Page 22 of Cooper

“Yeah, I figured since you said she’s using a pseudonym, that she’s in some kind of Witness Relocation Program, and those files, as you can imagine, are all sealed. Thankfully, my dad’s an inspector with the North Carolina police department, and he knows a guy in the F.B.I., so I may have a lead. But I looked up her name, and it’s definitely an alias. I’m not sure how much more I’m going to be able to dig up on this, dude. If she’s a witness to some crime, I’ve got a better chance of sprouting wings than I do of figuring out what her deal is.”

“Shit.” I hiss.

“Sorry, man. I’ll do what I can. But if she’s part of the program, she won’t tell anyone shit. God knows what she’s been through. The kid, too.”

“Yeah. She’s not telling a soul anything.”

“Good on her. She’s probably been coached on that, for her protection, and for the kid’s. If she’s a tiger mama, she’ll take it to the grave.”

“She is.”

“Okay, man. I’ll keep in touch. If I get anything else, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Thanks, Jenkins. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it.”

I hang up and bite the skin on my thumb, thinking what, if anything I should do next. Things start swimming around inside my head, like, what if I want to marry her some day? How does that even work? What if I want to adopt Bean? Can I? What about making us a family? Permanently? Then I chide myself for getting so far ahead here. London, if she is part of the program, won’t want to have anything beyond what we have now, for a very long time. It’s unrealistic. It’ll be a cold day in hell when she’s ready to walk down the aisle after a nightmare divorce like that.

And then I start to wonder if she’ll ever trust me enough to tell me the truth. Or if this thing that we have started together is ever going to be able to thrive, since she can’t tell me the truth. Aren’t relationships supposed to be built on trust and honesty? All these thoughts are swirling around inside my head as I walk back to the house. When I do, my heart swells. Inside, they’ve taken all their stuff downstairs, and they’ve got the Christmas music turned up, while they’re both in the kitchen, cooking up a storm.

“Hey, Cooper! I hope you’re hungry!” London sings out to me, as little Bean rolls dough for spaghetti noodles, over the cutting board. And I can’t help but think to myself that this is for real. No matter what, this is what I want. I want both of them. I want this. I want this to be our family. No matter what the cost. I walk over to Bean and give her a zerbit on the cheek, making fart noises in her ear as she rolls out more dough, giggling. And then I snake my arms around London’s waist, pulling her close, as she smashes canned tomatoes in a bowl, using her hands.

“I’m starved.” I say over the din of the music. “What can I do to help?”

“Um…you can go sit down and relax.” London says to me.

I kiss her by the ear and mouth, ‘I love you’, but not enough for her to hear me.

…and I hope that some day I’ll be able to tell her for real.

London

Bean falls asleep so fast at bedtime, I barely get through her first story. As I stand next to the closet, picking out my jeans and shirt that I’m wearing to work tonight, I hear Cooper come to the door. “She asleep?”

“Out like a light.”

He’s leaning on the doorjamb with his shoulder, crossing one ankle over the other, looking so goddamn sexy I could die. “I wish you didn’t have to work tonight.”

“Well, I do. I’m glad that you have the night off. You look so tired.”

He smiles. “I’m fine.” He watches me pull the jeans off the hanger and grab my clean Mingles shirt off another hanger. “You ever want to do anything else besides waitressing?”

My smile fades. I know that the only reason why I chose waitressing is because it’s the only occupation besides prostitution and some other sketchy jobs, where I don’t have to give my real name, and they can pay me under the table. That’s all I have for now. Until I get that phone call that says otherwise. “Cooper, remember how I told you that I can’t tell you anything?”

He stares at the floor and nods. “Yeah. I figured. Just thought I’d ask.”

Guilt washes over me. His face tears my heart out. He’s not angry or distrusting, or even disappointed. He just wants to know me. And I can’t let him. Not right now. Not yet. It’s too soon. I walk over to him and cup his face with my hands. I slide my fingers through his hair, giving him a gaze that I hope tells him everything he needs to know about me. That I’m falling for him. Every minute I’m falling for him more and more. But I don’t know if that’s enough. And I hate it that I can’t open up to him. I hate it that we can’t have a normal relationship, because everything else is perfect.

He's the sweetest, kindest, gentlest, most selfless man I’ve ever met. And he loves Bean like his own. In the short time that we’ve been here, he has shown us more love than James ever showed. And as much as I’m not sure if it’s healthy that we can’t express ourselves verbally, and it seems like we’re only expressing ourselves physically, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m so attracted to him, and I want him so badly, sometimes it hurts. My mouth is on his as he leads me away from Bean, walking me to his room, step by step, kiss by kiss, holding me to him. It’s almost like we’re dancing our way to his room.

“How much time have you got, love?” He asks, in between kisses, whispering on my lips.

“About an hour.”

He pulls me into his room and closes the door. Hands on the hem of my shirt, he slides it over my head, while I reciprocate. Arms on his shoulders, I kiss his neck, feeling his pulse against my lips, as his fingers find the waistband of my pants, and he unzips them and removes them. I step out of them, and his lips are on mine, with open mouthed kisses, as he slides his tongue in, sweeping inside my mouth, kissing me in the delicious way that he does, turning me into a puddle.

His lips leave mine, as his hands move with his lips, trailing kisses down my neck, chest, sucking my nipples on the way, making me moan softly. Fingers skating my panties down my legs, he moves with them, and then he lifts my leg onto his shoulder, as he goes on bended knee. When his mouth hits my wetness, I cry out. “Shhh, darlin’.” He whispers kindly.

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