Bittersweet Symphony (The Damaged Souls series Book 2) (23 page)

Heather held a knowing look and I imagined her dealing with something similar with Cooper. Even I had witnessed how quickly his mood could swing, especially if he was tired, which was most days.

“It was another military wife who told me her secret and how encouraging our men to take a quick break from the world could take that edge off. Edward had been skeptical at first, but sure enough, it made a difference.”

“Whatever it takes, right?” I answered, accepting a small handful of cutlery from Heather. Half turned, I slid open the draw and started putting them away. “And you taught that to Cooper, didn’t you? The sleeping thing.”

Both women exchanged glances before agreeing.

“It was either that or watch him slowly destroy himself.” There was still a deep sense of anguish in Heather’s voice as she paused for a moment.

“Owen used to retreat into the garage whenever he had something bothering him,” I admitted. “He’d bang away in there for hours until I wondered if the house would crumble down over us. I never asked what he was doing and he wouldn’t disclose it. All I knew was he’d go in angry and come out like the Owen I’d fallen in love with and married.”

“Men are different creatures to us. While we like to share our feelings and talk through our troubles, they will often bury their emotions deep within them, believing it’s their duty to keep the pain to themselves.”

“To spare us,” Heather added to Violet’s sentiments. “Not realizing that keeping us in the dark while we can see they’re troubled is worse. I’d lie in bed at night imagining all kinds of horrors, trying to understand what was happening to Cooper. He wasn’t my happy little boy anymore. It killed me feeling so helpless.”

This conversation was exactly what I needed. “Owen would tell me to not worry, and for a while, I was able to believe him. I don’t know if that was just me wanting to hold onto the fantasy or whether it was me foolishly accepting a lie because reality was much harsher.”

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 widening 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?