25. Chapter 25
Chapter twenty-five
Cooper
Sutton
I don’t feel good.
Cooper
What’s wrong?
My tummy aches and is rumbling.
So you’re hungry.
Is that what these strange noises are?
…Why are you texting me from the other room.
Will you make me something to eat.
There it is.
Please!
I push the door to Sutton’s bedroom open with my foot as I carefully balance a tray with an ice-cold can of Sprite and a plate of dino nuggets and french fries in one hand and her favorite blanket from the couch in the other.
The woman sits up so fast, her nose crinkling as she sniffs the air. “Is that what I think it is?” she asks, her eyes growing wide with excitement.
“A meal fit for a toddler? Why yes, Sutton, it is.”
She reaches out for the tray. “I’m too hungry to care about your insults right now.”
I sit the tray in front of her and throw the blanket at her feet, watching as she bites the head of a dinosaur off while shoving a french fry into her mouth at the same time.
Back off, ladies and gentlemen, she’s all mine.
“After you eat, do you want me to help you wash your hair?”
She finishes chewing what’s in her mouth before responding, “You’d do that for me?”
“Of course.”
After we wrap her hand up in a makeshift cast cover made from trash bags and duct tape, I start a shower at the scalding-hot temperature I know she loves. My skin will hate me for it, but for her, I’d burn every inch of myself.
I help her strip out of her clothes and watch her perky ass as she steps under the spray of water.
I shudder as my cock threatens to harden at the sight. God, she’s beautiful, even sweaty and covered in ketchup.
She pokes her head out of the clear shower curtain and asks, “Aren’t you coming in?”
I clear my throat. “Yeah, I just need to grab one thing first.” Pulling my phone out of my back pocket, I put on the last band I ever thought I’d willingly listen to, Creed, as I shuck off my clothes, leaving them in a heap with Sutton’s.
I take my time massaging her coconut-and-vanilla shampoo into her scalp, then scrub her down with a body wash with the same scent. Then comes the hard part—shaving. I’m so nervous I’m going to cut her until Sutton points out that I have more experience than her as I shave my face. With that confidence boost, I help the woman clean up, removing any remaining hair from her underarms and legs. Luckily, my girl likes to get Brazilian waxes for her harder-to-reach areas.
Once she’s satisfied with how well I washed and shaved her, we get out, and I blow her hair dry, following her explicit instructions. Her eyes close as she leans against my chest, completely relaxing into me.
With her hair finally dry, we both opt for sleep, piling into the bed nude as we snuggle against each other.
Sutton falls asleep almost immediately, muttering random words like “ with arms wide open, Renesmee ” and “ glasses liar .” Whatever that means. I smile as I drift off thinking about what wildness must be going on in her mind.
We’ve only been asleep for a couple of hours when my phone starts buzzing incessantly. Which can only mean one thing.
A group chat.
Aka the bane of my existence.
I reach over Sutton to steal my phone from the charger, readying myself to tell off whoever woke me up, but that all changes when I read the texts.
Mr. Avery- Hey, group. Sorry to be texting you all so late, but I just got word that Jorge passed away earlier today.
Unknown number- You’re kidding?
Unknown number- But he just retired.
Mr. Avery- I know, it’s horrible.
Jim- What happened?
Mr. Avery- Dawn, his wife, said heart attack.
My breath hitches. He just retired not even two months ago.
So many questions fill my head. Was it preventable? Did he have a prior cardiac history? Did he ever make it to his paradise in the sun?
He was so full of life. My own mortality comes rushing in with a wave of anxiety. Will I end up like him, dying before I ever get to enjoy my life to the fullest?
Sutton stirs beside me. “What’s wrong?” she asks, turning to face me.
My phone continues to light up with more incoming texts from my coworkers, but I silence my phone and set it down on the bedside table before hugging Sutton and burrowing my head into her neck.
“Cooper?”
“Jorge had a heart attack.”
“The man whose retirement party we went to?” she asks gently.
I nod.
“Is he okay?”
I breathe her in, letting her familiar scent soothe my aching heart for a moment, unsure of how to answer that question. “He didn’t make it.”
“I’m sorry.” She presses a kiss to my hair and strokes her good hand down my back until I fall back asleep.
#
A week later, Sutton stands by my side at the back of the packed sea of white fold-out chairs as we watch Jorge’s casket being lowered into the ground.
Sutton wipes a stray tear away.
“Baby,” I whisper, pulling her into my chest. “We can go if you want. It’s almost over.”
“I just hate that he didn’t get to live his dream. He waited his entire life for paradise and never got to experience it.”
“It’s horrible.”
“It’s horse shit,” she sobs, pulling back to look me in the eye. “I don’t want to be like Jorge. Waiting for the right time. Pushing off my wants and dreams for the hope that they will still be there one day.”
“Then don’t, Sutton.” I swallow, peering into her red-rimmed, glossy eyes.
With that, she reaches up on her toes and presses her lips to mine. It’s soft and sweet and too short for my liking. She pulls back to look at me and declares, “I want to stop pretending.”
“Pretending?” I ask as a mixture of fear and hope courses through my veins, lighting every inch of my skin on fire with anticipation of what she’ll say next.
She nods. “I don’t want to pretend this”—she gestures between us—“is fake in any way. None of it was ever just for show. I want to call it what it is.”
“And what’s that?”
“Real.”
I squeeze her tighter to me before leaning down to capture her mouth with mine. “This is real,” I promise between kisses. “The realest thing in the world for me.”
#
After the funeral, a wake is held for Jorge at his favorite bar that’s just a short walk from the A&A offices. Billiard tables and dart boards line the back of the bar, with games already in progress as Sutton and I walk in.
The room is packed with a mix of black suits and dresses and various tropical-printed button-ups in honor of Jorge. I notice everyone from the office is there minus my boss. He told another coworker that wakes weren’t his thing and apparently dipped out after the funeral.
Sutton and I mingle, each taking a shot in Jorge’s memory before being whisked off to play a round of darts. We listen as coworkers and family friends of Jorge step up on the stage to share a fun memory of the man. His wife, Dawn, is smiling with tears in her eyes at every little anecdote shared.
We stay for almost two hours before leaving, stepping out into the rain that started falling while we were at the wake. And of course neither of us has an umbrella.
Sutton and I laugh as we race down the street to the parking garage across the street from A&A where we parked.
We make our way up the ramp to where my truck is, and I round the vehicle and open the passenger door for her, only for Sutton to wrap her arms around my stomach.
Her embrace calms every ounce of anxiety that’s been coursing through my veins. I can do this. I can get through anything as long as I have her with me.
Droplets fall from her lashes as she looks up at me. She has never looked as beautiful as she does right now.
A smile curves up on her lips. “What?”
I lean in, placing a kiss on her lips. “I love you.”
She sucks in a breath through her nose, the smile that was there falling as she locks her eyes with mine. “I love you too.”
“I love you so much that I would lie to spare your feelings. And I do.”
She shoots me a questioning look, and I can’t help but smile as I add, “I hate the way you make my coffee.”
“But you always have two cups every morning.”
“Yeah, because you made it for me.”
“That’s sweet of you, but I don’t want you drinking something you don’t like. Just tell me how to fix it, and if it makes you happy, I’ll make it differently.”
“You would change your recipe for me?”
“Baby, I would change my life for you.” She swallows harshly, then says, “Confession. I make coffee you hate on purpose.”
“What? Why?” I laugh.
“At first, it was to get back at you for being so tempting. But then it just became routine to make it, and you never complained, so I figured you must not mind as much as I initially thought.”
I don’t care that she purposely makes me nasty coffee. I don’t care about anything other than the fact that Sutton Hale loves me. She loves me. And I love her.