Bittersweet Symphony (The Damaged Souls series Book 2)

by Belinda Boring

  “Of course, because who wants to hear you sober, right?”

  Before I could respond, he disappeared off the stage to go grab Aidan and Troy. I didn’t have the strength to argue with him either. He was right. I’d adamantly decided to self-destruct, expecting my friends to quietly stand by while I did it. I’d expected them to agree with my choice to end things with Caylee—forgetting that they’d grown to love her as well.

  Signaling for a refill, I smiled at the waitress when she brought me over a new drink and winked for good measure. It was for Caylee’s benefit, a stupid knee-jerk reaction that had nothing to do with flirting and everything about cloaking myself with a new sense of false bravado.

  It hadn’t mattered anyway—as far as I could see, she hadn’t glanced my way at all.

  Testing to see that the microphone was on and ready, I called for the crowd’s attention and lifted my glass in the air. “I don’t know about you all, but I’m ready to kick this night off with some music!” There were a few woots and hollers from the rowdy group that had been using one of the pool tables in the back. Sensing the guys joining me on stage, I welcomed everyone and slipped into the mindset I needed.

  The drop dead gorgeous woman at the bar wasn’t my ex-girlfriend. For the next period of time, I was Cooper Hensley, lead singer and someone who didn’t give a fuck about anything.

  As long as I didn’t look her way, that was.

  Ignore her.

  Forget her.

  There just wasn’t enough alcohol on the planet to do the impossible.

  ****

  The whiskey burning a hole through my stomach added fuel to the inferno brewing inside me. Everything had been fine, my tight grip on the microphone mirroring the murderous thoughts coursing through my head.

  My resolve to ignore Caylee had lasted all of five seconds, but it had still been somewhat manageable, because I’d convinced myself that, as long as I kept on stage, microphone in my hand, I was safe.

  That was until some dumbass college fucker had the nerve to approach her.

  Now, she was the only thing I saw, the crowd fading away to a nuisance noise. At one point, I’d even forgotten the words to the song we’d been playing—instead focusing on the familiar manner the stranger talked to her, praying that she’d tell him she wasn’t interested so I could get back to ignoring her.

  I knew I wasn’t making sense and that was the rub.

  I didn’t care.

  The only thing I gave a damn about was her telling him to take a hike.

  But she didn’t.

  As the minutes ticked by, Caylee accepted a drink from him, swirling the straw around her glass as she peered up at him with a smile—a goddamn smile—on her face.

  “Get your shit together, Cooper,” Marty hissed, bringing me back to why I was even there—performing, singing, doing something that was meant to mean something to me . . . to the band . . . even to Caylee.

  The shimmer of hope I’d felt seeing her at first was gone. She truly hadn’t been here to see me . . . be near me . . . maybe convince me to finally listen to her.

  She was here to have a good time and, from the looks of it, this wannabe frat boy was it.

  Over my dead body.

  With the song over, I had little choice. “This one goes out to a special someone. She knows who she is.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Marty countered, glaring hard at me when I glanced over my shoulder his way. If I was going to fall apart and go up in flames, it might as well be now in front of everyone.

  Tapping my foot to the beat, waiting for my intro, I caught Caylee’s attention, our eyes locking across the room and I held it.

  She didn’t, instead choosing to shift in her seat, effectively turning her back to me. She must’ve said something to Rebecca because her roommate moved as well, using her body to hide Caylee from my sight.

  I deserved it. But it didn’t stop me from singing the song I’d written specifically for Caylee. Maybe she’d understand where I was coming from if she heard it one more time.

  Halfway through, and a desperate kind of sensation crept in, whispering I’d truly lost her. No matter how hard I sang, sometimes slurring the words, but oh well, she didn’t look my way again.

  Then the bastard did the unforgivable.

  He touched her.

  Touched her arm.

  He leaned in and whispered into her ear, and then paused, as if he were inhaling her scent like a fucking predator.

  She would never be his prey. He would never lay another finger on her, because I was going to rip his arms off and beat the living hell out of him with them. Then, as he begged for mercy, I’d shove them down his throat and choke him.

  “Cooper,” came the cry from behind as I dropped the microphone and jumped from the stage. I stormed through the crowd and people scrambled to get out of the way. I could hear Marty following behind me, but he’d be too late. By the time he managed to pull me off this guy, the asshole would be bleeding on the floor.

  Seeing red, I reached for him. I jerked him back and slammed my fist straight into his surprised face.

  “Touch her again and I’ll kill you. She’s not fucking yours!”

  “Cooper!” Caylee screamed, horrified by my actions.

  “I didn’t know she was yours,” the guy answered, holding his hands up to ward off my attack. He tried to retreat—wiping his bloody nose with the back of his hand.

  “I’m nobody’s!” Caylee yelled again, fury rolling off her that rivaled my own. “He’s no one, Matthew. Seriously. Let’s just go.” When she reached for him and he took her hand, something inside me snapped.

  “Stop touching him, Caylee!” I growled, my voice low and menacing.

  “Or what? You’ll hit me this time? Don’t forget who it was that ended our relationship, Cooper. You were the one that said we weren’t going to work. You were the one that walked away.”

  “I’m serious. Remove your hand.” Marty tugged at me and I shrugged him off. “I won’t say it again.”

  “Listen, man. It sounds like she can make her own choices. How about you go finish singing and we’ll just leave. No harm, no foul.”

  The idiot kept opening his mouth, asinine bullshit spewing out. “No harm, no foul? Are you fucking kidding me?” I shoved him this time, breaking the contact he had with Caylee. My arm cocked back and I let a lethal right hook fly. It connected solidly with his jaw and he dropped to the ground. “The only place you’ll be going is to the hospital with your fucking teeth in a plastic baggie. You picked the wrong girl to try and pick up. She won’t be fucking you tonight, boy-o.”

  “Cooper, you’re causing a scene. Enough. Just let it go,” Marty begged, attempting again to calm me down. “Look at Caylee. If you care anything for her, stop. You’re scaring her. Is that what you want?” When I didn’t, he held the back of my head and forced me. “Look.”

  He was right. She was standing there with an expression of distress. Rebecca’s arms were protectively around her as if trying to shield Caylee from . . . me. I was the threat. I was the one who’d filled those beautiful blue eyes with tears and revulsion—the same eyes that had once been beacons of love.

  From the corner of my eye, I could see the bartender gesture for the bouncer and my temper cooled, but not before I threatened the guy one last time. “Consider this a warning. Keep away.”

  “When did you become a monster?” Caylee whispered, shaking her head in disbelief.

  “Didn’t you know, sweetheart?” I retorted coldly, the steel cage slamming down around my heart as I dragged oblivion back toward me. “I was always a monster.”

  “Then I’m glad I finally see you for who you are.”

  With that, Caylee took hold of Rebecca’s hand and headed toward the exit.

  I’d wanted her to hate me.

  But now that I finally had my wish, it was the last thing in the world I wanted. There would no going back from this—any redemption—any forgiveness.

  I’d
made my bed and now I would have to lie in it.

  Empty.

  Alone.

  Chapter Thirty

  Caylee

  I was furious—beyond angry over how juvenile Cooper had acted, attacking the guy I’d been talking with. Frankly, I’d enjoyed the attention. It felt good to have a conversation where I didn’t have to watch every word I said. Being with Cooper had been wonderful, but it hadn’t been without it’s own challenges.

  “Do you think Matthew’s okay?” I asked Rebecca as she sat on her bed. She’d been listening to me rant for the past hour, watching me pace back and forth like a caged lioness. Over and over, I rehashed the events, alternating between a cynical tirade and tearful disbelief.

  It was one thing to know Cooper came with his own baggage and insecurities, and another to witness him completely unravel in front of everyone—reduced down to petty jealousy and violence.

  “Did he give you his phone number?” Rebecca sat with her legs crossed, her pillows cushioned behind her, a bag of Cheetos opened beside her. “Maybe you can call and check up on him.”

  “And say what? Sorry about your face? Sorry my ex was a jealous jerk and kicked your ass? Yeah, I can only imagine what he thinks of me right now.”

  “You’re not responsible for how Cooper acts, Caylee. Tonight was all on him. You have nothing to feel bad about.” I could hear the slight exasperation in her voice as she repeated herself. She’d been saying it ever since we left the bar, hoping I’d finally accept the truth. I did—it was just a hard habit to break.

  “I know!” I exhaled, falling back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. When had she added glow-in-the-dark stars?

  “So what’s the problem?”

  She had a point. If I knew in my heart that I couldn’t keep feeling guilty for things beyond my control, why was I still beating myself up over it?

  “Ugh, you’re right. I can’t keep doing this—letting him mess with my head like this.” Even as I said it out loud, I could feel something harden within me, that shrinking piece of hope I’d been foolishly nurturing. He’d warned me he would hurt me, that it would be a mistake to start any kind of relationship with him, and tonight . . . tonight was the last straw.

  We were over.

  I no longer wanted anything from him—not even friendship.

  Yet, my heart betrayed me once again. “Do you think he’s okay?”

  “Who? Matthew? I’m sure he is.”

  “No, Cooper,” I mumbled, avoiding eye contact. I knew how pathetic I sounded.

  “Who cares? He deserves whatever he gets now. I know he was important to you, Caylee, but he acted like a jackass tonight. He embarrassed himself, you, Marty . . .”

  A loud pounding at the front door interrupted her, causing us abruptly sit up, wary. Rebecca had texted Marty while we rode home in the taxi, letting him know we were both okay. He’d shot back a quick response that he was with Cooper, trying to calm him down enough to assess the damage. We hadn’t heard anything since.

  “Is it bad I just want to hide in here and not answer the door?” I confessed, a sinking feeling in my stomach. “I’m not in the mood for any visitors.”

  “Me either, but it might be Marty. Maybe we should give him a key . . . for future use?” She shrugged, winking as she said future use. Suddenly the image of him sneaking in through her window, or other weird entrances, popped into my head, making me laugh.

  It was funny how foreign it felt to do so—how long it had been that I had a cause to chuckle.

  “Don’t make your lover boy wait. Go let him in. Maybe we can convince him to cook us something delicious. I’m starving!” I fell back, putting my hands behind my head as a makeshift pillow while I waited. Maybe we could even open up a bottle of wine and watch some cheesy 80’s movie and forget tonight ever happened.

  Rebecca returned shortly after, biting on her bottom lip nervously, her eyes bright. Before I had a chance to ask where her boyfriend was, she closed the door and leaned against it like she was barricading us in.

  “Whoever it was is gone.”

  Another angry round of banging filtered through the house.

  “Well, it looks like they’ve returned,” I quipped, dragging myself up. “Let me go give them an earful. I’m in the mood to yell at someone.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “Don’t. Just ignore it. The door’s locked so they’ll eventually go away.” When I stared at her curiously, her expression turned to one of pleading. “Please, Caylee. Don’t answer it.”

  Something was definitely off. “Why not?” I studied her, trying to understand why she wanted to hide away in her bedroom instead of telling whoever it was to go away—or at least call the police.

  That’s when it dawned on me. Closing my eyes as energy drained from me—from the top of my head to the tip of my toes—I didn’t need to walk outside to see who was causing the commotion.

  “I’m serious. Don’t go out there. He’s drunk . . . drunker . . . and it’s not safe. Hell, if he keeps this up, someone will call the cops and they’ll force him to leave.”

  “He’ll listen to me,” I answered, a sense of dread building. When he said I’d regret him, I hadn’t actually believed him. But tonight, he was making me eat my words—agreeing with him for the first time. This wasn’t who he was—simply who he chose to become. It was heartbreaking, but if there was one thing I’d learn this evening, it was I couldn’t keep making excuses for him. “Let me at least try, and if he doesn’t, I’ll call his brother to come get him. Deal?”

  Rebecca didn’t answer. Instead, she left her post at the door and slipped inside her closet. A few moments later, she came back out with a baseball bat. When I cocked my eyebrow, wondering if she really had the courage to use it, she shrugged. “Just in case.”

  It was unbelievable how things had completely disintegrated that this was even an option—a serious option—not just a joke.

  “I’ll talk through the door with the chain barring his entrance. I won’t go outside. I won’t let him in.”

  It was her turn to question me and I didn’t blame her. She’d heard every reason in the book of why he needed a second, third, fourth chance.

  But tonight had changed everything—changed me.

  I made my way to the front of the house, my heart thundering in my chest. With trembling hands, I slid the chain into place and rose up on tiptoes to peer through the peephole.

  Sure enough, Cooper was outside, ready to knock more. He was completely disheveled and he swayed back and forth.

  “Go home, Cooper,” I ordered through the slight gap. “You can’t be here anymore.”

  “Caylee, please. Let me in. Let me explain. I got it all wrong. Please.” The strong scent of alcohol escaped his mouth as he pushed his face up to the space, making me flinch. He stunk like a brewery. Heaven knew how he even managed to keep upright.

  “No, you’re drunk and I don’t want you here. Go home.” My voice didn’t once waiver, even as my insides quivered. I couldn’t let him see how hard this was or give him any hope that he could break my resolve.

  “Why won’t you let me in? You were right, sweetheart. I was wrong. I miss you. I can’t breathe without you. Tell me . . . how can I fix this?” He attempted to reach through the crack in the door and I stepped out of reach. Where once his touch filled me with exhilaration, it made me cringe now. His knuckles were bruised from him attacking Matthew. “I didn’t mean to, Caylee. I promise. I’ve just missed you so much. Please. Just let me explain.”

  Tears filled my eyes. I’d often heard about how quickly a person could break given the right circumstances, but I’d never seen it. His mother had shared horror stories from when Cooper first returned and how much she’d feared he’d end up killing himself. Night after night, she’d lain awake, praying to God for him, hoping with every fiber inside her that she’d be granted just one miracle . . . her son—whole and happy.

  He’d come along way.

  He’d worked hard to overcome so
much.

  And now, he’d completely relapsed.

  What he needed wasn’t me. What he truly needed was an intervention—rehab—counseling—something other than spending his life in a constant state of drunken numbness.

  I could see it.

  His friends could see it.

  His family could see it.

  The only one who didn’t see the danger he was in . . . was him.

  “Let me call Bryce to come get you, Cooper,” I said softly. No matter how angry I was, I knew deep down I loved him and only wanted the best things for him. He was such a proud man. Part of him had to be screaming inside—demanding him to get his crap together, that the path he was on would only end in heartache. “You just can’t be here.”

  “Is he here?” All warmth fled his tone, replaced by one that chilled me to the core.

  My Cooper was gone.

  This was his addiction speaking.

  These were his demons tugging on his strings like a puppet master does to a marionette.

  “I’m not going to answer that,” I answered firmly, holding eye contact through the gap. “Goodnight, Cooper.” And with strength I didn’t know I had, I started to close the door.

  “He is, isn’t he? That bastard is in there, gloating that he has you and I don’t.” He pushed hard at the door, the movement jolting through me as I braced myself. “Tell him to come out and face me like a man. Maybe I’ll give him a matching black eye.”

  “I’m going to say this only once, so listen carefully, you need to quit drinking. This isn’t the man I fell in love with. One day you’re going to wake up and everyone you love will be gone because they can’t bear to witness your self-loathing. Respect yourself enough to get some help.” Then with one final shove, I closed the door and locked it. He could rant and rave all he wanted. He could channel his Big, Bad, Wolf—huffing and puffing until he was blue in the face. He could threaten, beg, and bargain . . . I wasn’t going to reopen the door.

  Arms wrapped around me. The familiar presence of Rebecca enveloped me and I finally broke down.