“Why don’t you go get yourself a cup of coffee, or something? Clear your head. Maybe by the time you return, he’ll be awake and you can see for yourself he’s okay.”
“He’s not okay, Trevor.” My mom’s voice rose, thick with emotion. “He tried to kill himself. He didn’t reach out to any of us and, from what Marty said, he pushed everyone away tonight. He attacked some poor stranger. He terrorized Caylee at her home. He tried to start a fight with Marty. He’s out of control and I don’t know how I can help him!”
“You heard what the doctor said. We’ve done all we can . . . the rest is up to him. If Cooper doesn’t want to fight for his life, then there’s nothing we can do to convince him. All we can do is love and pray that he reaches out. We can’t force him.”
“Like hell, Trevor. I will not lose him . . . not this time . . . not like this. I don’t care if we have to talk to a judge and get him court ordered into treatment, I refuse to bury my son because I didn’t do everything within my power.”
Neither of them spoke, my mother’s desperation hanging in the air, heavy. It was suffocating in its purity.
“We won’t know anything until he wakes,” Dad gently reminded her.
“Then wake him up so he can explain why he thought this was his only answer. I want him to look me in the eyes as he tries to make me understand why he thought downing all those pills would somehow fix his life. I don’t care what mistakes he’s made. He. Is. My. Son. It is my job to make sure he’s okay.” Fear filled her words, the truth beneath her anger. I’d made her afraid—very, very afraid. Yet I remained still, forcing my breathing to keep its calm cadence. “A gun! You found a gun. I can’t . . .” She finally broke, hysterics taking over. Before I could open my mouth to apologize and face the music, they stepped outside.
The self-loathing I’d felt in the past was pitiful compared to the avalanche piling down on me.
“You can open your eyes now, Cooper. I know you’re awake.” My dad had returned and he let out a weary sigh. I might’ve fooled my mom, but not him. There was a good chance he’d known the moment I’d come around, which told me he’d wanted me to hear their conversation. He’d wanted me to realize the toll my attempt had had on those I’d selfishly decided to leave behind.
Coughing to clear my throat, it was difficult to meet his steely gaze and not flinch. “Hey.”
“I love you, son, but are you sure that’s the first thing you want to say to me?” His expression softened as he took his seat beside the bed. “You’ve had us all worried.”
My mouth instantly dried and I looked around for something to drink—anything to get rid of the nasty taste and steal a few extra seconds before answering. Dad poured some water into a small plastic cup and handed it to me. He then waited to make sure I had a tight enough grip of before letting it go.
The ticking of the clock on the wall echoed.
The rhythmic beep of the machine followed.
He wasn’t going to say another word until I did.
“I’m sorry,” I offered, meaning it. It didn’t seem like much in light of the severity, but it was all I had. With the alcohol out of my system, things weren’t as dire, the little common sense I did have showing me that I’d let things get way out of control.
“I know you are, son.” He sighed and stretched his legs out in front of him. “I just wish you had come to us . . . let us know things were that bleak.”
He was right. I knew I wasn’t as alone as I’d felt—that I could’ve picked up the phone and someone . . . everyone . . . would’ve come. But that was the point—in my heart of hearts, as dark as it had felt, I had wanted to spare them that. No one liked revealing just how desperate things were—how distorted their thinking was—especially to those who loved them the most. There was an image I’d wanted to preserve, to safeguard, of the happy little boy who found joy in everything he saw, yet in my feeble attempt to protect them—I’d instead taken a jackhammer to their peace of mind. They would always remember this feeling—the discovery—the fear of watching me slip away—the knowing that I had opted to die rather than hang on a second longer.
I finally understood the saying that suicide was a permanent solution to a temporary problem. While the pain had felt like it would last an eternity, I should’ve trusted myself to stick it out, or in the very least, trusted them.
“I don’t know what happened,” I mumbled, knowing it was a lie.
“Cooper.” Just my name, but it was enough. Tears started tumbling down my stubbled cheek.
“Okay, so I do. I just . . .”
“Do you want to know what I think?” Scooting forward, my dad took my hand and held it while he stared me square in the face. He wanted to make sure he had my attention, and he did.
Wholeheartedly.
I nodded, unable to talk around the emotion rushing over me.
“I think you never came home, son. I think we sent you off to war and you stayed there . . . in your head. Yes, you’re here physically, but something happened . . . the ambush . . . the death of Owen . . . and you didn’t return. Your mom and I have waited. We sometimes thought we caught glimpses of the old you, but this has shown us we were wrong. You’re still trapped, stuck on that street. I’d hoped Caylee would help guide you home and show you that life gets better, but she wasn’t the person to do that.”
My voice cracked. “Then tell me who, Dad. Please. Because I can’t take this anymore.”
Everything stilled as if the room held its breath. “You, Cooper. You are the only one to rescue yourself and bring yourself home. Let it go, son. We’ve begged you all this time to find whatever you need and leave the past behind. We can’t do this for you. God, I wish we could. It kills me to see you like this . . . so full of anger and pain. You have wounds still festering. Don’t you think it’s time to heal?”
I wasn’t the only one crying now—one of the few times I’d ever seen my father breakdown. I’d done this. But instead of feeling the usual guilt and shame, I felt something different—purer. He loved me. He hoped for me. He believed that despite the way I viewed myself, I could survive this—truly survive.
“I just don’t know how.”
“Well, excuse the brevity, but it’s not at the bottom of a bottle with a handful of pills or with a gun. It’s not going to be easy, but you know that already.”
“I’ve screwed things up.”
He had the decency not to sugarcoat the truth. “You have. But if there’s one thing I know, it’s that there’s nothing you can’t come back from. It might require a little more grace and patience on your part, but I know you. This—” Dad dropped my hand so he could gesture to me lying there. “This is not who you are. Do you hear me? So dig deep. Dig as deep as you can and, if you still find yourself lacking the strength you need, take mine. Take your mother’s. Bryce’s. Marty’s. And yes, Caylee’s. You take whatever you need so you can fight this.”
More tears spilled and I didn’t bother holding back as my body shuddered from the release of everything I’d held onto so tightly.
Dragging me into his arms, my father embraced me. He gripped my shirt as he tightened his arms. “Son, promise me you will always keep fighting. No matter what . . . always keep fighting.”
“I promise,” I whispered, and then again, this time stronger. “I promise.”
“I love you, Cooper. You’re my world and I am so damn proud of you. Not many could go through what you have and still get up in the morning. I know you think you have so much to atone for, but trust me when I say this . . . it’s enough, son. It’s enough. Come home to us. Please. Just come home.”
How could I possibly argue with that?
Chapter Thirty-Three
Cooper
The room was quiet, everyone having cleared out to run errands and freshen up. It had been a long night of heartfelt conversations and planning—debating back and forth about what needed to happen next.
For me, I was determined to get my life together and that started
by proving to the doctor I was okay to be discharged. Going back to work, continuing with the band, taking better care of myself—those were things I could control. My parents, however, felt differently.
It was a testament to how deeply this had affected them—on how long they’d carried their concerns in silence. They’d seen straight through each attempt at being normal. They’d seen beyond my words and actions to where my denial resided.
My mother was the most vocal—stressing over and over the benefits of admitting myself into a program that offered help for those struggling with PTSD, substance abuse, and depression. She’d shot down each argument that passed through my lips—bringing us back to the fact that something more than sheer will power was needed.
The time for going easy was over in her mind. I needed an intervention and she would fight me tooth and nail if she had to. Part of me agreed, knowing that my suicide attempt spoke louder than any words exchanged.
Another part wasn’t so compliant—instead stubbornly holding on to the falsehood that I had my shit under control. I didn’t know why I even gave voice to those thoughts, only that there was something driving it on the inside. If I could just get out of hospital and back to reality, I could prove to them once and for all I’d learned my lesson.
But my promises were hollow.
I couldn’t blame them for not accepting them.
There was a slight noise from the doorway. Peeking through my eyelashes, I caught sight of the one person I’d desperately hoped would come visit . . . the one person I’d all but given up ever seeing again. I’d hurt her. I’d destroyed whatever goodness lingered between us.
It was a brutally difficult pill to swallow knowing that Caylee had been the catalyst in my recent happiness and that I’d turned that love into a toxic mockery. So, when I opened my eyes and saw her standing there, uncertain about whether she should wake me, I acted.
So did she by turning around and rushing away.
I couldn’t let her leave—not without telling her how sorry I was.
“Caylee!” I hollered, hoping she’d slow down enough so I could catch up with her as I stormed from my room. My stomach sank as she kept going, however, already at the end of the hallway and turning the corner.
My leg started its familiar dull throb, but I pushed the pain aside. I usually avoided running because it took a toll on my muscles and the cane I sometimes used was back home in my closet. I didn’t like using it unless I had to and more than ever, I didn’t want her to see yet another one of my weaknesses.
Right then, I wished I’d ignored my pride and asked my parents to bring it in. Picking up the pace, I called out again. Surely she’d stop.
“Please!” I yelled out, my brisk jog transforming into a jagged limp. I was going to pay for this burst of energy. My body was still trying to heal from the abuse I’d done to it, but I didn’t care. I just had to get her to talk to me—clear the air between us—and hopefully . . . I didn’t even know whether that thought was worth continuing. I’d hurt her and judging from the look of horror she’d given me that night at her house, I doubted forgiveness would come easily.
Caylee was closer, but hadn’t once turned or even paused. I should’ve taken the hint and left her alone. It was obvious I’d totally screwed everything up and lost her. There was no chance I’d be the receiver of those smiles or soft words. Her laughter and the way she liked to touch my arm when she spoke—they were all withheld from me now.
Serves you right, asshole.
My leg finally gave out from the strain, causing me to stumble and grip onto the wall to keep me from falling. I cussed under my breath and slapped my palm against the painted surface. I was always fucking up and, once again, my own failings had stopped me. This was becoming the story of my life—one I was sick and tired of.
Bending over, I massaged the top of my thigh, wincing as my fingers worked over the tight muscle. I welcomed the pain this time, pushing harder and relishing the way each jab made my heart race faster. I needed to get out of here and go home. I didn’t belong here and I sure as hell wasn’t going to stick around hoping Caylee would return.
Disappointed, I quit working on my leg and turned to head back to my room. My thirst cried out—a clear sign even I couldn’t ignore that I truly was fucked up. I just wanted to get in my car and drive home, drown my sorrows in a bottle of Jack and forget any of this had happened. Denial and oblivion were my best friends. I was a fool to think anything could change.
“Are you okay?” Her tentative voice melted away some of my negative self talk. She’d returned.
“It’ll pass.” Now that I had her attention, I was suddenly tongue-tied.
“How long has your leg been bothering you?” Caylee still kept her distance, but she gestured to my thigh, worry causing her brows to furrow.
“I’ll be fine.” I studied her face, trying to guess what she was thinking.
“Why did you run then if you knew you’d hurt yourself?”
“Because I wanted to talk to you and you wouldn’t stop when I called out.”
“So, you ignored your limits and did it anyway?”
“Pretty much.” I wanted her to know I’d do whatever it took to tell her I was sorry, but couldn’t find the right words.”
Caylee snorted, shaking her head. “Well, you’re an idiot. Nothing’s worth hurting yourself over.”
“You are,” I answered honestly, taking a few steps toward her. “I wanted to talk with you.”
She didn’t move. Her arms folded across her chest. She wasn’t going to make this easy.
“Look, about that. I’ve been thinking . . .” I was slowly closing the distance between us.
Caylee let out an exhausted sigh. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Cooper. Whatever you have to say . . . save it. I just stopped by to see for myself that you were okay. You had everyone worried.” She turned to continue walking and I reached out my hand as if to stop her. I couldn’t let her leave without speaking what was in my heart.
“Please, just give me a chance to explain.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me, right?” she asked incredulously. Shock and anger filled her eyes, making her eyes light up. “Why the hell should I let you? Did you forget something the other night . . . something you should’ve said but didn’t? Trust me, I remember it all and you made yourself very clear.”
“That’s what I want to explain. Please . . . don’t walk away. Just a few minutes is all I ask.”
Caylee stopped in her tracks. Instead of staying where she was, she approached me, her hands fisted by her side. “What more is there to say, Cooper? Really?”
I tried not to wince over the bitterness I heard in her voice. All I could feel was guilt because I knew I was the reason it was there. Caylee didn’t deserve this—the way I’d tossed her aside or me selfishly asking her to let me in again. She deserved someone without the extensive baggage I brought to the table, someone who wasn’t an epic head case.
“Can I at least say I’m sorry? Because I am. For everything.” All I wanted to do was pull her into my arms and hold her. To somehow erase the past so we could start fresh.
“You just did.” Caylee glanced down at her watch and sighed again. “I shouldn’t have come. They’ll probably wonder where you are. You’ve got a long road ahead of you and I don’t want to distract you.”
“You’re not. I’ve been waiting for you to come. Seriously, what can I do to prove that I’ve changed?” Something whispered if I didn’t do something, this might be the only time I’d ever have her alone and to myself again.
“You can focus on getting better, Cooper. That’s the only important thing right now. Not us.”
With eyes filled with regret and compassion, Caylee started retreating again and desperation overtook all reasoning. There was no way I could watch her walk away without one last shot. I needed her to remember how good it was between us before I’d screwed everything up. She needed to know how sorry I was that I’d let my fear ruin th
e one thing that had breached the walls of my heart. Her. I couldn’t let her go without showing her just how much I needed her.
I simply acted. I grabbed her wrist—all thoughts ignored as I tugged her against my body and encircled my arms around her. She let out a surprised gasp, but it didn’t stop me. I crushed my mouth down over hers, kissing her as if I were dying and her lips were the last things I wanted before I passed. I poured everything into it, urgently needing this to convince her where my words hadn’t. Caylee struggled against me and warning bells sounded, telling me to stop, but I couldn’t. She was like a drug to an addict after years of sobriety. Just one taste and I was on fire.
One second she was fighting and, the next, yielding. Her body melted against mine as passion sparked between us and she answered me with a fierceness of her own. Her response told me everything—confirmed she felt the same and, despite me being an asshole, the chemistry we shared hadn’t been extinguished. If at all possible, it had increased and burned without restriction.
I grabbed her hips and ground them into mine. My hand cupped the back of her head, holding her securely and keeping her from withdrawing before I was finished. My heart already told me I would never be done with her. The hope I’d been suppressing broke free and took flight within my chest. This time would be different. I’d make it so. Whatever she wanted, I’d go to the ends of the earth to give it to her.
She moaned inside my mouth and I hardened painfully. That sound was like music to my ears and I pushed her up against the hallway wall. I wanted her, all of her. I needed to taste every inch of her skin. The weeks apart had done nothing to purge her from my system—it had simply been biding its time.
I wanted to laugh as the idea struck me. From the start, I’d wanted to dominate her and instead, she was the one who controlled me solely. It was me who’d never stood a chance the second I’d laid eyes on her.
She’d lodged herself firmly within my heart and there was no getting rid of her. The idea should’ve terrified me, but instead it made me kiss her with even more hunger than before.
Bittersweet Symphony (The Damaged Souls series Book 2) Page 30
