Bittersweet Symphony (The Damaged Souls series Book 2) (5 page)

I didn’t need to know.

I was feeling it as well.

“I love you,” he whispered, leaning in to feather a soft kiss over my lips. He tasted of bacon and hope—of weathered storms and glorious bursts of sunshine.

The thought made me giggle against his mouth, breaking what had promised to be a sensational impromptu make out session.

“What?” Cooper asked, not ready to let me go, even with the spluttering of over cooked bacon interrupting our moment.

“Nothing.” I grinned, stepping away to give him room. “Just being cheesy.”

His gaze darted back and forth between the fry pan and me. I could sense he wanted to ask what the hell I meant, but thankfully breakfast won. There was no way I was going to explain that I was daydreaming about us—not without him thinking I was some romantic female given to fits of swoon.

Even though I absolutely was.

That would be a surprise to reveal another time.

Lola’s whine snapped us both to the present, the poor dog feeling ignored. “Sorry, girl,” Cooper replied, gingerly picking up another piece of bacon and offering it to her when he knew it was cool enough. She gobbled it up greedily and eyed the plate with blatant obviousness; Lola knew how to manipulate her owner. Without even thinking, he gave the sweet dog another strip.

“Looks like the trick to making an apology to the females in my life is through their stomachs.”

“It’s all about the bacon, Cooper.” I laughed. “You’ll find there’s nothing it can’t solve.”

“There better be some left, otherwise, you’re going to have a cranky roommate to placate.”

Both Cooper and I jumped at the appearance of Rebecca, hair tousled and eyes half shut. She shuffled noisily into the kitchen. “I tried to give you two a chance to kiss and make up, but there’s only so much a girl can do when all she can think about is food. I am starvvvving!” Sure enough, she reached around us both and claimed the last two pieces of deliciousness. “There better be more of this coming, mister.”

It was obvious he didn’t quite know how to react. While talking with me hadn’t been a walk in the park, it paled in comparison to the conversation he needed to have with Rebecca.

“Ummm,” Cooper began, his uncertainty causing my roommate to stop mid-chew. “About . . .”

“Last night,” Rebecca added. Tearing the remaining piece of bacon between her fingers, I could see the second her nerves flared. We’d gone over and over this moment together—how she could broach the subject with Cooper and let him know she was sorry.

In an explosion of breath, they both responded . . . their apologies coming out fast and furious.

“I should’ve known,” Rebecca blurted.

“I shouldn’t have freaked out.” Cooper countered.

“It won’t happen again,” they said in unison.

Their cuteness made me chuckle. “Guys, it will happen again, but—” I raised my hand, not letting them interrupt. “We’re not going to let it come between us . . . are we?” I glanced at Cooper first, then Rebecca. “Shit happens.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling her.” I should’ve known that Marty wouldn’t be too far behind. He would’ve come over first thing to make sure his girlfriend hadn’t obsessed herself into a rut, thinking she was the most horrible person in the world. He was good for Rebecca.

The same way he was good for Cooper.

“Hey man.” Cooper nodded, acknowledging his friend.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

Men and their short freaking answers. They’d reduced their conversation down to mere words, something that Rebecca and I had spent hours analyzing and agonizing over.

“We okay?” This time Cooper’s question was directed at Rebecca.

There was no hesitation when she smirked and pointed to the stove. “Is there more bacon coming?”

With the graciousness of her response, things fell back into its normal pattern. We’d survived what I knew would be the first of many growing pains in one piece.

As we finally sat around the dining table, passing around the other treats Cooper had brought for our breakfast, I felt invincible.

No, we wouldn’t become another sad statistic—a casualty of war.

We would prove to be a bright and shiny success story—the one others looked to for inspiration when their own worlds felt dark and bleak.

What Cooper didn’t realize, and what I wouldn’t confess to, was that as much as he hated that word—hero—that’s what he was.

Not for what he’d done and endured on the battlefield, but for being brave enough to face his mistakes—for being willing to swallow his pride and say another word that held power—sorry.

Chapter Five

Cooper

Dropping my keys on the kitchen table, narrowly missing the designated bowl, I let out a huge sigh of relief. Every muscle in my body ached—throbbing as if to the beat of my heart. Today had been a son of a bitch and I was beyond grateful it was over.

One of the things I enjoyed most about working with my brother was the fact that he handled the clients—all the phone calls and bending over backwards to please them. All I had to care about was receiving my orders and getting the job done. While landscaping wasn’t rocket science, I took great pride in the final product—especially seeing my hard work appreciated by those who hired Bryce’s company.

For the most part, customers loved the way their lawns and gardens transformed through my efforts. They got something to show off to their friends, a beautiful view to spy from their windows, a fun space to play and relax in.

There was something to be said about the sense of pride that comes from creating and building—of using my hands with the earth. While I wasn’t sure whether this was the career for me, I went to work each day with a smile, eager to complete each project.

That was until today.

Some jackass got his panties in a twist—something about measurements and the wrong flowers planted, and it was left to me to placate the asshole.

Chuckling softly, the memory of the thirty-something year old male dressed in a business suit, Bluetooth device attached to his head as he waved his hands about in a condescending fashion surfaced in my mind.

He was lucky I respected my brother and didn’t want to tarnish his reputation.

I didn’t give a shit about mine.

A quick call, begging Bryce to come deal with the guy, saved his life. It had taken everything in me not to cock back my fist and pummel the smirk off his face, maybe even dislodge a couple of teeth in the process.

While I knew I was getting better at controlling my temper and knowing when I’d reached my limits with douche bags, there was no denying that knocking him on his ass would’ve been deeply gratifying.

His lawn was completed. The job was done to his specifications. It wasn’t my fault he’d changed his mind and forgotten to inform the office.

I had a beer with my name on it in the fridge—my reward for keeping my mouth shut and hands to myself.

Fuck, it had been hard.

Now, all I wanted to do was relax and slake some of the tension with a cold drink. If worse came to worse, I’d go for a jog or something—take Lola with me as we ran the familiar route around the neighborhood.

“Hey, little brother. Is Mr. Preston in one piece still?” The smart-ass grin covering Bryce’s face suddenly made my brother a better outlet for working through my annoyance.

I flipped him off instead. “Do me a favor . . . find someone else to take care of his property next time. That fucker has no idea how close he came to getting a beating.”

The intensity of my response caused Bryce’s eyes to widen. “Whoa, I know he can be difficult, but surely—”

I didn’t give him a chance to finish. “I was a Marine, Bryce. I’ve seen some pretty shady shit. I have zero tolerance for people who think its okay to treat others like they’re there solely for entertainment purposes.” Just thinking about it got my heart racing, each inhale and exhale growing more labored.

Bryce didn’t need to ask anything more. He knew. With one look, he understood exactly why the customer had gotten under my skin so deeply.

There was a lot of bullshit happening in the world—a general decrease in respect that seemed to seep into every facet of society. You couldn’t turn around without someone getting offended or judgments being flung about like confetti.

While my brothers and I sacrificed everything to fight for our country and protect our liberties, there were those who took it for granted.

All it had taken was the sneer-filled comment about war and the military, and this guy had earned the top position on my
shit-list
. Like the fool he was, he failed to recognize he’d crossed a line and continued to shoot his mouth off.

There were many things I’d learned to push past . . . this just wasn’t one of them.

“Understood.” Gripping my shoulder affectionately, and maybe even to let me know he was there for me, Bryce changed the subject.

My brother was wise like that.

“So, no Caylee tonight?” Brushing past me, he beat me to the fridge, and after twisting the cap off two bottles, handed me a beer. His gaze never left mine as we both tipped our heads back, savoring that first blissful mouthful.

Damn. Bryce might not always press for me to talk, but he rarely missed anything. He’d become a master at reading my body language.

While he hadn’t completely relaxed, I think he was also waiting for that moment when I announced Caylee and I were over.

Hell, it was something I thought about on a daily basis. She’d become such a vital and important part of my life. Once I’d acknowledged that to myself, a new fear had taken up residence in my gut—the terrifying fear of losing her.

Caylee had entered my life and in her wake, she’d left behind color—bright, vibrant, bold, messy streaks of it. It was impossible not to change, to let her in, although not fast enough according to her.

She made me vulnerable.

She made me hope.

And I loved her for it . . . loved her for believing in me.

Love.

I was still trying to wrap my mind around that concept. When I arrived home from Afghanistan, the ability to give my heart to anyone seemed impossible. She should’ve been impossible.

It didn’t make any sense, and I’d given up trying to understand it.

There was a saying I uttered a lot in those first few months . . .
it is what it is
.

Just five words, but for now, they were my truth.

“Shit, if you’re daydreaming about her while you’re standing here with me . . . warn me, okay? Will I get a cigarette after?” Bryce grimaced and pretended to shudder, but deep down I knew he was grateful to see me happy. There hadn’t been a lot to celebrate when I got home, despite my family’s attempts to focus on the positive.

I grinned around the bottle raised to my mouth. “Only if you wear something silky while you smoke it. I’d give you something of Caylee’s, but . . .” I cupped the air in front of my chest like I had tits. “Something tells me you wouldn’t fill it out as well as she does.”

It was difficult not to laugh as my perfectly timed retort coincided with him taking a long drink of his own beer.

“You asshole!” Bryce spluttered, the amber liquid spilling from his lips and coating his chin before dripping down his shirt. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. He must have swallowed wrong, because his eyes were watering as he coughed.

“I know I should feel bad for that, but I don’t.” Shrugging, I drained my bottle and decided not to reach for another. The alcohol wasn’t sitting well on my empty stomach. “What’s for dinner?”

My brother rolled his eyes. “What do I look like? Betty fucking Crocker?”

“So take-out again?” I was already pulling the menus out from under the fridge magnet and thumbing through some of our favorites. Suddenly I didn’t feel like eating. What I needed was something else—someone else.

I tossed them on the counter top and rinsed out the empty beer bottle. I placed it with the others for recycling. Judging from the collection already gathered, I’d need to drop them off at the center within the next few days.

I tried to ignore the evidence of just how much I drank—choosing to worry about it another day.

Focus on what you can control
, the thought whispered through my head. Life was hard enough without adding more to my plate.

“I think I’m going to call it a night,” I murmured, knowing I was still being watched. Sooner or later, Bryce would see whatever he was waiting for and stop. For now, it was his problem. I was doing okay. He didn’t need to be vigilant all the time.

“Fine. I’m going to run out to the store and pick something up. I’ll leave something for you on a plate just in case you change your mind.”

This time I did laugh. “Okay, Mom.” Leaning in, I puckered my lips and backed away only when he lightly punched my arm. “What no kiss goodbye?”

“Has anyone told you recently that sarcasm is the sign of a weak mind?”

“No, but what can I say? It’s a talent.” After watching him pat his pockets down for his keys and wallet, I tossed mine over to him. He was always misplacing them. If I weren’t there to help, he’d spend most of his time walking.

“Tell Caylee hello for me. That reminds me . . . call Mom. She was asking after you today.” Bryce was almost out the door. He paused long enough to cast one more glance back.

“She always asks,” I answered, smiling all the same. I loved my mother. There wasn’t much I wouldn’t do for her.

Shaking his head, he didn’t respond—the
quit-arguing-and-do-what-your-told
expression was enough.

Somewhere during the conversation, Lola had entered the kitchen, gently licking my fingers as her form of hello. For an animal, she definitely understood me, never pressuring me. She simply sat at my feet, looking up in an irresistibly devoted way that melted my heart.

She was another female I couldn’t say no to.

“Looks like it’s just you and me tonight, girl.” Ruffling the fur behind her ears, I didn’t wait for Lola as I padded out into the living room, pausing briefly to turn the T.V. off before heading to my bedroom.

You need to let Caylee study. Don’t call or text her. Be supportive. You don’t need to be distracting her because you miss her.

Kicking the door closed behind me, I flopped on my bed and grabbed my guitar as I fell.

“How about a little music?”

As my fingers began to strum against the strings, the melody slowly eased the remaining tension from the day. Music seemed to have that kind of power over me—each note skimming over my skin before it dipped inside and soothed my soul.

At first it was the familiar chords of a popular song filled the room—the tune that had been playing over the radio as I drove home—but it didn’t take long before it evolved into something new.

Something born from a little inspiration and a whole lot of desperation.

The arrogant asshole from earlier faded away until the only thing that remained was the opening strains of a brand new song.