Chapter 17
COOPER
I cried myself to sleep after the pool, a mix of emotional exhaustion and the edible catching up with me. I woke up at 11:00 PM and I’ve tried to fall back to sleep, but now I’m too restless. My mind is going a million different directions. Sitting up, I reach for the remote. Some mindless television might help. But a few minutes later, I find myself in bed with the lamp on, staring at the TV, without actually watching it. My thoughts are all over the place. I think about Brad, Ryan, hell, even my mom and dad. How did I end up in a relationship like theirs? Is cheating like abuse—one of those cycles that’s hard to break? Is it a pattern that gets passed down?
I wonder what it is about me that makes me stay with Brad—what’s different about me and Casey. Are we different, or did she just find one of the good ones?
Do I really believe Ryan’s an asshole? Is Brad actually a good guy? How can I love my dad so much when he betrayed my mom too many times to count? And why do I blame her for everything, even when she was the one who was hurt the most? Is this a me problem or a them problem—or are we just humans that sometimes lose ourselves when it all goes to hell?
I groan in frustration. The real question I should be asking myself is: What am I going to do about this mess I’ve created? I’m at a loss. Ever since the Christmas party, I’ve been so in my head. Brad and I haven’t stopped fighting, and Casey’s words about him being so nice because he’s cheating again echo in my mind every single day. The worst part is, if I just looked, I’m sure I could find evidence. But I’m scared to look—scared for it to be true. What would I even do if I found it? Try to break it off again? I know how that goes—how he goes. God, I don’t think I can do this anymore.
I grab my phone.
“Shit.”
Three missed calls and multiple texts from Brad. I stare at them, too drained to even read what he’s said. I’m so tired of fighting with him. There’s also a text from Ryan. My pulse quickens as I tap his name, holding my breath. There are two texts, the first one sent about thirty minutes after he stopped knocking on the door.
Ryan: Tomorrow, we need to check the terms of the lease before the next property meeting. I’ll handle it if you still want to visit the co-working spaces in the afternoon.
Ryan: I wish you’d at least let me explain. Then you could decide if you really hated me.
I sigh. Things are going to be so awkward tomorrow. I suddenly feel as if I’m being suffocated, the air too thick to breathe. I need to get out— now. I throw on some leggings and a tank top, and grab my book. Maybe the lobby has a vibey place with a fireplace that I can cozy up to and read for a bit. That usually helps clear my mind.
* * * * * ? * * * * *
I step onto the shiny marble floor from the elevator. The lobby’s still buzzing with noise, music and people, even though it’s close to midnight. I decide to take a lap around the main floor, scope out a spot for my reading. I walk toward the main bar—it has a vibe, but too loud for reading. It’s not overly crowded, being a weeknight, but there are still a handful of people scattered throughout.
One of them… is Ryan.
I freeze. He’s sitting alone at the bar, hands cupped around a glass, his eyes glassy and distant. He looks miserable.
But damn, he also looks hot as hell. He’s wearing a T-shirt with his hair a little messy on top, like he’s run his hand through it a few times. The fabric of his shirt stretches against his biceps, and for a second, I forget why I’m even mad.
Ryan picks up his glass and takes a sip, his eyes finding mine as he sets it down. His expression stays neutral, unreadable. And now I have a choice to make. I could turn around and deal with this tomorrow, push it off for another day, or I could face the mess I’ve created—let him explain. God, when did I become such a chickenshit?
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, steeling myself as I walk toward him. His eyes follow me every step of the way.
“Is this seat taken?” I ask softly.
“Why don’t you tell me? You seem to know everything.” His tone is flat, and it’s clear from his glassy eyes and the way he holds his drink that he’s had more than a few.
“I didn’t come over here to fight with you, Ryan.” I slide into the chair next to him, even though it's obvious I’m not exactly welcome.
He scoffs. “Sure you didn’t.” He takes another sip.
The bartender comes over, and I order a shot of tequila. Because holy shit, I need one right now. He pours it, and I throw it back, biting into the lime as the burn slides down my throat.
I slam the glass down, trying not to cringe. “Can I get another one?” I’m going to need a buzz to get through this.
Ryan raises an eyebrow, his voice edged with bitterness. “Am I that hard to be around?”
“You have no idea,” I say, tipping the second shot back, then meeting his gaze. “But not in the way you think.”
He laughs, low and bitter. “So… what are you here for then?”
“I didn’t know you’d be down here. I came to read… but then I saw you.”
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, finally turning his head to look at me.
I shake my head. “Nope. You?”
“Same.” He turns back to his drink.
I watch as Ryan stares down at his glass, swirling it like he’s searching for answers in the amber liquid. He looks… tired. Not the kind of tired you get from work, but something deeper.
He leans back, his eyes leaving the glass long enough to meet mine. “So, why’d you come over here if you were just going to read? Did you come to torture me some more?”
I scowl. “No… I don’t want to torture you.”
His gaze drops to my chest, his expression unreadable. “Sure, you don’t.” He grips his glass tighter, taking another sip. “You’re good, I’ll give you that.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re just drunk, talking nonsense,” I say, my defenses rising.
He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Maybe. But earlier… at the pool. Your whole seductive show. The touching, the teasing—turning me on. If that’s what you were trying to do… well, congrats, it worked.” His voice is rough. He kicks back the rest of his drink, as if he’s trying to drown the thought. “Made me want to fuck you right then and there. Isn’t that what you wanted?” He shakes his head, looking away for a moment before meeting my gaze again. “Because I sure as hell don’t know what you want from me, Cooper. I’m tired of guessing.”
I blink, caught off guard. I don’t know what to say. But damn, he wanted to fuck me? My stomach tightens, fire surging through my veins, heat flashing under my skin. I lift my glass and take a sip of water, hoping to steady the chaos raging inside of me.
“Is it to prove I’m an asshole? That I’d cheat on my wife if you pushed hard enough?” His eyes lock onto mine, the hurt and frustration clear. “Is that it?”
“Ryan… I—”
He cuts me off, his tone sharper. “And then when I stop it… because you , Cooper, are engaged—you still call me out. You still think I’m the asshole. Even though I would never sleep with you knowing you’re with someone else, out of respect for Brad, even though I don’t respect him… and even though I’d love nothing more than to take you back to my hotel room right now.”
His words hang in the air between us. My face heats up, and every breath becomes a struggle. His eyes burn into mine with such an intensity, I can’t tell if it’s pure hatred or desire. But God, I hope it’s the latter because hearing him say that… it makes me feel alive.
I take a deep inhale, trying to string together one rational sentence—anything that might make sense. “Is that what you think this is? Some game to see if I could get under your skin?” I know, on some level, that’s exactly what it was, but I never considered what it would do to him—to Ryan. I was so sure he was just another cheater, and it felt justified. But, if I’m being honest with myself, I think I also just needed to know if he still wanted me—if he still found me desirable.
He gives a half-shrug, but there’s an edge of defeat in his voice. “Isn’t it? Seemed like a pretty damn good way to keep hating me. Or at least make me feel guiltier than I already do.” He slams his glass down onto the counter. “I’m tired. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He starts to stand, and I reflexively grab his arm.
“No, Ryan. Stay. Look, I didn’t come down here to keep this war going. I came to fix it. I want to understand—about your wife, about… everything.”
He lets out a bitter chuckle. “Oh, so now you want to understand? Could’ve fooled me with the whole ‘drag me to hell’ routine.”
“Okay, fair. I deserve that. I’ve been a total bitch, okay? I admit it. Just… sit down. Please.”
He hesitates, but reluctantly sits.
“Look, when I found out that you had a wife… I was shocked… and… I was so mad at you. You judged me so harshly when you found out I was engaged, made me feel so guilty about Newport.” I press a hand to my chest. “Something I’ve never wanted to feel bad about because…”
I stop myself. Did I really just almost admit to Ryan Brooks how incredible he is in bed?
A knowing smirk tugs at Ryan’s lips. “I knew it.” He chuckles. “Go on, say it.”
I can’t stop the smile sneaking onto my face. He knows, but my pride won’t let me say it. “Never.” I bring my water to my lips, hiding behind the glass as the cool liquid hits my tongue, my eyes never leaving his.
He relents. “Fine. I’ll say it.” He leans in closer. “That night was unbelievable. God. That was the best damn sex of my entire life. You were unforgettable.” His eyes drift over me, smoldering. “I’ve thought about it more times than I’d care to admit.”
Jesus. If words could make a girl come…
I smother the grin that threatens to spread across my face. I guess flirting is still in the bounds of his integrity. “Really? The best you ever had?”
“The best,” he says, unapologetically.
“Fine. You weren’t bad yourself.”
He scoffs, shaking his head. “Right.” He knows I’m lying.
I smile and take a deep breath. “Let’s try not to get sidetracked. Since we’re on the topic of Newport… Tell me about your marriage. Did you make me the other woman? Because I had broken up with Brad. I know it was only for a few days, but I wanted to be done, wanted to move on.” I pause, my voice softening. “I don’t want to hate you, Ryan. But I need to know.”
He furrows his brows. “No. I would never cheat… on anyone.”
“But you had a wife, and you still have a wife. So, how the hell could you have not cheated? If you’re married, it’s called cheating. If you’re…”
“Cooper,” he interrupts, his tone firm. “Just let me explain, please. Let me get it all out before you say anything, alright?”
I exhale loudly, rolling my eyes. “Fine,” I mutter.
“My wife and I moved to Chicago a year and a half ago. We both started working immediately. She took on an executive admin position, and within three months of being here, I found out she was having an affair with her boss.”
Whoa. Okay, this is not at all what I expected . I blink, momentarily caught off guard.
“I guess I’m not one of those people who can stay with someone who cheats.” He shrugs. “And maybe that makes me a shitty person. But I checked out immediately—physically and emotionally. I moved into the guest bedroom, cut off all physical touch… told her I wanted a divorce. Mentally, I was a fucking mess.” He pauses, bringing his hand to the back of his neck, gripping the skin. His eyes close, wincing, as if he’s reliving the pain. He brings his arms down to the counter, leaning on them for support. “She threw away ten years of marriage for a guy she barely knew.”
“Oh my God. Ten years?” I ask automatically.
He nods. “By the time I was in Newport, it had been six months, I’d moved out, and was living in an Airbnb, looking for a permanent place. I’d filed for divorce. She’d already been served the papers.” He looks at me. “Then I met you.”
I swallow hard, trying to process what he’s just said.
“The morning after you and I… slept together, I woke up to you being gone, and a voicemail from Beth. They’d found a lump in her breast, and she was scared—asked if I’d go with her to the appointment.” He pauses for a drink of water, his throat noticeably scratchy. “Anyway, long story short—she has breast cancer. She was on my insurance, and the coverage her company offered wasn’t great. Plus, she needed the emotional support. So, we stayed married on paper, and I moved back into the guest bedroom to help her through the radiation…” He chokes up. “To be there for her.”
He looks at me, smiling softly. “I still love Beth. She was my best friend for twelve years. We had a good marriage…” He does the sexy cheek-sucking thing. “I thought we did anyway.” He takes a deep breath, and presses his forehead against his fingers, rubbing the skin. “I still feel like shit every day when I look at her—because she’s in hell, and I can’t be that man for her. The one that forgives—gives her another chance… And then there’s you.” He pauses, his gaze fixed on me. “I told her I slept with you when I moved back in. She was hurt, but she understood. We were over. There was nothing for her to be angry about.”
I meet his gaze, my own emotions threatening. There’s something so broken in his tone. I didn’t think I’d ever see him like this—unguarded, bruised, and a bit lost. Maybe I’m not the only one trapped in a mess I don’t know how to fix. And damn , Ryan’s actually a really good person.
I reach for his arm, resting my hand on it. “I’m so sorry, Ryan. Truly.”
He nods, his expression softening for just a moment before he continues. “Do you want to know one of the hardest parts about all this?”
“What is it?” I ask sincerely.
“Not only am I constantly worried about Beth… but I’m racked with guilt. She wants to work things out—go to couples therapy. And here I am, leaving my wife while she’s fighting cancer… all while thinking about this she-devil who knows exactly how to push my buttons.”
He chuckles bitterly, shaking his head. “She teases and tempts me—drives me fucking insane.” His gaze flicks to mine, and there’s a moment of raw vulnerability in his eyes. “And the worst part? She’s in a relationship where she doesn’t even seem happy.”
His eyes lock onto mine, piercing, unflinching. “So, tell me, Cooper. Why do you stay with Brad?”
His words hit me like a freight train. Am I that transparent?
Does he know about Brad? About the cheating? God, Ryan was with his wife for twelve years. She had one affair, and he was done. Does that make me weak for staying? Or stronger for trying? I don’t know anymore. I just know I’m too embarrassed to admit I’ve been in the same boat—and I keep choosing to stay.
Is it even a choice, though? It feels more complicated than that. Because every time Brad and I come to a head, every time he twists that knife, planting those doubts and pleading his case, it makes it that much harder to leave the next time.
I wish I had Ryan’s courage.
I wish I could just fucking leave.
But life’s not that simple for me.