Bittersweet Symphony (The Damaged Souls series Book 2)

by Belinda Boring

  Violet’s next words were blazing with bold truth. “We become masters of denial—almost as powerful as our loved ones. In the end, though, we all lose.”

  Without realizing it, our chore was over, yet we continued standing there, talking. “It’s a tempting illusion to give in to . . . safer even.” Saying it out loud, hearing how illogical it sounded, it was comforting to see that I hadn’t been the only one to fall into that trap.

  “It’s never easy to acknowledge a challenge, especially when it seems insurmountable. We want to protect our hearts and avoid any possible pain. We want to provide an escape for them. But in the end, like any delusion, it shatters, leaving us in worse shape than before. Some aren’t able to come back from it.” Violet’s insight struck such a deep chord within me. It was as if she looked inside me—at all I had gone through with both Owen and now Cooper, and found the precise words to describe my journey.

  Hanging the tea towel to dry, Heather’s response was sobering. “Which is a tragedy in itself. Thank goodness our Cooper doesn’t have to go through this alone.”

  “Even though he likes to think he has to.” I chuckled softly. “Sorry, but that man is stubborn. He sometimes tries to push me away as if he’s some threat to be avoided. Like if he lets me get too close, he’ll inevitably burn me.”

  Heather gathered me in her arms and squeezed me tight. The comforting scent of her apple shampoo filled me, reminding me of my own mother. “And I’m so grateful you don’t let that come between you. He did the same thing to us those first few months home. There were times I felt like a rubber band being stretched back and forth.”

  “The trick is not to allow it to break you. Given a chance, it will cause you both to snap.” There was loving pride shining from Violet’s eyes as she watched Heather continue to embrace me. We were three generations of women who’d chosen to safeguard and defend our homes. We were every bit the warrior—fighting for those we loved.

  “I call it the three P’s,” Heather said, finally releasing me to lean against the counter closest to the oven. “Patience, persistence, and prayer. Those three things got me through Cooper’s return. Sometimes it was all I could do.”

  “Mine were three W’s.” Violet held up her hand, counting off her things. “Watch, work, and wine.” Her last one made me crack up. I could see where Cooper got his cheeky sense of humor from. It ran in the family.

  “Which reminds me, I have a bottle chilling in the fridge if anyone would like some.” Without needing a response, Heather pulled it out and reached for some glasses next.

  “I’m going to check on Cooper first, but I’d love some. Thank you.” All this talk had me yearning for even the briefest of glimpses of him. Peace of mind would’ve been one of my own P’s.

  “Okay, honey. We’ll be here.”

  I hadn’t taken but three steps when Cooper’s startled shouts filled the air—my name screamed over and over again. He garbled something else, words I couldn’t quite understand, but it didn’t matter.

  Rushing to the room, not pausing long enough to reconsider or wait to see if it passed, I grabbed hold of the door handle and turned it.

  I had no idea what I’d find.

  As Lola’s sharp barks rose above the chaos, I ignored the warning voice in my head.

  I was going in.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Cooper

  It came out of nowhere—the sound of bullets zinging through the air, ricocheting and exploding as the world hurtled into chaos.

  An ambush.

  One of the many things we feared with each new patrol, always vigilant, never knowing when or where it might erupt.

  “Take cover!” I screamed, silently praying that my men—friends—would get to safety and dodged death so we could live to fight another day. There was never enough time to look about and make sure everyone was covered. In the blink of an eye, the street became tainted with flying dust and the acrid scent of discharged weapons.

  My heart thudded loudly in my ears. My breath was ragged as I dropped to my knees. I radioed in that we were under attack and all I could think of was fuck, this was it. Today was the day I was going to die.

  That was until my training kicked in. Thank god.

  “Contact. We have contact left!” The shout echoed in my head, pushing aside any fear or hesitation. The second of panic that had prickled against my nerves disappeared and in its place came a cold sense of calm—we would survive this. I would see each of my brothers home.

  Until I glanced over at Sawyer and recognized the expression he wore. I realized before I saw the blood spilling from his weakening body that something had gone horribly wrong. Sometimes we just knew. He’d been struck in the neck and with each passing moment, his blood drained from his fresh wound . . . almost as quickly as the life fled from his eyes.

  Motherfucking bullet.

  There was no damn way I would allow the bastards to win.

  There was no way my best friend would meet his Maker on the dirty street of this village.

  All I had to do was reach him, protect him, avenge him. With each step I took, my determination grew, forcing me to place one foot in front of the other. I just needed to get to him.

  This time I would save him.

  This time I would staunch the injury, keeping him alive until we could get him medical attention.

  By sheer will power, I would change the outcome—preventing what I knew was inevitable. Maybe, just maybe, I would be the fucking hero others would later call me.

  Unbelievable pain coursed through me as my brain took a fraction of a second longer to process what was happening. Oh yes, I remember . . . this wasn’t real . . . this was a memory. The agony coursing through me, igniting my back and legs on fire were echoes of my own injuries. I hadn’t escaped the bullets fired by insurgents. I was bleeding out, too, but damn it to hell . . . just once I wanted to alter the course of my destiny—of Owen’s.

  “Cooper!” Her voice screeched over the noise, over the yelling and gunfire. There was no way she could be here yet there she stood. In the midst of the street. Her blonde hair blew in the breeze. Caylee stretched out her arms, begging for my help.

  The hem of her dress was caked in mud, a sleeve ripped as it hung loosely down her arm. Why was she always in a dress? Why couldn’t she be decked in full battle camo—protected by the vest that hadn’t protected me?

  Over and over, she screamed for me. With each word, my resolve crumbled beneath the growing anxiety that anchored itself to my soul, whispering that, despite anything I did, I would never get to her in time.

  Glancing down at Owen, I knew what I’d find, what I always saw when I dreamt of this moment. His lifeless blue eyes peered up—filled with condemnation, hatred, and rage. He hadn’t been able to get to safety and with his last breath, witnessed me failing not just him, but also his wife.

  He’d trusted me.

  I’d been given the task of protecting what was most precious to him and instead, I’d revealed the true cowardice in my heart. There would be no redemption for me if I didn’t at least try.

  There just wasn’t enough time.

  Fuck, why wasn’t there ever enough time?

  Ignoring my own pain, I yelled for her to drop, to run, to do anything but stand there like an open target. Digging my fingers into the dirt, I hoped that it would give me enough leverage to move, but it was like wading through molasses. For each inch I gained, an eternity passed.

  As the sound of a weapon being reloaded cut through the noise, bile rose up into my mouth. I wasn’t going to make it.

  Caylee Sawyer was going to join her husband in death.

  The love of my life . . . the woman who had brought light back into my world was going to reap the consequences of my failure.

  I blinked.

  Why does everything happen in that space between inhales and exhales?

  For once, why couldn’t anything I did be enough?

  “Cooper,” she mouthed, her eyes wide
ning in horror as the first bullet tore through her, an angry batch of red appearing above her chest and spreading outward.

  Red. Bright red. I would loathe this color for the rest of my life. It was the color of death and my heart shattered into a million pieces.

  “Caylee!” I yelled, my own voice cracking and I realized I hadn’t once stopped shouting. “I love . . .”

  Those three simple yet powerful words didn’t shield her from the onslaught that followed. Her body twitched like a puppet on the string, dancing and contorting as a hidden insurgent emptied his clip into her.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four.

  Five.

  In gut wrenching slow motion, I watched on as she finally collapsed to the ground—broken, an empty shell. There was no need to check for a pulse. No one could withstand that kind of brutality, especially without armor. She’d appeared in the middle of the attack—innocent and pure, unblemished and perfect.

  Roaring with unbridled fury, my thoughts took on a more murderous tone. Fuck honor. Fuck it all. With my last breath, I would avenge them both. With my bare hands I would choke the life out of my enemy. I would end him. I wouldn’t stop until he was a bloodied pulp, unrecognizable, left to be picked apart by scavengers.

  Movement caught my attention as I found the object of my hatred. His face was hidden behind the fabric wrapped around his head to ward of dust and the heat. Any other day, he could’ve been a local villager, a father to one of the children Owen and I had given candy to. He might have been someone we fought to protect—knowing that leaders often chose war on behalf of the country.

  It didn’t matter, however.

  I didn’t need to see what he looked like to kill him.

  I didn’t need to know his name to send him to Hell.

  A bullet would be too good for this scum. I wanted the pleasure of tearing him apart with my own two hands, my fingers curling around his traitorous throat as I choked the life from him.

  Blinking again, the distance between us shrunk as if time sped up, gifting me with my hearts desire. He didn’t budge, his eyes challenging me to unleash my own cruelty.

  Once upon a time, I would never have thought such actions possible. No one wakes up believing they were capable of acting violently—cloaking themselves in civility and societal norms that dictated such viciousness reside solely within animals and predators.

  It was that animalistic example I drew strength from now. It was to my baser nature that I paid homage.

  Come what may—whatever happened afterward, I would never regret this. There was no way I could walk away knowing this man . . . this monster lived.

  Even if it meant becoming a monster myself.

  “You killed her!” I roared, my nails digging into his flesh, blood already pooling from wounds as I wrapped my fingers around his neck. My thumbs pressed down hard against his throat, his eyes beginning to bulge from the pressure.

  The dead calm from earlier returned—blanketing the two of us in reverent silence—drowning out any distraction as we locked gazes.

  It was only when his attempts to dislodge my grip failed that fear finally filled his eyes. He knew it down to his core. There would be no stopping me.

  He was going to die and I would laugh and laugh and laugh.

  “Say hello to the Devil, fucker!” I yelled, spittle flying from my mouth as the sound of a dog barking crept around my senses.

  A dog.

  A familiar sound.

  Tightening my fingers, I shook my head, fighting against the growing urge to see what the dog was barking about.

  Then a name came to me as though it floated across a great divide on the wings of an eagle.

  Lola.

  My sweet, devoted Lola. Was she here? God, please tell me that she wasn’t in danger as well.

  There was a flash of brown fur—enough to melt my frozen resolve—to glance down and see her bang hard against my leg in an attempt to draw my attention.

  “Lola?” My voice sounded foreign in my ears.

  What the fuck was I doing?

  Releasing my enemy’s throat, I shoved him backward, but not before catching a glimpse of his face as the fabric unraveled from his head, revealing his identity.

  It was me.

  The insurgent was me.

  The bringer of death was me.

  I had killed Owen and Caylee.

  Me.

  “Noooooooo!” I screamed, finally coming to.

  “Cooper,” Caylee croaked, her nails piercing the skin of my wrists, her weakening frame sagging as my body kept her in place against the wall. My worst nightmare had happened. I’d done the unthinkable.

  Whilst dreaming of the past, I’d somehow acted out my rage on the one person I loved most in the world.

  Lola’s anxious barking flooded my ears in between nipping at my leg, her teeth tearing at my jeans.

  On the other side of the door, my father banged and shoved against the barrier, screaming to be let in.

  Yet the only thing I saw—the sight that turned my insides cold—were the tears streaming down Caylee’s face, her mouth slowly forming the words to speak my name. The words that should’ve been said out loud if I wasn’t choking the very life out of her.

  What had I done?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Caylee

  The room seemed to spin as I rubbed my neck, dragging in deep breaths. No matter how hard I tried, however, I couldn’t shake the dizziness that followed Cooper releasing his death grip and the wave of nausea that hit me hard.

  It had been close—a little too close for comfort. If Lola hadn’t intervened, Cooper’s father and brother threatening to break down the door, I honestly didn’t know if I would have survived.

  I’d known better than to confront Cooper during an episode—remembered each and every time I’d sworn to obey and resist stepping in. Yet I’d thrown it all out the window the second I’d heard him screaming.

  I was just as responsible for what happened when I entered the bedroom. In my heart of hearts, I didn’t resent him one bit.

  Bruises would heal. Memories would fade. It wasn’t fear that governed my emotions right now—it was the absolute horror radiating from my boyfriend that consumed me.

  He was going to run.

  He was going to start throwing up his defenses again—barring me access—convinced that the danger he’d predicted from the start of our relationship had become a reality.

  It was as if a huge, neon-blinking sign hung in the air above him—the light spelling out I told you so. In one crushing blow, everything we’d gone through to fall in love and overcome the obstacles between us, evaporated like it never existed.

  If I didn’t act quickly, Cooper Hensley would return to the distant stranger, a far cry from the devoted boyfriend he’d become.

  It was enough to make me want to scream at the injustice. He couldn’t help what had happened. He would never have purposely and knowingly attacked me. The very thought was abhorrent, yet here we were . . . me quickly pulled back into the protective circle of Cooper’s family while he stood alone in the bedroom—his eyes wild with the residual aggression.

  “Are you okay?” Heather asked, scanning me for injury, her gaze never straying far from my neck. Her expression said it all . . . the redness I knew was there would soon become bruises—angry, black and blue bruises that would act as proof that Cooper was right.

  I was waiting for him to utter the words—to begin the avalanche of excuses of why I needed to walk away. He’d already tried before to convince me and I’d been able to show him that each reason was irrational.

  But this was different.

  I wasn’t sure I had the strength or the ability to breach his iron-clad defenses. The fact he hadn’t looked away, his own gaze focused on my throat spoke volumes.

  He was already gone.

  All that was left was making it official.

  “I’m fine,” I heard myself answe
r, trying to step back toward Cooper but stopped before I could enter the room. It wasn’t just Heather who held her arm out, either. Violet and Bryce did the same. “Please, let me pass. I need to go to him,” I begged, feeling time run out. The longer he was able to think, the firmer his convictions would become.

  “Take Caylee home, Bryce.” Cooper’s father didn’t bother looking over his shoulder at me. He kept his eyes locked on his youngest son, inching closer until he was within reaching distance. Trusting that Bryce would obey, he dragged Cooper into his arms and held him tight.

  “Come on,” Heather murmured, reluctantly leaving her husband alone with Cooper as she guided me away. It galled me that I no longer offered any resistance—all fight drained from my body—shock finally taking over.

  “Bryce, she’s going to faint!” came a voice from behind me.

  Everything went fuzzy and I began to fall. As my vision darkened, strong arms scooped me up, keeping me from hitting the floor.

  “I’ve got you, Caylee. I’ve got you.”

  I need to go to Cooper, I pleaded to no avail. My voice was trapped inside my head and my body ignored my attempts to move. There was nothing else I could do but surrender, welcoming the brief respite from the battle of wills fast approaching.

  I would make him understand.

  I would make him listen.

  I would make him fight for us.

  I would show him that nothing could come between us.

  Eventually.

  I just hoped it wouldn’t be too late.

  ****

  It was hours later when I heard a knock at the door.

  “Cooper!” I exclaimed, finding him and his brother at the doorstep. Without thinking, I threw myself at him, kissing his face, ignoring the awkward way he held me in response. It should’ve warned me that this reunion wasn’t going to be a pleasant one but I didn’t care. I was simply grateful he was all in one piece, the color back in his face now that he’d put some distance between him and his nightmare.