Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
COOPER
Elliot
Sutton’s date is tonight.
Elliot’s boldness and lack of filter can be annoying.
Like does she really think I could forget about the date when it is stapled to the interior of my eyelids so that every time I blink, I’m reminded that Sutton’s going out with another person that isn’t me?
As if she doesn’t see that I care about Sutton?
I know this was the whole point of me helping her, but it doesn’t stop me from wishing that maybe she’d have decided not to go. See my feelings for her.
My phone bounces off my mattress and onto the floor. The brick slips out of my hand far more often than it should.
I run my hands along my jaw and neck. Massage the taut skin that needs shaving, tense with frustration, and overwhelming fear that I’m losing her even more than I already have.
You never had her my brain screams at me. I want to shake it, tell it it’s wrong, that at one point she was just within a fingers grasp.
This is ridiculous. You are ridiculous.
I should never have told Sutton I’d help her. What was I thinking?
I take a deep drag of air, trying to expand my tightening chest, refusing to answer the rhetorical question.
Luckily—maybe, I don’t know anymore—I have to leave for practice in thirty minutes. As if being on the ice is going to do anything but drag me down a different tunnel of agony.
ESPN’s been hot this week. Longer segments dedicated to NCAA hockey as the tournament peaks over the horizon.
Deep dives into team and individual player states.
Comparing conferences and light-hearted bets being made about who will win it all.
I watched some but had to stop when I got tagged in another comment from someone who hides behind their phone, believing they know more about a specific play than Coach, I turn off that feature on social media. That’s progress, I tell myself.
We had two days off this week. Neither of which I went to the ice or stuck around the weight room, which I would have done before this semester. Ignoring my phone on the ground, I change and head to the arena.
Jaxon tosses his practice jersey into the laundry bin in the center of the locker room. Slumping onto the bench next to me, he reaches behind himself into his locker to grab his phone.
“Kappas are throwing a party tonight. You in?”
I shake my head no, lacking the care to remotely sound interested. Usually I can, but not tonight.
My stomach somersaults, but not in a good way. I’m a can of soda, shaken up at the thought of going to a party, flirting and interacting with people I don’t want to be around.
Disappointment is all over Jaxon’s face. I hate it, but it doesn’t change anything.
Bending over, I unlace my skates.
“You haven’t been out with us once this semester, what’s up, dude?” he asks as he continues to take off his gear.
“Too busy doodling Sutton’s name in a heart,” Beck quips, though his features are stone.
“Not true.” Okay, maybe, but it only happened once in fourth grade. I swear. And I had perfected my Superman S.
She isn’t the only reason I haven’t been out this semester.
Is my free time being taken up by her case study or coaching her on dating?
Yes. Is the remainder of the minutes I’m awake—who am I kidding, even the minutes spent sleeping—consumed by her?
Also yes. Call me pathetic, but being consumed by her is far better than the ugly monster living and roaring in the dark corner of my brain.
Remembering that tonight is her date is probably why I woke up being swarmed by a dark cloud.
I’m mentally on empty, and there isn’t a gas station anywhere near where I’ve stranded myself. That I’m to blame for. One can only pretend for so long before it catches up to you.
Slowly, I’m making my way back. I can sense it.
“Will you at least come grab a bite with us?” My best friend levels me with a look. His green eyes speak everything he isn’t.
Can you see through me?
I want to ask him. Maybe even beg him to. I want to tell him the truth. I want to be the friend he deserves, the guy he met freshman year when we were assigned as roommates.
“Sure.” I give him a weakening smile.
There’s joy on his face. The way he throws an arm around me, dragging me into him part side hug, part noogie. The laughter that rattles in his chest begins to fill my tank.
Jaxon was insistent on trying the new wing flavors at this restaurant downtown. It’s been open for several months, but I’ve yet to go. Cool atmosphere, and the beer is cheap.
We order an assortment of appetizers. Dawson is off tonight from his role as Captain Nutrition Plan. Reluctantly, but not really. He reads over the menu and then advises which dishes would be most suitable.
“Just shut it for a night,” Jax groans.
“You had two bowls of rocky road last night,” Dawson chirps back.
“And? Watch me do it again tonight.”
I reach forward, dipping pita into one of the three dip cauldrons. The chip starts to crack under the weight of my scoop.
“You’re telling me you’d rather have ketchup shooting out of your pointer finger than hot sauce?” Jaxon posed the ridiculous question and I guess didn’t like Chase’s answer.
Chase’s response is muffled as if I’m suddenly underwater.
I feel her before I see her.
My attention is torn away from the conversation. Over Dawson’s shoulder—he’s sitting across from me. So while his mouth moves to give his answer, I hear nothing. My attention barely focused on him, but her—she’s walking in.
Zach has a hand on the door, holding it open for her. His other hand is on her lower back. I read her lips, Thank you, before he leads her to the hostess stand. Then again, hand still on her lower back, to their table.
In my line of sight.
Someone upstairs must want me to see the results of my labor, or dangling the future I want in front of my face.
He pulls out her seat. Hands her a menu. Checks all the boxes of being a perfect gentleman. And by her reactions, I surmise she’s enjoying every second of it.
However, I am not.
I must be staring.
The rest of the table turns their heads or leans to gaze around a supporting beam.
“Is that Sutton with Zach?” Chase questions.
“Why is she with him? Did you know about this?” Jaxon asks.
“Yeah.” I take a swig of my light beer. Then another.
It dawns on Jaxon. Demeanor brightens as he says, “Our speed dating practice worked? Hell yeah.”
They pester me with questions, wanting more information about our other lessons. I tell them about most of them, leaving out the part about our kiss.
“I still can’t believe you’ve never snogged her,” Jaxon says around a bite. He’s been watching a British dating show and keeps dropping their slang.
“We did.”
Dawson spits out his beer. “You kissed?”
So much for leaving out the kiss.
“Do not tell her I told you,” I say sternly.
“I knew you had a hickey the other week.” Jaxon sets down his fork. “Now, I’m confused. You two kissed and have been hanging out, but she’s here with Zach?”
“We aren’t hanging out,” I growl. The frustration behind it is directed more at me than them. Maybe even slightly at her. “Can we forget that she’s here?”
Chase changes the subject. “Did you see the game last night between Toronto and Florida?”
Between songs, the entire place fills with laughter. Her laughter.
Under the table, my hand involuntarily flexes. Fingers splayed out against the air.
I haven’t stopped watching Sutton and Zach. He leans forward with a napkin, wiping something off her face. Then must say something funny because she’s laughing.
Again.
Full body. Her shoulders bunch up and down. Her head tilts back, and her smile encompasses her entire face.
I hate watching how he looks at her, like he knows where every single one of her freckles are. The constellations on each cheek, or the one on the inside of her left knee. Does he know about the patch on her lower back, underneath where his hand sat earlier, that she jokes is her tramp stamp?
I hate that he gets to push a strand of her hair behind her ear. There’s no nerves. No hesitation in her as he does it. I hate how easy it is for him to be around her, pull these moves that he probably pulls on every girl, and watch her fall for it.
Who am I kidding? His reputation on campus is squeaky clean. He’s the true golden boy.
It’s a strange feeling. A nothingness that is filled with reality. This is my reality. This is what I agreed to.
“I have to get out of here.” Out of this chair. Out of this bar. Out of my head.
I get up from the table, not realizing the amount of power and intensity I let out. My hands grind into the grain of the wood as the chair beneath me clatters to the floor. I take a step backward and trip over the bottom rung.
Hitting the ground, I think I’m hitting the bottom of my well. Emotionally, mentally, and physically.
Everything is adding up around me, and I can’t do it. I can’t handle it.
Dawson lends me a hand. Chase and Jaxon are cleaning up their spicy margaritas dripping over the edge of the table. An ice cube hits my head and slides down my nose like a ski jump.
“Do you want me to go with you?” I don’t know who asks, sounds meld together.
Three of my best friends stare at me. Their expressions range. Dawson and Chase like they don’t recognize the disheveled and unwinding person in front of them.
But Jax…Jax is stoic, his typical class clown disposition gone. He gives me a nod, finishes his beer, and pulls out two twenties from my wallet.
“I’ve got him,” he tells the others.
Throwing an arm around me, we walk out of the bar.
“Home or—”
“Do you think Beck still has a bottle of whiskey?”
“The one in the back of his closet that he hides in the bottom drawer of his dresser? Yeah, he has it.”
We leave his car in the lot. Walk the twenty-five minutes home in silence.
Two hours later, the bottle is empty.
My door creaks open. The hallway light blinding. I squint and let out an intoxicated growl. Rub my knuckles into my temple.
“Cooper Carmichael.” Maybe the growl came out of her.
The glow from my bathroom backlights her.
A halo around her body. She’s so pretty.
Maybe I could give her a trophy off my shelf and tell her it’s for the prettiest girl in the world.
Even infuriated she’s pretty. “Did you seriously send your friends to spy on my date?”
“Do you think you could be mad a little quieter?” I groan and she releases a witchy cackle good enough for Halloween. “I was there. We were getting dinner.”
She creeps across my room to my bed, crawling on it, till she’s sitting in the middle. Legs tucked underneath her. Arms crossed, eyes glowering at me.
“How was your date?”
“If you were there then you should know.” She lowers her volume. “Were you sleeping sitting up?”
“What do you want, Dave?” It comes off more aggressive, more hurt, than I mean it.
She starts to scurry off my bed, mumbling words I can’t make out. I reach out for her. My center of gravity is nowhere to be found; I miss her arm, catching her ankle instead.
Her skin is smooth. Warm. Silky.
“Don’t go.”
“Give me one good reason.”
“Is this a new dress?”
Sutton’s eyes drop down her body. Roaming like mine. “Uh, yeah.”
“And y-you-your hair? Is that new?”
“No.” I think she smiles, I can’t exactly tell. “These are the curls I was born with.”
“But you wore it differently.”
“Elliot did it.”
“It’s nice. You look nice.” I cough, which makes the pounding in my head intensify. The room tilts, but what’s new? My whole life has been tilted off axis because of her. “Beautiful. Did he tell you that?”
“He did,” she says slowly, or maybe that’s me processing tonight. Or the alcohol. Whatever.
“Did you kiss him?”
“No.”
“Did you want to?”
“Cooper,” she warns.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize several times. “You’re happy.” I don’t ask because deep down I know she is. And who am I to take that away from her?
“Yeah. He—”
I cut her off. Because what I am is desperate. Desperate for her. Desperate to cling to the only person who anchors me. “Do you think we could ever be happy? Could I ever make you smile like that?”
“What are you—are you drunk?” she asks. The annoyance in her eyes goes with each blink, softening.
“Be happy with me, Dave.” It’s a plea. Broken and shattered, but she doesn’t know that. Probably doesn’t care.
Sutton uncurls my fingers from her ankle. “Cooper, stop. You’re saying things you don’t mean. You’re drunk.”
“I’m not.” I pull my hand away before embarrassment hits me.
“Really?”
She stands from my bed when I don’t answer her. Tugs at the hem of her periwinkle dress. “I’m going, and you should sleep this off.”
I fall back against my headboard. I let the tears consume me. Ignited by the fear and unknown of my future, the feelings of being adrift, and the reminder of who I’m supposed to be. They consume me till I’m a blazing bonfire.