Bittersweet Symphony (The Damaged Souls series Book 2) (27 page)

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.

“It’s like I don’t even recognize him anymore. How could he have changed so much? Why is he so angry when he was the one who ended it?”

Tears trailed over my cheek. I was tired of crying, of feeling torn, of being at war with my head and my heart.

“He’s angry because he knows he made a mistake, but instead of stepping up and admitting that, he fell back into old habits. Marty and I have talked about it. Cooper’s acting exactly like he did a few years ago. It’s his go-to mindset whenever life gets too much for him. Alcohol becomes his crutch . . . his voice.”

“It hurts so much,” I confessed, shuddering against her. “I don’t want to hate him, but what if that’s the only way to escape this feeling?” Placing a hand over my heart, I searched for an answer. “All I want to do is hold him tight until whatever’s poisoning him disappears. But in the next breath, I want to shake him so hard that his eyes rattle inside his head. I sound crazy from constantly changing my mind about him. I feel guilty like I'm giving up on him when he needs me the most but angry for even thinking that because I've done nothing wrong.”

“The only person who can help Cooper is Cooper.”

Standing there, hearing him still outside, all I could do was nod.

I just didn’t know if he cared enough about himself to ask for it.

Chapter Thirty-One

Cooper

She’d closed the door, turning her back on me. Staring at where she’d been only moments before, I didn’t know what to do—whether I should accept defeat or fight for her . . . for us.

“Time to go home, Coop.”

Turning around, I wasn’t surprised to find Marty there, keys in his hands, my designated babysitter.

“I don’t need your help,” I growled, knowing that if I moved even a fraction, this would all become too real.

I’d acted like an asshole and became the very person I’d vowed to never become again.

Scrunching my brow, I shook my head and glanced back to the house. How did I end up here? Oh yeah, I remembered. After the girls had left, and Marty had smoothed things over with the guy I’d pummeled in a jealous rage, I’d gone down the street to a different bar and drowned my sorrows with whatever alcohol I’d managed to get my hands on. There’d been no pacing myself, no taking it easy.

Had I not gotten it into my head to go plead my case to Caylee, I would’ve kept on drinking until one of two things happened: I either passed out in a whiskey stupor, or I keeled over dead from becoming too toxic, poisoning my kidneys.

That wasn’t what I was confused about.

How had I screwed everything up so badly? How had I slipped back into fear, giving free range to paralyzing doubt and paranoia? In my head, it had made sense at the time. My intentions were good. But waking up to find myself choking Caylee and then the ugly, raw bruises circling her throat . . . it had flipped a switch inside me.

No. It went further back then that. If I was truly honest with myself, those fears had always been in play—from the moment I first lowered my guard and imagined her mine. That was the starting point where I realized I had so much to lose. I knew that some day—one day—I would prove those insecurities right and fuck up. It was never an
if
but a
when
.

That was my biggest mistake.

“I’ve lost her, haven’t I?” I whispered, my shoulders hunching forward with the weight of the world.

“We can talk about it tomorrow when you’ve sobered up.” Gripping my arm, Marty tried to guide me back to the car. My feet tripped over themselves. “Things are always better in the morning.”

He was placating me, talking to me like I was some rebellious child he had to parent.

I shrugged out of his grasp, unable to control the way my arm flew out nearly striking him. “Don’t give me that bullshit. It’s never going to be okay. My life is over.”

Marty didn’t even blink. Instead, he continued to the car and opened the door, shoving me inside. Staring at him as he slid into the driver’s seat, I wondered how long it would be until I pissed him off as well. Judging by the way his jaw clenched, the muscle twitching from the strain, I guessed it wouldn’t take much longer.

“I don’t want to go home. Let’s go back to the bar. I need more to drink so I can forget all this.” I didn’t wait to see if he’d obey. As the car picked up speed, the blurring scenery outside made my head pound and throb. If I wasn’t careful, my gut would empty and Marty would have another thing to bust my ass over.

I must’ve dozed off, because when I came to, I wasn’t where I wanted to be. The bastard had driven me home—the house dark. Bryce’s car was missing from the driveway.

“What the fuck are we doing here?” I croaked, my voice ragged from the yelling I’d done earlier. “Don’t mess me with. I need to drown the noise in my head, man. Not sit alone in the silence.”

“You’re exactly where you need to be.”

It was infuriating how calm Marty was as he appeared at my door and attempted to heft me out. Now, he was pissing me off.

“Can you fucking leave me alone? I can get out of the goddamn car by myself without your help.”

To his credit, Marty didn’t even crack a smile as I face planted into the grass by the curb, having misjudged the step and tripping. He didn’t bother dragging me up, opting instead to stand back and witness my humiliation as I cursed loudly in frustration.

“Do I need to walk you inside and tuck you into bed, Coop?” Marty drawled, clearly enjoying himself.

“You’re a fucking prick,” I retorted, glaring at him.

“And you’re a mean drunk. Sleep it off, man. We can talk tomorrow.” Jingling his keys in his hand, Marty paused to see if I’d at least head in the right direction.

I suddenly had a better idea, not ready to go inside.

“You know what? Fuck you.” And with that, I shoved him as hard as I could. I was itching for a fight, to find an outlet for the rage burning a hole in my chest. Nothing had gone as I’d planned. Everything had been blown out of proportion.

I needed someone to blame.

“You don’t want to do this with me, Cooper,” Marty warned, stepping toward me without fear, hands clenched by his side. “Do us all a favor and sober up.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. You’re not my fucking mother!”

“You’re right. I’m not. That’s why I’m telling you straight . . . you’re acting like an idiot and if you’re not careful, you’re going to end up alone because no one will want to be around you . . . not like this.”

I closed the distance between us, breathing heavy. “Is that right? Is that how you all feel?”

“Wake up! You lost your shit tonight and terrified Caylee! Remember her? She’s the girl you’re meant to love and protect, but instead, you’ve shown her the ugliest side of you. I just found you at her house, trying to break her door down!”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” I repeated, my voice low and menacing. “And get out of my face before I move you.”

Sadness swept over his features. “Do you hear yourself? Are you seriously threatening me . . . your best friend? I’ve stood by your side through it all. I’ve shown patience when I thought I had nothing left to give. I will fight to the death for you because, to me, you’re my family. But don’t push me, Cooper. There’s only so much shit someone can take before they break.”

“Then go the fuck away. I don’t need you playing Jiminy fucking Cricket in my ear.” When he didn’t budge, I cocked back my arm, keeping it there as a threat. “I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”

I saw the second something inside Marty’s eyes flipped. “Is that what you’re wanting? Someone to blame?” He didn’t need me to say anything. He knew. Taking the next move, Marty’s fist shot out, finding its target. Pain radiated through my jaw, my teeth gnashed and I bit my tongue. A coppery tang filled my mouth.

Spitting the blood out, I staggered forward, ready to retaliate. “Fuck you!” But no matter how hard I swung, I was clearly disadvantaged—Marty was stone cold sober and I was a slobbering fool.

“If it’s going to make you feel better, let’s go,” Marty taunted, gesturing for me to advance. “Or, you can grow the hell up, go inside, and sleep this shit off.”

We stood there, no one making the first move.

Inside me, everything spiraled further and further into darkness.

“I don’t need you.”

“As your best friend I beg to differ.”

“News flash, asshole. Owen died and, the last time I checked, I wasn’t holding interviews for the position.” It was a shitty thing to say—spiteful—but I was beyond caring at this point.

“You know what, Coop? I’m done.”

Feeling the first flicker of sobriety, I watched him leave, silently cursing the fact I was no longer numb. There was no way in hell I wanted to feel right now.

I had a date with the bottle of bourbon I kept just for these kinds of emergencies.

Tonight, I would drown myself in oblivion.

****

Almost three-quarters of the bourbon later, the option left for me became clearer. I was a hindrance to everyone—leaving a path of destruction in my wake. As each minute passed—each long pull straight from bottle—I found fewer reasons to continue breathing. My mood spiraled until the only place left was to splatter against rock bottom.

I knew I caused my parents heartache, inducing countless sleepless nights as they worried and prayed, hoping against hope that their son would find his way again.

There was no mistaking the way my brother watched me when he thought I wouldn’t notice, the way he would sometimes carefully word his questions in hopes of catching a glimpse of something behind my crafted façade to the truth behind.

Tonight . . . well, no amount of ignorance could hide the epic failure with Marty and Caylee. I’d be lucky if they ever talked to me again.

With each pathetic swallow, I fumed, muttering about how I didn’t give a fuck what they thought about me—how they hadn’t lived my life or endured what I had. Maybe if they’d gone to war and seen the absolute horrors I had, having watched friends die at the hands of strangers, maybe then they’d show me a little more compassion and understanding. But that was the thing about alcohol, it could be your best friend and also your most brutal and honest critic. It only hid reality for the briefest of moments before breaking that illusion, revealing the harsher truths even the bravest of people cringed over.

I’d kicked open my bedroom door, hell-bent on self-medicating—of turning to the only thing I could trust—and it had failed me

I felt worst.

With that, I knew. It was entirely my fault. There was no one to blame—no one to step in and rescue me from myself—no one to come and kiss it all better.

I was no longer the child with tear-stained cheeks, a grazed knee or elbow that needed some tender loving care from my mother. She couldn’t always be there to fix things and, frankly, it killed me knowing the pain I’d already forced on her.

I’d poisoned everything that ever really mattered.

It was time to accept that there was no fixing what was broken inside me; no cleansing the rot that festered in my soul. I was an empty shell of a man—not worth the effort.

It should’ve been me who died on that street in Afghanistan. God had gotten it wrong by taking the better solider, friend, and person. Owen would never have screwed his life up so completely. He sure as hell wouldn’t have fucked things up with Caylee to the point where she no doubt regretted ever meeting him.

“Why?” I yelled out, alcohol dripping from my lips after my hasty sip. “Why the fuck didn’t you just let me die? It should’ve been me. All I’ve done is make a mess of my life, so come on!” I abruptly stood from where I sat at the edge of my bed and turned as if God would somehow miraculously appear. “Finish me off! Correct your mistake. Strike me the fuck down and put me out of my misery!”

Nothing.

No vision.

No voice.

Not even some small pathetic sign others talked about when they prayed.

I was truly forsaken—abandoned by the one Being that was meant to give a shit about me, the one entity that supposedly cared for His children and intervened on their behalf.

Nothing.

I was so worthless that even God deemed me below His notice.

I crumpled back to the bed, my thoughts running wild. Each one grew louder and louder, until the silence was deafening. Draining the bottle, I tossed it angrily at the wall. I didn’t care when it made a large hole. My mind was already made up; it was now or never.

If God didn’t give a shit about me, why should I?

In fact, maybe it was a mercy.

It was my mess to clean up. At least now those I loved could move on with their lives, free of my bullshit. Sure, it would hurt at first, but eventually they would realize that they were better off with me gone. They could be happy. They could stop worrying. They could start living their own lives without the constant presence of my problems.

The room begun to spin. I’d hit my limit. It was the courage I needed to do what I should’ve done when I first woke up in that hospital in Germany.

I’d allowed myself to get talked out of it.

I’d listened to nurses, doctors, therapists, and later, family.

I’d tried for them.

I’d given it my best shot.

I’d actually thought I was succeeding, that by meeting Caylee and allowing myself to let her in, that I would be a success story and not a statistic.

That had been a colossal mistake on my part. All I’d done was delay the inevitable.

Reaching for the top drawer of my dresser, I knew what I’d find. I’d placed it there when I’d first moved in with my brother. I always kept a few bullets in the chamber for such an occasion. I’d like to think that it was my way of tempting fate—of saying,
See? I could kill myself right now, but I’m giving life one more chance to prove me wrong
.
But even now as I removed the gun, I saw that it was simply a game I played.

All roads would’ve led to this moment.

Even with Caylee.

I just hoped that one day she could forgive me.

“One last chance, asshole,” I blurted, raising my hand so the barrel of the gun rested under my chin.

The moment had arrived. It was either go big or go home. If there was even a God and He loved me, then this would be the perfect time for him to show me a miracle.