Chapter 62
Sixty-Two
C ooper
I used to be a party person, but I lost that side of myself when I lost my leg. I didn’t want to come tonight, but Ethan insisted. It’s New Year’s Eve, what used to be a favorite night of the year, but Ethan doesn’t understand the old me is gone.
It’s not like a prosthetic is one and done.
I learned that the hard way. Six months in, and I’m already on my second leg.
The thing about prosthetics is that not only do they wear down over time, but my stump changes over time as well.
If I lose weight or gain muscle, I’ll need an adjustment.
If something is misaligned, I’ll need an adjustment.
If I develop neuroma or bone spurs, same thing.
Don’t even talk to me about friction and pressure points.
The fact that I’m even doing as well as I am is nothing short of a miracle, and that’s mostly thanks to having been born into a rich family. Lots of people with limbs like mine aren’t so lucky.
Not that I consider myself lucky. I’m still angry, but at least I’m channeling that anger into an actionable plan.
Tonight, however, the plan is to get wasted.
The hotel ballroom is a glittering nightmare, packed shoulder to shoulder with twenty-somethings who belong at this party more than I do.
The chandeliers sparkle like they know it’s their night to shine, and so do all the dresses. It’s a sea of silver and gold. Even the ice cubes have edible glitter. The whole thing screams opulence and wealth.
Ethan is busy with his arms around Arden, the two already lost in their love-bubble.
His laughter is lighter than it’s been in years, and I’m happy for him.
They’re like a vision out of a holiday romance, while I’m their misplaced plus one, nursing my second whiskey and trying to make myself invisible.
Hard to do when everyone at this party knows about the prosthetic. They also know about the drama between the King and Laurence family.
I note that I’ve slept with many of the women here at one point or another and take another drink. Not that I’m sleeping with anyone anymore. I can’t.
Every time I try to hook up with someone, I panic about my leg. It’s fucking ridiculous. Even the hot nurse at the rehab didn’t do it for me, though I played it off like we were fucking, so Ethan didn’t worry any more than he already was.
I can feel eyes on me—curious, pitying eyes. They’re coming from every corner of the room, heavy and scrutinizing.
I adjust in my seat at the bar, the prosthetic leg awkward beneath me. The marble floor isn’t made for comfort or subtlety. The last thing I need is to fumble on that dance floor, so I stay right here with my ass in this chair and plan to stay here all night.
A familiar laugh breaks my thoughts. I turn to find at the woman who ruined my life flirting with a man farther down the bar.
Now she belongs here, with her shimmering dress, her striking auburn hair, and her sultry green eyes.
She always looks like she belongs everywhere she goes while simultaneously standing out, like she’s better than everyone else. It’s a Laurence thing.
I used to love that about her, but now I hate it. I hate her. For everything. For the accident. For breaking my heart. For hurting my family. Even for being here right now and not looking my way while everyone else stares at me like I’m fragile and broken.
Taking another drink, I turn from Sybil to take inventory of the bottles behind the bar instead. I need something stronger. I drain the rest of my whiskey and order vodka. Mixing these is a bad idea, but I don’t care.
I drink, and I drink, and I drink.
Midnight closes in, and the crowd grows rowdy. The old me would’ve been out there feeding off that energy, but the new me is still planted in this chair.
Not for the first time—maybe not even for the hundredth time—I find Sybil and the man she’s been flirting with all night. He’s tall and wearing a cheap suit and looks like a bank-teller. She’s practically rubbing her breasts against his arm as they talk.
Her hungry eyes flick to me, and I snap.
In my mind, I stride over confidently, but in reality, it’s more of a drunken shuffle.
“We need to talk,” I tell her and although her expression darkens, she gives me a reluctant nod.
We leave Mr. Bank Teller, and I get a little smug at the fact that he looks pissed off.
I lead her to the edge of the crowd. It’s so loud we can’t really talk. Not that I’m even sure what I’m going to say.
“What do you want?” she asks, and I stare at her mouth for a little too long. “Cooper?”
“Are you going to kiss that guy at midnight?” I ask, words slurring.
Her eyes narrow. “Yeah, that’s what people do. Speaking of which, I need to get back there. The countdown is about to start.”
I stare at her. No words. Drunk off my ass.
She turns to leave, but I snatch her wrist. “You don’t even know that guy. Did you just meet him tonight?”
Her cheeks go pink. “So what? You sleep with women you barely know all the time, and don’t pretend otherwise. We went to college together, remember? I know how you are.”
That was a long time ago.
That was before.
I chuckle darkly. “I’ve grown up, Sybil. It’s called maturing. Maybe you should consider it.”
Her eyes round, and I instantly feel like the world’s biggest asshole, but I’m so fucked up and can’t seem to stop myself from arguing with her. Anything to get her attention.
“Why do you have to do this? Every time we try to have a conversation, you’re a complete jerk. We used to be friends.”
“You broke up with me,” I say. “Not the other way around.”
“Broke up? We weren’t together.”
“You know what I mean.”
“You’re drunk.” Her voice goes quiet, edged with disappointment. “It’s really not good for you, Cooper. It makes you… different.”
“Different?” Yeah, a lot of things made me different.
She frowns. “And difficult.”
“So you’re perfect?” The words spill out. “I’m a drunk because my life is a fucking mess, thanks to your fucking family. You’re out here partying and letting anyone stick his dick in you.”
The countdown starts, ten, night, eight…
She stares at me like she can’t believe me, like she doesn’t know who I am anymore.
Her eyes narrow, and she steps closer. “Maybe you still have some growing up to do, Cooper. Losing your leg fucking sucked, I know, but I lost my dad that day. You’re not the only one who has suffered a loss, but you are the only one drinking like a fish and acting like a fucking victim.”
Three, two, one. Happy New Year!
For a split second, everything is frozen.
The noise of the crowd fades, and her pretty green eyes stare at me, those lips parted. I foolishly imagine a universe in which I kiss her, but that’s quickly replaced by the reality of her words.
I am a fucking victim. I didn’t do shit to cause my leg to get destroyed by that boat. She did. She told Gregory about Arden and Ethan. She spurred her father on during his tirade. After everything went to shit, she didn’t take responsibility for her actions.
She turns away, clearly scanning the crowd for the man she was flirting with, but he’s already locked lips with someone else. They’re practically dry humping on the dance floor. Classy.
“That’s the guy you wanted to fuck tonight?” I chuckle. “Looks like he thinks you’re pretty replaceable. Your taste in men has really gone downhill since you left Ethan. You should raise your standards.”
“Leave me alone,” she practically screams, and I know I’ve pushed her to the edge. A twisted satisfaction stirs in me, but it’s overshadowed by guilt. Am I the world’s biggest asshole, or is she? It’s hard to tell these days.
The rest of the night is a blur. Flashes of Ethan’s concerned face, of Arden’s voice, the taste of that vodka threatening to come up my esophagus. A car taking us home. And then nothing.
Blissful sleep.
I wake the next morning with a pounding headache and a mouth that feels like it’s full of sand. I really need to stop drinking; nothing good comes of it anymore.
The sunlight streaming through the window is clearly a punishment for my behavior, and my stomach twists.
I will never stop hating her. I love Sybil, but I hate her because I love her—one feeds the other. Something’s got to break.
I stare at the ceiling, realizing what I need most.
I need to go to my father.
I’ll go and ask for his help. Conrad King is the master of games, and if there’s one game he knows best, it’s revenge.