Chapter 23
Cooper
Iawoke with a jolt, my heart thudding like I’d spent ten minutes on the boxing bag. For a second, everything was foggy, the house as still as it always was but the dream still clung to the edges of my mind.
Like a whack to the jaw, it hit me. The heat in my chest, the mess under the sheets…and her.
Evangeline.
Curly brown hair. Big brown eyes. That laugh she always let spill when we played Nintendo, and she lost another car race.
With a groan, I flopped back onto the pillow, half-horrified, half-stunned.
What the heck? Why was I dreaming about Evy…and like that? I didn’t have a crush on Sebastian’s little sister. Did I?
I stared at the ceiling, trying not to think about what the hell this meant, but helpless to think of anything else.
Because I’ve always been in your corner.
Even in the limited hours of sleep I’d been able to achieve when I finally did make it to bed, Evangeline was front and centre.
Her words on repeat and my habit of overthinking every little thing about her was particularly annoying when for once, I’d peeled back the layers and shared things with her I’d never actually said aloud.
Coming home to find her on the lounge, so fucking beautiful even in sleep, had softened any remaining anger I had lingering over the fact she had a boyfriend. That she wasn’t mine.
The heavy post-bout fatigue hit me hard and fast and when I fell to my knees before her, it wasn’t to wake her, but because I had nothing left.
Somehow, I’d thought that having her here would be easy.
Having someone in my space wouldn’t matter as it was only a few months.
But nothing was ever that simple with Evangeline - not when it came to this - this thing between us.
You could never name it because it wasn’t built on words.
It was founded on instinct, familiarity and years of shared experiences and the sight of her encased in the soft flicker of the television cracked the icy exterior I maintained.
She was everywhere.
Her reappearance in my life somehow brought with it memories of her in everything I did, everything I saw and even now, with the morning light washing away the horrors of last night, I wanted to tell her everything she desired.
To tell her why I found salvation through my fists. How the anger and jealousy was so much stronger now because her presence lingered in the air; even when she wasn’t around and the slightest reminder that she wasn’t actually mine, couldn’t ever really be mine, hurt.
Fucking stung actually and I’d never been very good at talking.
Only last night, with the shield of night hiding the shame of knowing she saw me when I was stripped so bare, I’d felt the answers bubbling up, knocking for escape.
She made it all seem so easy. Her warmth and openness allowed the truth to curl on the tip of my tongue, but some stubborn part of me still wasn’t ready to let it go.
And when she brushed her lips across my skin before retreating to her room, I nearly chased her down and demanded she ask me everything. Give me a reason to show her my scars because I was tired of hiding them and if I was going to tell anyone, it was always going to be her.
The morning light brought clarity, but the idea of exposing my weaknesses suddenly felt far more daunting. The house still smelt like mint courtesy of those insane cakes she’d baked, and I was definitely going to be finishing the plate regardless of the early hour.
If she made it, I ate it, not only because everything she did was perfect, but because it was rare for someone to do something for me because they wanted to.
Because they were thinking of me. Not because they were paid to do it.
And finding the little plate with my name, telling me she’d set them aside for me specifically, meant something.
I was going to try my best to be more considerate of her. To still the storm inside.
She didn’t deserve my jealousy or rudeness, especially when she’d done everything I asked.
Although, I can’t say I wasn’t a little disappointed to find another note this morning telling me she’d see me at work. Something about breakfast with Marlee first but all I could fixate on was that I wasn’t going to get her hands on me today.
Swiping my keys from the bench, I ignored the pain shooting through my knuckles.
I wasn’t getting any younger and last night was particularly gruelling.
Two nights in a row wasn’t something I’d done for years and even though I’d won, it wasn’t without recourse.
The cut above my eye could do with some stitches and my fists and ribs were tender.
My body needed longer to recover and the emotions driving my rage took more of a toll.
Although, it wasn’t a red wall of rage which drove me to message Marcus last night, it was green, thick and layered with contempt.
It was thoughts of someone else taking up residence at the forefront of Evangeline’s mind while I did everything within my power not to tell her to fucking end it with this Xavier prick.
Desperate to ask her about him but even more desperate to hold onto the last of my restraint and that meant reaffirming our boundaries.
She was Sebastian’s younger sister.
The same girl I’d known for most of our lives.
Kind, predictable, one hell of a fucking baker and above all else - loyal.
She was here to fulfil the expectations of her studies, and I needed someone to keep my parents off my back.
And it was that reminder that was going to ensure I kept the emotions at bay and focused on the reasons we were both here - feelings be damned.
In a few months, she’d be gone, the memories of everything she was locked back into the dark recesses of my mind.
My usual grin affixed to my face as the world continued to spin.
I watched from outside the office, emerald headphones perched on her head, lip caught between her teeth as she tapped at the old calculator she refused to let me replace.
I’d even bought a brand new one for her and it sat in the top drawer still in the packaging.
Her brows were drawn, lost in the math or mess of the distillery’s numbers - I couldn’t quite tell.
She hadn’t said too much, hadn’t shared her thoughts on numbers I could never quite calculate, other than to say she had questions.
The thought brought a smile. If anything was certain, it was that Evangeline Micallef always had questions.
Things had been brief but normal this morning when she arrived at work with a takeaway coffee in hand for me and a cheery good morning. As if our shared conversation last night wasn’t something she would bring to the workspace - and I respected that.
I perched against the door frame waiting for her to notice she wasn’t alone and when she caught sight of me, the smile she threw my way could have brought a man to his knees. I enjoyed her brief perusal of my shirtless chest more than I should, often choosing to leave it off for this very reason.
She was effortlessly beautiful and when those eyes met mine, I forgot anyone else existed.
It was only her. Always only her.
“Hey,” she said, removing her headphones.
“You busy?” I asked, knowing she would be but wanting her near me more than anything else.
“Honestly, yes. But I need a break. Either I have lost my ability to count, or these spreadsheets are gaslighting me.” She pushed her chair back and stood, stretching languidly.
“Perfect. Want to come out onto the floor with me?” I hadn’t thought the offer through, only realising I was yet to show her around and it was an equally great excuse to steal her attention. Amid jealousy and overanalysing new and old feelings, I’d forgotten the thing I enjoyed most - her company.
“Oh my God, yes,” she answered quickly. “I have so many questions.” Her excitement evoked a laugh, and I stepped aside, definitely not admiring the swing of her hips in her pale blue jeans.
“I have no doubt,” I mumbled, breathing in the quiet whispers of rain she left in her wake.
Most staff were on site today and while it had crossed my mind that we would need to maintain elements of our fake relationship in front of them, it wasn’t my driving force.
I just wanted to be around her and was sick of pretending I didn’t.
“How’s your eye?” The nature of her question took me by surprise, reminders of her plush lips on my skin in the darkest hours of the night clouding my vision.
“Sore. Three stitches.” I sighed, pointing to the freshly dressed area of my face. I’d detoured via the medical centre on the way, not needing to worry about that on top of the ribs and hand.
“Why anyone would willingly fight is beyond me. I cry from splinters let alone choosing to be punched in the face.”
“The point is to avoid the punch though,” I bantered easily.
“Looks like the only thing you’re avoiding is managing your emotions in a healthy way,” she shot back, quick as a whip and the truth of her words whacked the air right out of me. Her assessment was as refreshing as it was painful.
Covering the sting with a dramatic gasp, I hoped the sarcasm of my blatant horror would hide how genuinely affected I was. She was right, of course, but not many people dared to call me out on things, especially something as personal as that.
“Come on, Miss. Questions, let me give you the tour I should have taken you on weeks ago.” Reaching for her, I ignored the yearning which curled beneath my skin when our hands collided, ever-present, never sated.
“Finally,” she drawled, giving no other reaction to the entwining of our hands as she allowed me to guide her through the aisles of aging barrels. “How did you come up with the name Golden Spades?”