things ended differently, there might’ve been a good chance of me re-enlisting for another deployment.
I’d loved being a Marine.
Semper Fi.
“Hello family!” My father called out, the front door closing behind him. The sound of his keys hitting the foyer table reached us before he did.
“In here, honey,” my mother shouted. “The boys are here for dinner.”
“Good, good.” Trevor Hensley walked in, the older version of my brother Bryce. Everyone said I took after my mom, but every now and then, I caught a glimpse of myself in my father as well.
Like right now, he looked about as tired as I felt.
“I’m glad you’re still here, son,” he admitted, giving me a big bear hug. He slapped his hand against my back. That was another new development after my tours in Afghanistan. Growing up, my father had adopted the same philosophy his own father had held that affection was to be shown to daughters and not sons. It wasn’t manly to hug and tell each other how much we loved them.
Now, it was always spoken. No one took family for granted. Each day mattered.
“You need me for something?” I asked, sitting back down.
My father reached for the pile of envelops propped against the fruit bowl. He rifled through them, temporarily distracted. His brow crinkled slightly as he mouthed the word bill over and over before dropping them back onto the table with a soft huff.
“Yeah, I was hoping to talk to you about a project I’d like to hire you for.”
I couldn’t help myself. I chuckled before he could even share his proposal. Sometimes I thought my life consisted of routines and scripts—certain things we each said and did that brought us comfort. Like Marty and my mom always did the same thing whenever he came over—she’d ask him to stay for dinner . . . he’d pretend to think about it . . . and she’d pretend that he had a choice.
My dad liked to think he could pay me to do odd jobs around the house—his intentions being to give me a little extra income. But we both knew better. He enjoyed having his son home and the conversations that always followed while we worked side by side.
I’d go along with it, right up to the moment he opened his wallet and handed me a fistful of bills. I’d take them and then, as I left, I’d leave them beside his keys.
It’s what we did.
Routines and scripts. We had many others. For the past few years, they’d helped me forge a space I could exist in—a state of mind that offered a sense of normalcy. There were days where I clung to them. They became like a freaking lifeline, keeping me from being swallowed whole.
Bless my family’s hearts—they never questioned it. Part of me wondered if it was also their way of dealing with the changes being a Marine brought.
“What do you need?” I stood, joining him over by the dining room table, leaving Marty to chat with my mom. There on the surface was a hardware store magazine—the booklet opened to the page showcasing different do-it-yourself projects.
“I was thinking that having a fire pit might be a great addition to the backyard. Summer’s around the corner and it might be fun to sit out there at night and cook over an open flame.” Licking his finger to turn the page, my dad continued. “I’ve priced a few models, but your mother suggested building one from brick or stone. What do you think?”
I stared down at the different kits, nodding. There’d been many times we’d had family BBQs and get-togethers, and I’d made a comment about how awesome a pit would be. Even if it was just my parents sitting close together as they interchanged between roasting marshmallows and looking up at the starlight sky, it would definitely be a great addition.
“Hmmm,” I murmured, my eyes scanning each page. “What’s your budget look like?” It was a professional courtesy to check before diving into a new order.
It was his turn to sigh, him glancing over at his wife before tapping his finger against a certain design. “Whatever’s reasonable. While I’m not expecting the Taj Mahal of fire pits, I trust your judgment, son.”
Same response he always gave.
It felt good to know he had faith in me.
“Let me take this home and I’ll go check out the inventory we have at work first, see if there’s anything I can use.” My brain was already clicking over a few ideas. Landscaping for Bryce had originally begun as a steady source of income while I tried to piece my life back together and decide my future. I honestly didn’t know who was more surprised that I had a natural affinity to it—my parents or me. Either way, I hadn’t looked for any other kind of work. I was content with working with my hands during the day and singing with my best friends at night.
“Sounds good to me.” Clapping my shoulder, he gave me another side-hug before loosening his tie. “Whatever you’re cooking, Heather, I want a huge plate of it. I’m starved. The office ran me ragged today. I barely had enough time to grab some lunch before I was thrown into an afternoon
of meetings.”
“Do I need to go in there and talk to your assistant?” If there was one thing that got my mother fired up, it was the thought that her guys weren’t taking care of themselves.
Tenderly wrapping his arms around her, my dad kissed his wife. “And scare poor JoAnna?” He chuckled and feathered another light kiss on her forehead. “It was my fault, sweetheart. I just need to manage my time a little better is all.”
This seemed to placate her. Her features softened.
“How are you tonight, Martin?” Dad asked, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of beer. He offered one to Marty and me. Both of us shook our head.
It was funny how both of my parents insisted on calling Marty by the name on his birth certificate.
“I’m doing good, sir.”
Touché. Marty had no problem being equally formal.
“So,” my dad smiled, rubbing his hands together. “Fill me in on all the latest gossip. How’s that girlfriend of yours? She still putting up with you?” He was answered with an exaggerated eye roll and grunt. “And Caylee? Is she here?” Dad looked about like he hoped she was simply in another room and would suddenly appear.
“Tell him about the FaceTime conversation you had recently,” Marty prodded, knowing that Trevor and Heather would see it as a big deal. Sure enough, he propped his head on his hand, like he was getting ready to watch a movie or something. I wouldn’t have put it past him to cook some popcorn—something to snack on as he listened.
Asshole.
“Did something happen?” Concern flooded my mother’s features. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
If I thought I could get away with it, I would’ve wrapped my hand around Marty’s neck and squeezed for making her worry.
Clearing my throat, I took another sip of water, the liquid cool as I swallowed. “Don’t listen to him, Mom. It wasn’t a big deal.”
“What wasn’t?” I now had my dad’s complete attention as well.
“Yes, tell us,” Marty pushed. I made a mental note to kick his ass the second we left.
Shrugging, I tapped my fingers against the side of the glass, tracing my finger through the condensation beads on the surface. “I was over at Caylee’s the other day when her parents called her.” I threw Marty another sharp glare. “They wanted to hear about her good news and I got to finally meet them.”
The kitchen exploded in excited chatter—everyone speaking at once and over each other.
“Tell me everything!” my mom gushed, hands clenched to her chest. I wasn’t quite sure how she was imagining the conversation, but hoped it wouldn’t disappoint.
“Yes, how were they? Were they nice? Did they like you?” Marty threw in, knowing full well that they had because he’d not only gotten a blow-by-blow play back from Rebecca, but I’d also given a few details when he’d asked.
Mom slapped Marty with the towel like she couldn’t believe it was even a possibility. “What a silly question, Martin! I’m sure they loved him.” She peered at me cautiously. “They did, didn’t they?”
My father laughed as I squirmed in my seat, and set my foot on the wooden rung again. “Don’t keep your mother in suspense, Coop. It’s best for everyone if you simply tell her whatever she wants to know.”
“They did. They were pretty cool and not at all how I thought they’d be. You know, with Owen and . . . everything.” So much was contained in that one word—everything. It held a wealth of emotion and memories.
“Good.” Nodding, my mother’s lips pursed, like she was desperately trying not to ask the hundreds of questions I was sure were bouncing around in her head. “I know you were worried. If it helps, we adore Caylee. I’m sure they’re grateful to see their daughter happy and in a wonderful relationship.”
Eggshells. We were all walking carefully over them.
“Tell them who else you got to speak with,” Marty pushed, a smug look on his face. “And how much fun it was.”
Again, her face clouded over. “What’s he talking about, honey?”
“You’re a dick,” I fired at Marty, not caring that my comment would probably get me in trouble with my mom. I was a grown man and all, but she was still a stickler for manners. “Nothing bad happened. Promise. Toward the end of the conversation, Caylee’s brother showed up. You know how older siblings are. He thought he needed to give me . . . the talk.” I bent my fingers in the air like a quote.
“Ahhh.” Dad chuckled and took another pull from the bottle. “Been there. Done that. I’m pretty sure there’s a t-shirt somewhere in storage.”
The glance shared between my parents was one I’d witnessed many times growing up—the briefest of moments where they silently exchanged some memory only they knew about.
It was no secret that when my dad had gone over to ask her parents permission to marry, that they had raked him over the proverbial coals—all but checking his teeth to ensure he came from good stock. It had all been done in jest—my grandparents had instantly approved of their future son-in-law—but it didn’t stop the stories from being talked about all these years later. And each time, they got bigger, and grander, and more twisted than before.
The memory made me chuckle. “Roman pretty much did the same thing. He threatened to hunt me down and beat me within an inch of my life if I ever hurt his sister. Talked about her honor and virtue. At one point, I half expected him to demand my medical records and a vial of my blood.” As crazy as it sounded, it had been Caylee’s brother who helped me let go of any apprehension about whether or not I’d be accepted.
It also let me know that, should Caylee and I get more serious and committed, I’d be gaining another brother.
Fuck. When did I start thinking about the M word? I wasn’t convinced we were ready to discuss marriage, but that didn’t stop the idea from flitting about in my head.
Or the way my heart kind of raced a little faster at the thought of her being mine forever.
“I’m glad it went okay, son.” Dad saluted me with his half empty beer bottle. I leaned over and clinked my glass to his drink. “Congratulation on surviving the all important milestone.”
“Yes, you’re one step closer to receiving a beautifully crafted ball and chain, buddy. Inscribed with your name and everything.”
My dad didn’t even skip a beat. “And when will we be hearing about you meeting Rebecca’s parents?”
Marty’s reaction was hilarious as his face drained of color. His mouth flapped open like a fish on dry land. He was good with making fun of others . . . not so good when the shoe was on the other foot.
“Well,” he spluttered, tugging at his shirt’s collar, even though it wasn’t in any way tight. “I . . .”
“Leave him be, Trevor,” my mom interrupted, plates in her hand. “Dinner’s almost ready so help set the table, all of you. There’ll be plenty of time afterward to rake Marty over the coals about his love life.”
Grateful for the brief reprieve, all conversation was abandoned as the delicious smells of a home cooked meal wafted over us.
This is what I want with Caylee. I walked into the kitchen to grab the utensils before returning to watch those I loved most in the world do their assigned tasks before we all sat around the dining table.
Family.
Our family.
“Can you say grace tonight, sweetheart?” The request was directed at me.
Bowing my head, I mumbled the words I’d memorized since childhood—offering a short thanks for the food before saying a soft amen.
It wasn’t much, but it was as honest as I could be.
One thing was for sure, however.
My gratitude was real.
I had a lot to be thankful for.
Chapter Fourteen
Caylee
“I think this is the one,” I hollered, giving myself one last look in the changing room’s mirror. It had only taken hours of searching the different stores in town, but our perseverance had paid off.
Or should I say, Rebecca�
��s.
Damn, that girl knew how to shop.
“I get veto power, remember. So, until you come out here and let me see, this is just one of many possibilities.” She’d been relentless all afternoon—determined that I would be the belle of the award ceremony.
Ever since receiving the good news a few weeks ago, we’d been in Operation Perfect Dress mode. There wasn’t an outlet store or boutique within a thirty-mile radius we hadn’t scoured faithfully.
It didn’t matter that I had a closet at home with perfectly adequate outfits—any of them fine for the school event where I’d be presented officially with my scholarship and certificate of receipt. In my mind, I was partial to wearing a pair of jeans with a glittery top—one that I’d worn often to Cooper’s band gigs.
The look of sheer horror and disbelief on my roommate’s face when I’d pulled a few hangers out had sealed my fate. I couldn’t be trusted with something as simple of picking my own clothes.
It wasn’t enough to look good, she’d retorted matter-of-factly. I had to dazzle like the brightest star in the night sky—basking in the brilliance that was my awesomeness . . . her words, not mine.
So entrusting my almost maxed-out credit card to her, I’d patiently let myself be led about from store to store.
But this dress had my name written all over it.
Giving myself another glance in the mirror, I couldn’t help appreciating the way it hugged my curves and flattered my frame. Even Rebecca had to admit this was the one.
“Okay, coming out,” I answered, emerging into the smaller waiting area. There was the briefest glimpse of barely restrained boredom before she whooped out loud and jumped to her feet excitedly.
Rebecca’s eyes widened as she covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh. My. Gosh.” And then she stopped talking and stalked around me in silence. I recognized the move as the one she did whenever she was closely scrutinizing something.
Crossing my fingers, I hoped the dress withstood her inspection because I’d be damned if I was going to traipse through any more shops today. Scratch that . . . at all.
Bittersweet Symphony (The Damaged Souls series Book 2) Page 13
