Bittersweet Symphony (The Damaged Souls series Book 2) (12 page)

“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 last 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.

“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.