3. The Betrayal
The Betrayal
COOPER
I stared at Mom, trying to make sense of what she’d just said. “What do you mean I won’t be traveling alone?”
Mom sighed, a weary sound I was well used to.
“It means exactly that. You won’t be traveling alone. I’m sorry, Cooper, but it’s not safe right now.” She nodded toward the newspaper.
I blew air in frustration.
“Yeah, that’s sad, but it’s not like I’m a twenty-three-year-old Omega spokesperson. I’m nineteen-year-old Cooper, secondary gender unconfirmed.”
“The monsters who target innocent people don’t stop to ask if you’ve presented,” Mom said.
I knew she was right, and I tried to act my age so I wouldn’t have to hear it again—that I was childish, immature, or, as my brother’s evil friend Jon Beckett liked to say, a brat.
Don’t think about Jon.
“Jack can’t take time off,” I said, the final word cracking humiliatingly. “So who’s coming with me?”
An insistent thought kept pushing its way up, and I kept pushing it back down. If I didn’t acknowledge it, it wouldn’t be true. It couldn’t be.
I looked at my hands and noticed they were trembling.
Mom fidgeted with the bracelet I’d made her, a sure sign she was more nervous than she let on.
“Please be sensible about this.”
“Who. Is. It?”
There was no point asking since I already knew, but I wanted her to say it. Say out loud the name I knew she was going to say the moment she mentioned the change in plans.
“It’s Jon.”
Even though I’d guessed right, hearing his name still sent me stumbling back until my spine hit the counter.
Underneath the panic, something else was stirring.
I could still feel his hand on me—unyielding and firm.
Frantically, my mind searched for options.
They couldn’t make me, right? I was an adult, and I was not going down without a fight.
“No,” I said, the word gaining strength out of sheer desperation.
“Cooper—”
“No, Mom! There’s no fucking way I’m sitting in a car with Jon fucking Beckett!”
A knot of nerves snaked its way into my body.
I blinked furiously, fighting off tears.
I hadn’t spoken to Jon in months because I’d been too humiliated.
Too confused. Ignoring him had been easier than facing the reality—and certainly safer than admitting the truth.
I’d let him see me in a way no one else ever had, and instead of wanting me, he had . . . what? Pitied me?
“Language, Cooper,” Mom said sharply. “I’ll say this only once. You’ll travel with Jon, or you won’t travel at all.”
I stared at her. How had my dream trip turned into a nightmare in less than ten minutes?
“I’m nineteen! I make my own decisions.” I lifted my chin in defiance. Mom’s words felt like a betrayal wrapped in parental concern, and I wasn’t going to take it. “You can’t make me.”
“Sweetheart, Grandpa won’t give you the money if you drive there by yourself.”
My jaw dropped. The betrayal ran deeper than I thought. They’d been scheming behind my back, letting me plan and get excited—for what? To pull the rug out from under me so close to the finish line.
“Why, Mom?” I asked quietly.
“Love,” she said simply. “And common sense.” She had the audacity to smile.
“No, you just want me to suffer,” I spat, throwing my hands up in the air. “You know I hate Jon!”
“Jon is a very responsible young man,” Mom said firmly. “And I wish you’d stop acting like a child around him.”
Hah. If Mom only knew.
“He’s a prick!” I snapped.
Every plan I’d made, every single thing I’d been looking forward to—it was all gone. Ruined because of Jon.
“Stop it, Cooper.”
“No! If you’re forcing me to travel with him, I’m calling it like it is. Jon Beckett is a loathsome, arrogant jerkface, and I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate him!”
Silence fell. Then, a low, dry, and painfully familiar voice from the doorway made the hair on my arms stand up.
“No need to sugarcoat it.”
My stomach spasmed as I stood there like a fool. For a split second, the kitchen blurred into the memory of a darker room—the size of him, the pressure, the way I had—NO! I refused to think about it.
I forced myself to turn around, and there he fucking was. He didn’t even have the decency to look affected, no, he just stood there like he’d heard everything and decided my humiliation was mildly entertaining. The space between us felt charged and too small to contain all our history.
When our eyes met, I tried to hold my ground, but heat was already crawling up my neck, forcing me to look away. My body, my traitorous body, wanted nothing more than to close the distance between us. Standing still took actual effort.
How long had Jon known about this? It was his involvement that hurt me the most.
Jack stepped out from behind Jon, brow furrowed in a frown. “Jon’s doing you a huge favor,” he said.
Jon’s jaw tightened. It was subtle, but I saw it. I looked at him with every ounce of contempt I could summon.
“A favor I didn’t ask for,” I snarled.
Jon’s face remained expressionless. He gave me fuck all.
Needing to leave before my tears betrayed me, I pushed past him, my shoulder slamming his chest with all the force I could muster.
It was like hitting a wall. The contact sent an unwanted jolt through me, settling somewhere low before I could shove it away.
For a fraction of a second, my body remembered and sighed in satisfaction.
“I’ll never forgive you,” I hissed under my breath, not waiting for a response. I stormed into my room, grabbed my pillow, and beat it against the mattress until my arms ached. Then I collapsed face first onto the bed and let myself cry.
I didn’t know what I hated more—Jon, or the humiliating fact that some stubborn part of me still refused to let go.
A few minutes later, someone knocked on the door. My first thought was Jon, but of course it wasn’t him. It was Mom. I wouldn’t have let Jon past the threshold anyway. I would’ve barricaded the door with sheer willpower before letting him put one foot inside.
“Go away,” I said into my pillow. Ignoring the mumbled request, Mom sat on the edge of my bed.
“I know this is last minute, sweetie. I’m sorry about that,” she said quietly, patting my back. “But the news has been downright awful lately. I just don’t feel comfortable with you traveling by yourself. Not with the way things are changing.”
“The world’s always been dangerous,” I muttered.
“I know. And I trust you, Cooper. It’s the rest of the world I don’t trust.” She hesitated. “Things are different right now.”
I frowned. “How?”
“You read about the attack in Springfield, right?”
I nodded.
“There have been more stories like that lately,” Mom said carefully. “About people being followed, harassed, and targeted. And it’s often based just on appearances.” Her hand tightened slightly on my shoulder. “That’s why I’m worried. You’re very . . .” She trailed off, searching for the word.
“What? Small?” I was bristling. Jack had gobbled up all the tall person genes in this family.
“Pretty,” Mom finally said. “You’re very pretty, Coop. That’s what scares me. You stand out, and that isn’t safe right now.”
“But why does it have to be Jon?” I complained. “I could’ve asked Bianca.”
“Isn’t she in Australia rescuing koalas?”
“A teeny tiny detail,” I said, making Mom smile.
“You used to like Jon,” she said, looking sad. “You don’t have to tell me what happened, but whatever it was, I hope you two work it out.”
I looked away too quickly. Yeah. If only it were that simple.
“Besides, I couldn’t think of a better guard dog than him,” Mom said. Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled. “Is it just me, or has he gotten even more ripped?”
Hearing my mother use the word “ripped” felt borderline indecent. A reluctant smile tugged at my mouth.
“Maybe it’s those ink gloves that make him look so built,” Mom continued, clearly trying to lighten the mood.
My brow furrowed. “Ink gloves?”
“Isn’t that what they’re called? When your arms are covered in tattoos?”
I snorted, the heavy weight in my chest lifting just an inch. “They’re tattoo sleeves, Mom. Not ink gloves.”
“No wonder he looked at me so strangely when I complimented his ink gloves.”
I pushed the blanket off me, sitting up and trying to reclaim some dignity. “He won’t be getting a cent of my money.”
“Don’t worry. He’s doing this for free.”
A cold shiver ran down my spine. That didn’t bode well at all. Why was he coming along for free? Maybe he wanted a front-row seat to my misery. Or to keep me close enough to make sure I never said a word about what had happened between us.
“Promise me one thing, Mom,” I said, my voice turning dark and dramatic. “When Jon calls to tell you I died in some freaky accident in the middle of the desert, don’t take his word for it. Check the trunk first.”