Chapter 19
NINETEEN
SUTTON
The room echoes with a whimper. A hammer made of his tears chips away at my heart.
Any anger that I walked in here with has melted away, a puddle on his floor, and if I don’t leave now, I’ll slip.
Tumble further into the confusing mess that is us like a knot in your favorite necklace that every time you try to untangle, it miraculously makes it worse.
Quickly, before I make a stupid decision, I leave. Tug the door closed behind me, then let my back sink into it.
Breathing hurts. Each inhale is a spike, puncturing my heart. Each exhale, a reminder that once upon a dream, I was happy because of Cooper.
It doesn’t stop when I get home, or as I take off my make up. A scolding shower relieves absolutely nothing. Who decided that showers were the best place to think? Is that a universal thing? Even thoughts you’ve successfully dodged for years manage to weasel their way inside the sacred space.
“I give up.” I toss my book on the floor. Reading isn’t even a distraction, a movie either.
Finally, I find solace at four a.m., restlessly tossing and turning till then.
Stretching out this morning, my joints are tight, and my knee is achy. I rub at my eyes before climbing out of bed, slipping my feet into fuzzy purple smiley face slippers.
A yawn rips out of me. I decide to make a cup of tea before I look in the mirror at my probably disheveled and sleep-deprived face. Not to mention my hair that I didn’t take care of before tucking myself in.
I find Elliot in the kitchen.
“You look tired,” she comments. “Zach?” Her eyebrows do the worm.
“I wish.” The words are sour, tasting like a lie. Do I? Yeah. Yeah, I do-don’t know.
“Oh?” Expression losing its excitement with caution and tension.
She hands me a mug with an English tea bag steeping in it and my ice roller.
Great, face must be puffy too. We sit on the couch, and I tell her about my date, and that’s it.
Nothing about Cooper. Her curiosity has me forcing the spotlight on me to her.
“What did you do last night?”
A door opens, and heavy footsteps make their way to us. Elliot’s rosy bottom lip is between her teeth, bringing her black coffee slowly up to her mouth. “That.”
The quarterback of the football team leans over the couch, brushing his lips against Elliot’s temple.
“Morning, E.”
“Hey, QB. There’s a pot of decaf in the kitchen. Mugs are in their usual spot.” I drag my cup away from my mouth. Elliot shrugs, smirking.
“Do you two want breakfast?” he offers. “I’ve been meaning to show you my breakfast sandwich. Sutton, are you a vegetarian?”
“Omnivore! I prefer turkey bacon,” I holler. He laughs a nod, turning his back on us to rummage through the fridge. “There should be some in the middle right drawer. Thanks!”
He waves the package in the air like a flag when he locates it. We don’t move from the couch as he cooks in our kitchen. QB—I think his name is Kendall—is comfortable in our kitchen, not asking for locations of olive oil spray or pans, as if he’s been here making breakfast before.
I smack Elliot’s knee. “Have you been holding out on me?”
“No!” The secret-keeping traitor gasps.
“You’re such a liar. Tell me everything.”
“I don’t kiss and tell.”
“Bullshit.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” My brows raise, silently calling her out again.
Her voice goes up an octave as she says, “I mean it!” Then returns to normal.
“I have an extremely casual friends with benefit agreement with the QB of the football team”—her words per minute gradually increase—“that’s been going on since freshman year. ”
“Freshman year!? We’ve been living together this entire time, and I’ve never known?”
She pretends to zip her lips.
“Babe—”
Babe? I mouth to Elliot, fanning myself.
Kendall—I remember that is his name, and when they met. They hit it off, finding it hilarious their names are typically used for the opposite sex—is fan worthy. If they sold calendars on campus, he’d easily get July.
Zach would be May.
Cooper is absolutely December.
I’d give April to Jaxon, and Chase March. Beckett is October through and through—he is the definition of an autumn. Dawson is February.
My best friend is nonchalant. Legs tucked up under her, a glowy aura about her.
“How do you want your eggs?” Kendall leans over the counter.
“Anyway you’ll give it to me. Thank you.” She winks at him.
I pretend to gag.
“That’s my girl.”
It’s like I woke up and was dropped into a scene in a romance book. I burst out in fit of giggles, but I’m also the lightest shade of jealous.
There’s a knock on the door.
“I’ll get it.” Elliot bounces off the couch, flashing me her toned, round butt. She’s in what must be his shirt, and I pray at least a G-string. “Cooper.”
He’s behind Elliot, who is tilting her head, eyebrows up asking the same question rolling around in my head: what is he doing here?
Cooper is carrying a tray of to-go cups, and from the way his shoulders sag and the dark bags under his brown eyes, he didn’t get any more sleep than I did last night.
I already know he’s having issues sleeping, and I hate thinking I had anything to do with that last night. Drinking included.
Cooper and Kendall do that strange boy hand-clap-hug-thing. Whenever guys do this, I question why they get weird about girls going to the bathroom together. Especially knowing, at max, they’re just acquaintances.
The tray sits on our counter while Cooper helps Kendall finish making the over-medium eggs.
He sighs when he accidentally drops one on the ground.
Bumped out of the way, he’s placed on bread duty.
Plating the toasted bagels lathered with butter, Cooper gets out of the way for Kendall to construct his pride and joy.
Elliot smacks my good knee, giving me the exact attitude I gave her merely ten minutes ago. We both watch in awe as the guys chit-chat about their respective sports. Sipping on our drinks. Heads tilt and track their movements.
There’s a buzz in the air that shocks me whenever he looks my way. Sneaking peeks over his shoulder or from behind the fridge door.
He’s smiling, but his eyes are sad.
It’s fleeting, but for a moment, I think he might be sad about us. Apologetic at the least.
“Breakfast is ready,” Kendall calls out. He has two plates in his hands, carrying them to us. Cooper is behind him with another two.
Cooper cleans up everyone’s dishes, collecting them as we finish. Elliot and Kendall disappeared into her room. Thankfully returning less than five minutes later fully dressed, and not a hair out of place or lip gloss stained skin.
“Don’t study too hard.” Elliot plops a kiss on the top of my head before floating out of the apartment, Kendall right behind her.
The door closing echoes against running water as I pad into kitchen to retrieve my second caffeinated beverage of the morning. I brush past Cooper, the smell of him overtaking the kitchen and me.
Wordlessly he does the dishes. Doesn’t even flinch or laugh when I tease him about not using the dishwasher. His chin is tilted down, focus strictly on the suds and vigorous, circular scrubbing he’s doing.
I return to the living room, tug the blanket hanging over the chaise.
It dawns on me I’m not wearing pants. The worn shirt falls to an inch or two above my knees.
One sock slouched to my ankles, the other pressing down the short hairs needing shaved.
I adjust the fleece rectangle, turning to catch him watching me.
The tension between us is palpable. Cuttable by a knife, but not how it typically is. Lately, it’s like I’m in a fun house with him. Stuck in one of the halls of mirrors, that’s a never-ending maze. I turn a corner, gaining a new vantage point. Seeing him, myself, and us in a different light.
The grudge and frustration I’ve held onto seem more and more pointless the more time we spend together. Blaming him for my injury. Hating him…
Maybe I got it wrong.
Maybe I let us slip through my fingers.
Maybe it wasn’t him who decided to throw us away.
Maybe I should have pushed for more answers. I could now. I’ve had years to, but I chicken out, scared to be wrong. Petrified to be right.
I lean forward, grab my laptop from the console table, and open it up to my paper. Distractions. Anything to shift my focus from him.
He doesn’t leave. He dries his large hands on a towel, hanging it on the oven handle. He picks up his coffee and joins me on the couch. Sits opposite of me, tucking a sweatpant clad leg up underneath him.
“I should learn how to make these,” I tell him, hating the silence but not knowing what to say. I chest laugh, shaking my dirty chai. Awkward and uncomfortable. “It would save me, and you, money.”
“Worse things to spend my money on.”
“Are you going to work at the marina again this summer?”
Cooper’s worked the last two summers at the marina on Lake Bensen teaching sailing and water sports. “Only way to be your sugar daddy. What’s your summer plan?”
“If my cocky sugar daddy keeps up his participation, hopefully an internship.”
I applied to a handful on a whim. Manifesting that the University would approve my independent study. If I get one interview, I’ll be stoked. If I get zero, it’ll suck, but I get it. My resume doesn’t have the buzz words they are quickly scanning for.
“You’ll get one.” Hollow brown eyes finally meet mine. There’s a pause before he asks, “How was your date?”
My fingers freeze, tighten over the keyboard. It takes everything in me to close the device and set it aside instead of hitting him upside the head with it.
Was he so drunk last night he forgot what happened after?
“How was my date?” I shake my head, flutter my eyes so he can’t see the record setting eye roll I do. A similar irritation from last night rises my blood pressure. Standing, I snatch my latte before starting to head to my room. If that’s all he has to say, I have no response.
The couch exhales from his weight, but I’m inhaling sharply as he catches my wrist, calluses digging into my skin, spinning me into him.
Our height difference isn’t much, maybe four or five inches. He’s staring down at me, free hand running along the hem of the old T-shirt I’m wearing as a sleep shirt.
“I hate that you still have this. Hate that you’re wearing it.”
Cooper lets me go when I step away from him. Again shaking my head.
We share a mutual hate that I still have this shirt.
It’s my high school boyfriend’s shirt and I probably should have dumped it when he unexpectedly dumped me, but it’s so comfy.
Conformed to body. Holes in the armpits from overwear.
There’s zero emotional attachment to it.
Cooper and Dylan didn’t like each other, but after our breakup, that was pushed to the extreme.
It was confusing. This is confusing. Cooper is confusing.
I rub my palms into my eyes. “You are so obtuse,” I spew.
Opening my eyes, I can tell Cooper’s trying his best not to laugh. “Obtuse?”
“Yes, obtuse. You come here this morning with coffee, kindly clean up the breakfast dishes, and instead of leaving you sit on my couch and ask how my date was—”
“Which you didn’t answer,” he cuts in.
“Then follow me and tell me you hate my T-shirt. You are confusing and obtuse, Carmichael.”
“I do hate the shirt. Would love to burn it off you.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I groan. “Seriously? Are you trying to annoy me?”
“No.” Cooper slumps. “I came here to apologize about last night.” I cross my arms over my chest, waiting. “I’m sorry, Dave. I’m sorry for what I said to you and if I ruined everything.”
“There was nothing for you to ruin.” And for a quick second, I believe my own words.
The reason my date wasn’t great is standing in front of me running a hand through his mop of hair.
Ruining every assumption I have about us. I’m one subtle breeze away from falling off the tightrope I’m balancing on.
“You mean that?”
“The date was good. A plus, professor.” I smile tightly, answering his previous question.
“Good.” His tongue runs along his bottom teeth. “Great. Well, I can go then. I’m sorry again, Sutton.”
Sutton. How can I hate and love how he says my name?
It’s the sun after a storm. A breeze on a scorching day. Perfect, and possessive. As if he’s the only one that should be using it.
“Why’d you get drunk last night?”
“Because I don’t want things to change between us.” He reaches for my hand, and I let him. “I don’t want to lose you again.”
“Nothings changing,” I falsely promise.
“Good.” Cooper squeezes my hand. “I’m gonna use the bathroom, then will go.”
“Wait. Are you busy right now?” I ask, suddenly attached to his presence and not wanting it gone. “I have a test coming up. I could…um…wanna help me study?”
“Only if you change.” He smirks, and I allow it. Rolling my eyes and striding into my bedroom.
Two hours later, we’ve gone through an endless amount of flash cards. The confidence I have for my test I wish bled into how I felt about Cooper.
He left so I could get ready to go to the movies with Elliot. Folded on my dresser is a Bears Men’s Hockey T-shirt. There’s a note on top of it.
Stop wearing his shirt. Wear or don’t wear mine. But please, for me, get rid of his.
I stare at the chair in my reading corner, my ex’s T-shirt is slung across the arm from where I tossed it.
There’s a small push from my brain to toss it. The encouragement has my two feet carrying me to the chair. I ball it up and shoot it into the metal trash can next to my desk. Shuffling back to my dresser, I pick up Cooper’s shirt. Run the cotton between my fingers.
He was wearing a crewneck earlier, and didn’t have a bag with him. No pocket on the front of the sweatshirt to have stuffed an extra shirt. And there’s no way this would have fit in his pants pockets…
It clicks.
The fabric still warm from his body. I bring it up to my nose and inhale. Woven threads doused in his smell that’s the same since we were kids. Sandalwood and a breeze off the lake. Rich, earthy, and comforting as if the sun is setting and we’re coming in for dinner from spending all day outdoors.
Elliot pops her head into my room. “What’s that?”
Caught, I drop the shirt from my grasp. “Nothing,” I respond too quickly.
“Ready to go?”
“Gimme five minutes.”
“Only five. I want to pick up candy from the store before we go and one of those boxed wines.”
I pick up Cooper’s shirt and stuff the shirt into a drawer alongside these recycled feelings churning within me.