Chapter 26
COOPER
I wake up in Ryan’s room, my face pressed against the pillow, feeling only half-alive. God, I’m a mess. I wander into the bathroom to attempt damage control, my head pounding with each step. I glance in the mirror. Shit. I look like I’m dead. I splash cold water on my face, pinch my cheeks, and find a brush in Ryan’s drawer. My hair’s so kinked on one side from laying on it, there’s no hope of making it look normal. I’m so not ready for Ryan to see me like this, not yet. I rummage through every drawer and cupboard until I find a blow-dryer and do my best with his shitty brush to at least smooth the kinks out and give my hair body and shape. I pat my cheeks once more and settle on the slight improvement.
My pants are on the bathroom floor, but I have no idea where my shirt is. I slip them on, and head downstairs. Ryan’s asleep on the couch. His body’s stretched out, one arm slung across his chest, the other resting by his side. It reminds me of our first night together. He looks just as good as he did that first morning, and damn. I could watch him sleep all day. I quietly tiptoe to my purse and find my phone. I have over thirty missed calls and messages from Brad.
I sigh, not wanting to read them. I look anyway, despite knowing what they’ll say.
Brad: Hey, baby, it’s getting late. Are you okay? Where are you?
Brad: Getting a bit worried here. Please text me back and let me know you’re safe.
Brad: I don’t know what’s going on, but please call me back, okay? I just want to know you’re alright.
Brad: Cooper, it’s almost midnight. Do you have any idea how worried I am?
Brad: I can’t believe you’d just disappear on me like this.
There it is. I suck in a deep breath. This is when the side of Brad he keeps hidden from the rest of the world starts to surface.
Brad: Seriously, Coop. If you cared about me at all, you’d at least have the decency to text back.
I shake my head in disgust. He always finds a way to turn it on me—every single time.
Brad: Where the hell are you?
Brad: Answer your damn phone. I’m done playing games.
This is where he’ll take things from bad to worse.
Brad: Are you with someone else? I swear to God, Cooper, if I find out you’re with Ryan…
I turn my phone off with shaky hands, bile rising in my throat. I can’t bring myself to read the rest.
I made sure to turn my location off last night after I left. The last thing I need is Brad showing up at Ryan’s looking for me. I apply some lipgloss and gather my things. I don’t want to wake Ryan, but I can't leave without saying goodbye, not after all he did for me last night.
I stand in front of him, nudging his shoulder softly. “Hey, Ryan.”
He peeks at me with one eye, making a deep throaty sound, a sound that always does something for me. “Oh, hey, you’re up.” He reaches his arms above his head into a deep stretch and my eyes fall to his abs as his shirt lifts, exposing skin and the deep V carved into his sides. Holy hell, how does that simple thing turn me on so much? I feel Ryan’s eyes boring into the side of my face as I gape at him. I jerk my head over to his, meeting his gaze… and a smirk of satisfaction. “What time is it?” he asks, groggily.
“Almost nine.”
“Damn. I’m tired… How are you feeling?” He sits up.
“I’m okay… Listen, I’m gonna go. Gonna grab a coffee, check myself into a hotel, but I wanted to thank you for last night, and see if you have a Tylenol. I have a pounding headache and…” He cuts me off.
“What do you mean you’re checking into a hotel? Why would you do that? Just stay here.”
I hesitate. “I don’t think that's a great idea after last night.” His gaze is intense and it melts my insides.
“Okay… But at least stay for a bit. Have some breakfast… and I can make you coffee.”
I nod. “Alright. If you’re sure it’s okay?”
“Of course it is. I don’t want you to leave yet.”
I smile, then with embarrassment, I ask, “Do you know where my shirt is?”
He points to the other side of the room, where my shirt lay crumpled on the floor.
“Did I…?” My face scrunches into a grimace.
“Yep.” He nods. “You sure did, Coop. Just took it off right in front of me.”
I wince. “Sorry.”
He stands. “It’s not like I’m mad about seeing you in your bra.” He smirks, cocking a brow. “I’m just mad I couldn’t do anything about it.”
I smother a smile.
Me too.
I follow Ryan into the kitchen, taking a seat at the counter while he makes us lattes with the espresso machine.
He hands me mine. “Thanks. Do you have a Tylenol?” I ask, rubbing my temples.
“Yeah.” He grabs the Tylenol and leans across from me, coffee in hand, resting his elbows on the counter. His gaze locks on mine. “So… do you want to tell me what happened last night?” His eyes are warm, full of concern.
I sigh. “Not really… but I will.” He waits for me to continue. “When I got home last night, Brad wasn’t there, and long story short, through text messages, I found out that he had synced my phone to his laptop.” I look down at the counter, blinking rapidly, the invasion of it—damn, it stings. I meet Ryan’s eyes again. “Anyway, all of our text messages were right there on his computer.”
Ryan takes a deep breath, straightening. “Shit.”
“Right?” I say, barely pausing for breath. “And do you know what hit me before the anger? The guilt. Like it’s just this habit I can’t break.” I let out a nervous laugh. “Can you imagine? I felt guilty about the texts you and I exchanged. After everything he’s done, somehow I’m the one feeling bad. It’s ridiculous.” I shake my head, still reeling. “Then the anger hit— how dare he , you know?”
Ryan watches me, his gaze steady, grounding me. I can’t tell exactly what he’s thinking, but he’s listening intently, and his presence feels like an anchor.
“So, before I really had time to think, I grabbed a bottle of wine. Started drinking… I just wanted to block it all out… I was too numb to even process it.” I take a quick breath, needing to keep going. “And then, this moment of clarity just hit. I was sitting there, thinking, What the hell am I doing? Why am I here? Why am I waiting for him to come home, to face… whatever twisted thing he has planned?” I bury my head in my hands for a second, groaning.
Ryan shakes his head in disbelief, his brows furrowed.
“And that’s when your text came in… about seeing me on Monday.” I look up at him, shrugging, the words tumbling out. “I don’t know. I didn’t think, I just left, with one thing on my mind.” I lock eyes with him. “You.”
Ryan walks over to me. “Come here,” he murmurs, pulling me from my chair into his embrace. His strong arms wrap around me, and he pulls me close, his chin resting on my head. “I’m glad you came here.” He kisses the top of my head, pulling me closer.
I melt into him, relief coursing through my veins.
And I’ve never felt safer.
But as his hand runs soothing circles across my back, he exhales deeply, breaking the silence. “Coop… I need to say this. I know this—us—whatever this is… it’s not exactly innocent. I know I’ve crossed lines I shouldn’t have. And, I’m sorry.” He pulls back slightly, just enough to meet my gaze. His eyes are sincere, filled with something raw. “I care about you too much to pretend otherwise. But I also know this isn’t fair to you—or even to him. Not until you figure out what you really want.”
His words hit me like a soft blow, painful but somehow comforting in their honesty. I nod slowly, the weight of his admission settling deep in my chest. Then, before I can stop myself, I whisper, “I’m not sorry.”
His eyes widen slightly, searching mine, but I don’t look away. “I should be,” I add softly. “But I’m not. Not even a little.”
A smile tugs at his lips as he pulls me back into the hug, holding me like he’s trying to shield me from the storm raging in my life. “I just want you to be okay.”
For the first time, I let myself believe, if only for a moment, that things could be different—that maybe happiness isn’t out of reach. Ryan’s presence feels real, stable, honest. I know he wants me, but if this were only about sex, he would have taken advantage last night—any other guy I’ve been with would have.
But Ryan didn’t.
I tighten my grip around him. This is twice now. Last night, and that night in Newport, he was careful, respectful—concerned, even. A part of me can barely process it, knowing how many times I’ve woken up in a stranger’s bed, with that sick feeling of regret, wondering why I let it happen. Wishing I’d been stronger. Too many men have used me, preying on my vulnerabilities—whether I’d had too much to drink or was just too worn down to resist. But with Ryan, it’s different. Somehow, I know that if I were passed out, he wouldn’t just avoid taking advantage—he’d make sure no one else could, either. And I welcome it—that rare and fragile feeling of trust.