12. Cooper

12

Cooper

I slammed my fist on the granite countertop, the phone trembling in my other hand. "Are you kidding me, Mark? She's threatening me with lies and you want me to just pay her off?"

Mark's voice crackled through the speaker. "Cooper, I understand your frustration, but unless we can definitively disprove her claims, it might be in your best interest to settle this quietly."

"Quietly?" I scoffed. "You mean give into her blackmail? I never laid a hand on her, and I sure as hell didn't cheat."

"I believe you, but the court of public opinion can be brutal. One false story and your reputation could be ruined. And honestly? After what you did to Matthews, people are going to believe her over you."

I paced the kitchen, my jaw clenched tight. "This is insane. She lived here for a year, that doesn't entitle her to a damn thing."

"Legally, it's a grey area. If she can prove you two were in a committed relationship, she might have a case."

"A case built on lies," I spat. "I can't believe this is happening."

"Cooper, I'm on your side. Let me try to negotiate with her lawyer, see if we can reach a reasonable settlement."

"Reasonable?" I laughed bitterly. "There's nothing reasonable about this situation. You're supposed to be working for me, Mark. Find a way to shut this down."

"I'll do my best, but?—"

I didn't let him finish. I ended the call and tossed the phone onto the counter, watching it skitter across the smooth surface. My heart raced with anger and disbelief. How could Ashley stoop this low? After everything we'd been through, how could she turn on me like this?

I braced my hands against the counter, hanging my head as I tried to calm my breathing. I couldn't let her win. I couldn't let her destroy everything I'd worked so hard for. But as much as I hated to admit it, Mark was right. If Ashley went public with her lies, the damage to my career could be irreparable.

More so than it already was.

I needed to find a way to fight back, to prove my innocence. But how? It was my word against hers, and in the eyes of the public, that was rarely enough.

I stormed down to the basement, my anger still simmering beneath the surface. The room was dark but pristine, but I knew exactly where to find what I needed. I grabbed the bottle of Mulholland Gin from the shelf, not bothering with a glass.

The first swig burned as it went down, the juniper and citrus notes hitting my tongue with a sharp intensity. I welcomed the sensation, hoping it would dull the rage and frustration coursing through my veins.

I slumped into an old armchair; the leather cracked and worn beneath me. The basement was my sanctuary, a place where I could escape the chaos of my life and just be alone with my thoughts. And right now, those thoughts were dark and twisted, consumed by the injustice of Ashley's accusations.

I took another long pull from the bottle, savoring the smooth, slightly sweet finish. The alcohol was starting to work its magic, the edges of my anger beginning to blur. But it wasn't enough. Not yet.

I poured myself another generous measure, the clear liquid sloshing against the sides of the bottle. I knew I should stop, that drowning my sorrows in gin wasn't going to solve anything. But in that moment, I didn't care. I just wanted to forget, to numb the pain and betrayal that threatened to overwhelm me.

As I lifted the bottle to my lips once more, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the darkened window. The man staring back at me was a stranger, his eyes haunted and his face etched with lines of stress and anger. I hardly recognized myself anymore, the carefree, confident athlete I once was now replaced by a shell of a man, beaten down by the cruelty of fate and the machinations of a vindictive ex.

I scoffed as I caught sight of my reflection in the darkened window. The man staring back at me was a pathetic mess, his eyes bloodshot and his face twisted with bitterness. I raised the bottle to my lips, ready to drown my sorrows once more, but a small voice in the back of my head stopped me.

You're better than this , it whispered, and I froze. That voice... it sounded like that obnoxious girl from the skating rink. What was her name again?

Everly fucking Hawthorne.

With her wide, innocent eyes and the faded freckles dotting her nose, she was everything that was wrong with the world. Everything that was unfair. She could be so damn na?ve, so blissfully unaware of the darkness that lurked beneath the surface, while I bore the scars to prove it was real.

I wanted to ruin her. I wanted to shatter that innocence, to drag her down to my level and make her suffer the way I had. Because someone had protected her from the harsh realities of life, sheltered her from the pain and the betrayal.

And me? I had no one. The very people who were supposed to keep me safe had failed me, time and time again.

"Fuck you," I muttered, raising the bottle in a mocking toast to Everly's imagined presence.

The gin burned as it slid down my throat, but it did little to ease the ache in my chest. The anger, the resentment, the crushing loneliness... they all swirled together in a toxic mix that threatened to consume me.

I leaned back in the chair, my eyes drifting shut as the alcohol worked its way through my system. I knew I was spiraling, that I was letting my demons get the best of me. But in that moment, I didn't care. I just wanted to forget, to lose myself in the numbing embrace of the gin and pretend, if only for a little while, that my life wasn't a complete and utter disaster.

The voice in my head grew louder, more insistent. You're better than this , it repeated, and I scowled, taking another long swig from the bottle.

I didn't want to hear it. It wasn't true. I wasn't better than this . No one could love me. I was ugly, inside and out. Mean, scarred, broken. The only good thing I had going for me was hockey, and I'd given that up the second I lost it on Matthews, all for a bitch who left me the moment the money stopped coming in.

I didn't deserve to be better than this.

Didn't Everly get that? She was going to get hurt if she continued to be this stupid. And honestly? A part of me was glad. I wanted her to hurt, to finally understand what it was like to suffer. Where no one could protect her anymore.

Fuck her , I thought bitterly, taking another swig of gin.

Fuck her goodness and her purity and those big, innocent eyes and that smile that stunned me every goddamn time.

Fuck her for touching my scars and making me feel...

Making me feel fucking worthy of her touch.

Because I wasn't.

I knew I wasn't.

And for her to fucking lie to me like that?

Fuck her .

I lifted the bottle to my lips again; the gin sloshing against my teeth as I gulped it down. The room was starting to spin, but I didn't care. I welcomed the dizziness, the numbness that came with it.

Someone needed to tell her.

Someone needed to tell her what a fucking idiot she was.

I stumbled into the living room, my vision blurring at the edges as I clutched the gin bottle in my hand. The phone was where I'd left it, discarded on the counter in a fit of rage. I snatched it up, my fingers fumbling as I unlocked the screen and navigated to the teaching portal.

It took me a few tries, my coordination shot to hell, but I finally found her name. Everly Hawthorne. The girl who thought she could save the fucking world, who looked at me with those wide, innocent eyes and saw something worth… touching. Dirtying her hands with.

She had no idea how wrong she was.

I hit the call button; the phone pressed to my ear as I waited for her to pick up. It rang once, twice, three times before she answered, her voice soft and hesitant.

"Hello?"

"Killer," I slurred, my words thick and heavy on my tongue. "Everly fucking Hawthorne. Little killer."

"Who is this?" She sounded confused, worried even. "Mr. Cooper? Is that you? Are you okay? What's going on?"

"I'm fan-fucking-tastic," I drawled, taking another swig from the bottle. "Just wanted to chat with my favorite student."

"Are you... are you drunk?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, but I could hear the concern lacing every word.

"Maybe a little," I admitted, a harsh laugh escaping my lips. "But that's not important. What's important is that you need to listen to me, little girl. You need to hear the truth."

"The truth about what? Mr. Cooper, you're not making any sense."

"The truth about the world, sweetie." I took a deep breath, the alcohol coursing through my veins making me feel bold, reckless. "I'm not a good person. Fuck, this world isn't good. And you're a fucking moron for thinking… for thinking otherwise."

"That's not true," she argued, her voice growing stronger. "Everyone is worth saving, Mr. Cooper. Even you."

"You don't know shit," I snapped, my grip tightening on the phone. "You think you can just waltz into my life and fix everything with your sunshine and rainbows? Well, guess what, princess? The world doesn't work like that."

"Cooper, please. Let me help you. Whatever's going on, we can figure it out together."

"I don't need your help. I don't need anyone's help. Haven't you heard? I'm a lost cause, sugar. The sooner you realize that, the better off you'll be."

"I don't believe that. I won't believe that. You're not a lost cause, Cooper. You're just... you're just hurting right now."

I scoffed, taking another long pull from the bottle. "You have no idea what I'm going through. What I've been through. You're just an ignorant little girl who thinks she can save the world with a smile and a kind word."

"Cooper..."

"But you can't save me. No one can. Want to know why? Because I don't want to be saved. And neither does the world. So do us both a favor and stay the hell away from me. Because I promise you, if you don't, I will ruin you. I will destroy everything good and pure about you until there's nothing left but ashes. Hear me?"

I took another long swig of gin; the liquid burning my throat as it went down. The room was spinning, but I didn't care. I just wanted to forget, to drown out the pain and the anger and the fucking guilt that was eating me alive.

"Now, kindly fuck off," I slurred into the phone, my words dripping with venom.

I didn't wait for her response. I just hung up, tossing the phone onto the couch beside me. I didn't want to hear her voice anymore, didn't want to listen to her telling me I was worth saving. Because I wasn't. I was a lost cause, a fucking disaster waiting to happen.

I lifted the bottle to my lips again, gulping down the gin like it was water. I thought it would make me feel better, thought it would numb the pain and the shame and the self-loathing that was threatening to swallow me whole.

But if anything, I felt worse.

The earnestness in her voice, the way she truly believed that I was worth redeeming... it made my heart squeeze in my chest. Because deep down, in some small, hidden part of myself, I wanted to believe it too. I wanted to believe that I could be saved, that I could be something more than the broken, scarred mess that I was.

But I couldn't. I wouldn't let myself hope, wouldn't let myself dream of a future that I knew I could never have. Because hope was a dangerous thing, and I'd learned a long time ago that it only led to disappointment and heartbreak.

I stared at the bottle in my hand, the clear liquid sloshing against the sides. I wanted to keep drinking, wanted to drown myself in the gin until I couldn't feel anything anymore. But something stopped me, some small voice in the back of my head that sounded suspiciously like Everly.

Fuck her , I thought bitterly, my grip tightening on the bottle. Fuck this.

With a sudden burst of anger, I hurled the bottle across the room, watching as it shattered against the wall in a spray of glass and gin. The sound was satisfying, the destruction cathartic in a way that I couldn't quite explain.

But it didn't make me feel any better. If anything, it just made the emptiness inside me grow, the void that I'd been trying so hard to fill with alcohol and anger and self-destruction.

I stared at the shattered remains of the bottle, the gin pooling on the hardwood floor in a sickening puddle. The anger that had consumed me just moments before had faded, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion that seemed to seep into every cell of my body.

I stumbled back to the couch, collapsing onto the cushions with a groan. My head was pounding, the room spinning around me in a dizzying blur. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the chaos, but it was no use. The voices in my head were too loud, too insistent to ignore.

And then, like a lightning bolt, a single thought pierced through the haze.

Everly .

I wanted to hear her voice again. Needed to hear it, like a drowning man needed air. It was a desperate, all-consuming desire that I couldn't shake, no matter how hard I tried.

And I hated myself for it.

Hated myself for wanting her, for needing her in a way that I had no right to. She was too good for me, too pure and innocent to be tainted by my darkness. I knew that, knew it with every fiber of my being.

But still, I couldn't stop myself from reaching for the phone, my fingers clumsy and uncoordinated as I scrolled through my contacts. I found her name, my thumb hovering over the call button for a long, agonizing moment.

Don't do it , a voice in my head warned. Don't drag her into your mess.

But I was too weak to resist, too desperate for the sound of her voice. I hit the button, bringing the phone to my ear with a shaking hand.

It rang once, twice, three times. And then, just as I was about to give up hope, she answered.

"Hello?"

But the words wouldn't come, my tongue thick and heavy in my mouth. The room was spinning faster now, the edges of my vision blurring as the alcohol took hold.

"Cooper?" Her voice was laced with concern, with a tenderness that I didn't deserve. "Are you okay?"

I wanted to tell her that I was fine, that she was an idiot for thinking otherwise But the words stuck in my throat, choking me with their falseness.

And then, before she could respond, before she could offer me any more of her unwanted sympathy, the darkness claimed me. I slipped into unconsciousness; the phone falling from my limp fingers as I succumbed to the blackness.