Chapter Seventy-Eight
Declan
Cooper was made to perform. That much I know. And tonight, he’s alive.
The man on stage isn’t the exhausted, hollowed-out version of himself who walked through the bar weeks ago. This Cooper radiates. This Cooper owns the stage—vibrant, confident, fully present.
When he sings, he’s giving them a show.
He closes with one of his old tracks, a stripped-back duet with Ali, the girl I brought in to sing at the start of the year, and she can clearly hold her own. But even with her harmonies filling the room, it’s still all him.
“What a voice, huh?” he drawls into the mic, handing the guitar back to Ali. “Thank you so much, Lost Compass. I freaking love you.”
Laughter and applause swell around us as he hops off the platform and comes straight for me. His grin is so wide it’s almost cocky, but his eyes, they sparkle in a way I haven’t seen in years. Before I can react, he’s in my arms, pressing his face into my shoulder, peppering my neck with kisses.
“Did you like the new song?” he pants.
“I loved it.” I grab his face, hands framing his jaw. “I couldn’t stop looking at you.”
“It’s yours.” His voice dips, fingers twisting in my shirt. “They all are.”
I’ve never needed a love song written about me, but knowing the most beautiful lyrics he pulled from his chest were shaped by a love I thought only I carried… It’s everything.
“You’re incredible,” I tell him, looking at him like he’s the only man here.
Rolling his lower lip between his teeth, his gaze lands past my shoulder, eyes widening before a faint blush paints his cheeks.
“Oh my god,” he gasps, ducking his head back into my shoulder. “We have an audience.”
I turn to look and, sure enough, both sets of parents are watching. Mom and Holly slap each other’s arms playfully, jaws dropped, unabashed excitement radiating from them.
“Jesus,” I mutter, reeling back when I swear Mom mouths, finally. “We should get out of here before they come over and embarrass us.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Thea says, tapping Cooper’s shoulder.
He spins, pressing his back against me, my hand not dropping from his waist.
“That was amazing,” she says as she fixes her bag strap. “Seeing you up there, stripped down like that? I think we should maybe do a couple intimate gigs after the tour’s done.”
He beams. “I’d love that.”
Then she turns to me and smiles. “Thank you for letting him hide out in your bar for the last month.”
I smirk, fingers flexing against his hip. “Not exactly a hardship.”
Nodding, she straightens, all business again. “We’ll circle back to things on Sunday, Cooper. Flight leaves for LA first thing.”
Sunday morning.
Flight.
It takes a second to register, for the words to sink in.
My entire body stiffens, and he feels it, his fingers twitching where they’re curled over mine. His nod is stilted, his shoulders tensing like he’s bracing for impact, like he knows I’m two seconds from pulling away.
Because we haven’t even talked about what the future could look like. If we even have one at all.
And this?
This hurts.
Like someone’s decided for us.
The sounds of the bar blur into nothing—Ali’s voice onstage, glasses clinking, laughter echoing—I hear none of it. Just the sound of my own heartbeat roaring in my ears. I need to get out of here.
Dropping my hold, I step back and start to walk away.
“Dec—”
I don’t stop to explain, don’t look back, just keep moving until the noise fades behind me and I’m walking through the door leading up to my apartment. The silence here is worse. No lights, no distractions, just me and every piece of furniture inside that now reminds me of him.
Moving into the kitchen on autopilot, I grab a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet, the bottle hitting the counter a little too hard. I grip the glass and stare through it.
I knew this was coming. Our time together was always limited. I just never thought it would end like this.
The front door opens, and I don’t need to turn around to know he followed me up here. He doesn’t speak right away, and I hear his deep inhale like he’s steadying himself.
“I just found out,” he says quietly. “This afternoon. Thea booked it, and I didn’t… I didn’t know how to tell you.”
I don’t answer, just take a slow drink, relishing the burn as it travels down my throat.
“I wanted to pretend we had more time,” he adds. “I was scared you’d pull away the second you knew.”
My fingers tighten around the glass. “So what? When were you going to tell me?”
“Dec—”
I spin, every inch of me tight. “When?”
He flinches, glancing down at his hands. “Tonight. But—”
“You say you love me.” I scoff. “You say this—us—matters, but you’re still walking away while I stay with the pieces you leave behind.”
“I’m not walking away,” he breathes. Eyes narrowed, my mouth opens to respond, but he rushes forward, hands fisting my shirt. “I am coming back.”
I want to believe him. I just…can’t.
“What exactly are you coming back to?” I ask quietly.
Rearing back, he blinks. “You. Us.”
Shaking my head, I start to pace, frustration bleeding into my voice before I can stop it. “And what does that look like?”
His mouth opens, then closes, gaze lowering to the floor.
“Do you expect me to drop everything and follow you to LA?” I continue, voice getting louder. “Move into that massive, empty house you showed Grace? Sit behind gates and walls with a dog for company while you’re on tour?”
He gazes up at me, expression cracked open.
“I have a life here, Coop. A bar. My family. A routine I fought like hell to build after you left.”
“I don’t want to go, Dec. I swear, I’m coming back, you have to believe me. I just—” He breaks off, dragging a hand through his hair. “Let me figure it out. Please. I can’t lose you.”
I watch him for a long second, jaw tight and aching, before I reach into my back pocket and pull out my wallet. The paper is soft from age, the corners worn and discolored. Handing it to him without a word, his eyebrows pull together as he unfolds it, breath catching when he reads it.
“Always yours, Reign Cooper,” he whispers, reading his scrawl like it’s something sacred. “You really kept this?”
“Over ten years,” I say. His eyes glisten when he looks up, mouth parting, but I cut him off.
“Back then, you never promised me a thing, but I still waited. I still believed you would come back to me.” I swallow the heat in my throat, the urge to kiss away the tremble in his lower lip as he blinks up at me.
“So don’t ask me to believe in you, Cooper.
I always have. And that’s the problem. I don’t know how not to. ”
My head hangs, my grip tightening on the glass as I reach for the bottle, ready to pour another. Before I can, Cooper steps around me, his fingers closing over mine. He doesn’t yank it away, doesn’t fight me for it; he just holds it and makes me look at him.
“I don’t know how to do this again,” I say quietly, reaching up and brushing a curl from his face. “I don’t know how to let you leave and pretend it won’t kill me.”
He’s on me before I can say another word, hands bracketing my face, a steely resolve shining from his eyes. “Then don’t. Feel it, feel all of it when I say this time I’m coming back because I love you. I’ve loved you before I even knew what that word truly meant.”
Pressing his forehead against mine, our eyes shut, the scent of his body wash and deodorant, everything that is Cooper Riddick flooding my senses.
“And when I get back, we’ll make a plan. A new one. You and me. I want to build something with you, Declan. I want a future. Us.”
My resolve shatters like glass, because this is the thing about Cooper: he’s always known the words to make me unravel.
He tilts my chin, kissing me like it’s the first time, like he’s still unsure after all this time if he even has the right to.
It’s soft, so goddamn soft, his mouth moving with patience that nearly breaks me.
I don’t kiss him back right away. I can’t, not when my chest is tight and my throat is full of everything I’m too afraid to say. But he keeps going, not to take, to promise. I can taste it on his lips, in the way he presses against me, but I can’t stop myself from hesitating.
Cooper’s hands move to my shirt, unbuttoning it slowly, slipping it from my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.
His palms skate down my chest, stopping at the waistband of my jeans.
Deftly, he pops the button, dragging the zipper down with practiced ease.
He breaks the kiss, lashes flicking up to check if I’ll stop him.
I don’t.
I won’t.
He sinks to his knees, slow and reverent, fingers curling around the waistband and tugging everything down.
This isn’t just sex. This is Cooper—sweet, slightly oblivious, soft-mouthed Cooper—loving me the only way he knows how when words aren’t enough.
I grip the counter behind me, my head dropping back as he takes me deeper, hollowing out his cheeks, his moan vibrating through me. My hips buck forward, making him gag, his eyes glistening as they meet mine. I reach down, brushing my thumb over his cheek, my voice rough.
“Jesus, baby,” I whisper, heart pounding. “No one’s ever gotten under my skin like you.”
I bend, threading my arms under his to pull him up.
Our mouths collide the second we’re chest to chest, a desperate, messy plea wrapped in every kiss.
We stumble toward the bedroom, bumping into walls, knocking over a chair, too caught up in each other to care.
My hand fists his hoodie, the other tugging his jeans, mouths never parting.
No more words are spoken, our bodies saying everything we need to as I settle between his legs and push inside him.
His legs wrap around my back, pulling me closer with every thrust, our gazes locked, open, unguarded.
I move languidly, reveling in the way his body clings to me, the soft pants he makes when I hit that spot inside him just right, lashes fluttering but snapping open like he doesn’t want to miss a single second.
“Baby…” I murmur, the word slipping out. He shivers under me, and my thumb brushes the damp curls from his forehead.
“Kiss me,” he begs as his fingers thread into my hair and tug me down.
We’re nothing but skin and warmth, years of aching and yearning finally easing into something whole.
“I’m coming back to you,” he whispers, kissing me again, slower this time. “I promise.”
And I want to believe him. God, I want to.
But belief is fragile. Trust, even more so.
And I’m terrified there’ll be no coming back if he doesn’t.