Chapter 17 Cooper
Cooper
Stupidly, I’d called Sebastian with an offer for an impromptu sparring session.
A reason to escape the quiet of my house where my thoughts were suffocating, and my emotional compass was guiding me to do things I should not be considering.
But a workout would provide a much-needed distraction and a place I could healthily exert some of the pent-up energy buzzing through me.
I knew Marlee was at the same dinner as Evy so Seb would be bored.
But I was also willingly playing with fire, knowing the reason behind my need to move was his little sister.
My current volatility would make me bold, my filter potentially not as guarded, while his meticulous assessments would see straight through me and know something wasn’t right.
“How’s it going with her?” He asked, not needing to clarify he was referring to his sister. I’d barely walked through the door, and he’d opened the conversation I was desperate to have.
“Yeah, good. My folks bought it,” I stated, leaving out the part where they’d said she was beneath me. Also not mentioning how perfect she felt wedged between my body and the wall or how quickly I came to thoughts of her sweet cunt only hours ago.
“Who knew a pretty little rich boy could act so well,” he joked, although the gibe hit a little too close to home tonight and I couldn’t disguise the wince.
“What?” he asked, clocking it immediately.
Our friendship was based on loyalty and banter.
I would mock his meticulous regimentation, intentionally move his shit and push him to the edge of his tether at every opportunity.
And he would remind me of the chef who cooked for me while growing up, that my lawns were manicured more often than his girlfriend’s nails and how much of a pretty boy he thought I was - all while wearing a shit eating grin.
But his sister had entered the chat and with that came unchartered territory.
“Here goes,” I muttered, raising my padded hands ready to start our session.
It was meant for sparring, but my words doubled as a warning.
Because what I was about to tell him? That I was more than a little confused about his sister, would hit harder than anything he could throw.
I had a fucking death wish bringing this up while he was wearing the gloves.
He moved into position, shaking his shoulders out warily, almost as though I was the one about to land a punch.
Anticipation hung heavy, before he spoke. “Spit it out, pretty boy.”
“I like her,” the confession left my lungs in a gale force whoosh, my shoulders tensed for battle, and he froze. Studied me with a quiet calculation, probably waiting for the punchline, only I returned his stare with a certainty.
“Your sister,” I repeated, almost like a promise. “The one we always vowed to protect, is under my skin.”
I’d always thought about her, but lately, those thoughts were far more devious and while I wasn’t about to run and admit it all to her, I needed to work through it with someone and unfortunately for Seb, he was the only person I had.
In this moment, I needed him not to be her brother, but my friend.
The same mate who could remind me to check my privilege as quickly as he stood beside me ready for whatever war I was waging.
Only, the dangerous glint to his gaze told me that wasn’t going to be a possibility while the enormity of my confession hung between us.
He still hadn’t started hitting, but the silence of the gym wasn’t empty. It was working, sifting, assessing.
“Would you fucking say something,” I said finally, unable to maintain the building tension. “Or hit me, whatever, just give me something.” I pleaded, my eyes attuned to any sudden move.
Instinctively, I jolted back as his fist came through for a swift hook, his hand missing the pads entirely and passing my face so close I swear to fucking God I could smell the leather of his gloves.
I grinned.
My reflexive skills were still quicker than his hook, but I kept my hands up, ready.
This was good. We’d never really had disagreements, and as kids if something ever did come up, it was always managed physically and over quickly.
Healthy – probably not. Effective – always.
He stalked me, gauging my reaction and the familiar crackling electrified my skin, my hands twitching with anticipation. Talking about my feelings wasn’t a strength but physicality was what I knew. What I craved.
“I wish I was fucking surprised,” he spoke finally.
“You’re always chasing fucking tail.” Another jab not even remotely close to the pads.
He wasn’t focused - confusion and betrayal oozing from his pores as he worked through whatever he was about to say next.
“Never thought it would be with my sister though.”
“I’m not chasing tail,” I gritted, offended by the assumption as I watched his shoulders waiting for the tell-tale drop.
“But you like her.” He mocked. “She’s under your skin,” he taunted, as if the idea was absurd. As if I couldn’t have feelings beyond the superficial.
I didn’t need to repeat myself. He knew. The Micallefs wore their armour, always in control, allowing you to see only what they wanted. But the impact of my admission had taken him by such surprise that he may as well have had subtitles. His face said, “You don’t know the first thing about her.”
“Why are you telling me?” His torso tightened and I threw my left pad up, blocking his hit. We followed this path for another minute, while I thought about the answer. Of all the things I expected from him, that question was the last.
Why was I telling him? What was the end game? Was there an end game?
“I don’t know,” I answered calmly, like I wasn’t in my own vortex of confused realisation. I met his next jab easily, but the rapid follow up got me unexpectedly on the chin. Deservedly.
What the fuck was I thinking?
“Because you fucking love stirring shit,” he heaved, giving me a second to recover.
“The thrill of the chase and then you’ll disappear, just like you always do.
Back to your fucking secret life where no one is allowed to ask questions or fucking care about you.
And if they do, you’ll sabotage, hurt or destroy.
That same life where you go to seedy fucking places and let that prick turn you into something you aren’t. ”
It was my turn to feel the sting of shock. I’d never shared anything about The Cellar with him and I’d never dared mention Marcus. I should have known better. When Seb wanted to know something, he didn’t stop until he had everything he needed. Stealthy mother fucker.
“Surprised? Please, you disappear for days on end and always after you see your fucking parents. You never talk about it but when you come back, the bruises and cuts are obvious, and you simmer. I knew when you said you weren’t fucking street fighting, that you were intentionally being evasive.
Funny, you’re always happy to call me on my bullshit but I’m not allowed to do the same. ”
My feet were moving, small steps side to side, only the sparring had turned verbal, both of us with hands hanging limply at our sides.
“But now suddenly you want to talk about feelings? About my sister? Well, I’m not her keeper, and who knows, maybe she’s already seeing someone. Not like she would openly just tell her older brother who she’s dating.”
Jealousy spurred through me, hot and angry.
“I know your family is fucked up,” he continued, “But here’s a tip, Coop, family look out for each other. They care for each other. And I can’t - I can’t let you treat her like one of your toys.”
My vision blurred and the air around us charged like electricity about to strike as clouds of red edged my vision.
“Are you fucking joking?” I snapped. The hues of fury licking at my palms daringly. “Fuck you,” I spat. The truth in his words was bitter in the back of my throat.
He finally threw another hit, as if his verbal jabs hadn’t just fucking clocked me, but I side-stepped, ducking with just enough time to spare. “What did she say?” He asked, pulling me back to the surface.
“I haven’t told her,” I admitted, meeting the next three hits easily with the pads. “I’ve always been protective of her,” I continued. “But it feels different now.”
His scowl was deep, his throws quick and with more force than normal, but I could see his anger was dissipating – slowly being replaced with concern.
“She’s my sister,” his voice was quiet, but I heard it as if he were shouting. He ceased punching, his eyes glued to mine as his chest rose and fell rapidly.
He was worried. Worried for her and what I might do.
“She isn’t just anybody,” he huffed. “It’s Evangeline.”
I took a step back as if his words had physically wounded me. He thought she meant nothing to me.
My best mate, my brother, really thought I didn’t know her worth.
I knew he’d be annoyed, I expected much worse, but I didn’t think he would worry I’d use or hurt her.
I had my demons. My dating history was nothing to brag about and my relationship with my parents wasn’t anything to write home about.
I also didn’t have the first clue on how to communicate, unless it involved my fists, but being with her was different.
And I was starting to crave it. Starting to crave her.
“You’ve never committed to anyone,” he scoffed. “And while I’m not her keeper, I won’t let you hurt her,” he promised.
“Fuck you,” I seethed. “I would never fucking betray you like that.” I said through clenched teeth.
“But more importantly, I would never fucking do that to her.” I sneered, defeated, ripping the straps from the pads and dropping them onto the floor.
Nothing productive was going to come from this conversation now and I didn’t want to say something I’d regret, or hear more twisted truths designed to cause maximum pain.
“Guess blood really is thicker than water.” I fumed. The realisation brought a dangerous feeling of loneliness, the defensive gates I erected to protect myself rapidly rising.
“She’s our family,” he emphasised, his misplaced worry slipping as remorse pressed forth.
“Only she isn’t, is she?” I sighed resignedly.
He watched me grab my keys and head for the door. Neither of us spoke another word – which wasn’t surprising really because I sure as shit didn’t have anything else to say to him and he would do what he always did when I was like this – give me space.