13. Everly

13

Everly

I stared at my phone in shock. How did Cooper even get my number?

I chewed on my bottom lip, glancing at myself in the mirror. The dress I had chosen for the party tonight was relatively modern, and I thought I looked quite nice. The silky fabric hugged my curves in all the right places, and the deep burgundy color complemented my pale skin and light hair.

But even as I admired my reflection, my mind kept drifting back to Cooper's call. He hadn't sounded good at all. His words were slurred and his voice was rough, like he'd been drinking heavily or hadn't slept in days. Maybe both.

I hesitated, my finger hovering over the button to call an Uber to take me to the party. I knew Cooper wouldn't want me to go to him. He was fiercely independent and hated showing any kind of weakness. But I couldn't shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong.

"Frick," I muttered under my breath. I grabbed my purse and headed for the door, my heels clicking on the hardwood floor. I would just stop by Cooper's place for a few minutes, just to make sure he was okay. Then I could go to the party with a clear conscience.

My heart raced as I made my way towards the teacher housing complex. The night air was cool against my skin, and I shivered slightly, wishing I had brought a jacket.

The teacher housing homes came into view as I hurried down the sidewalk, my heels clicking rhythmically against the concrete. Even in the darkness, I could see how pristine and well-maintained they were. The lawns were meticulously manicured, not a blade of grass out of place. The houses themselves looked freshly painted, their colors vibrant and inviting.

As I walked, I could feel the straps of my heels digging into my feet. My mom had never let me wear anything higher than an inch, insisting that it was bad for my posture and would give me bunions. I had always rolled my eyes at her warnings, but now, as I felt the first twinges of blisters forming on my heels, I wondered if she might have had a point.

I gritted my teeth and kept walking, scanning the buildings for any sign of Professor Bradley's girlfriend's clover decorations. Finally, I spotted them—four-leaf clover stickers decorating the living room windows of one of the houses.

I stood outside, my eyes shifting to the house next to Professor Bradley's. It looked almost identical, with a neatly trimmed lawn and a white picket fence. The porch light was off, casting long shadows across the front yard. A few flower pots, filled with vibrant blooms, sat on the steps leading up to the door. It was quiet, too quiet, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

Taking a deep breath, I walked up to the front door. My heart pounded in my chest as I raised my hand and knocked softly. The sound echoed in the stillness of the night.

I waited.

Nothing.

I knocked again, this time harder. The wood rattled under my knuckles, and I held my breath, straining to hear any movement inside.

Still nothing.

Maybe he wasn't home. But that didn't make sense; Cooper's car was parked out front. At least, I assumed it was Cooper's car. I chewed on my lip, uncertainty gnawing at me. Should I try again? My knuckles were beginning to sting from the force of my knocks, but I couldn't just leave without knowing if he was okay.

I glanced around, half-expecting someone to come out and question what I was doing there. But the street remained deserted, the only sound the distant hum of traffic.

I sighed and leaned against the doorframe, feeling frustration build up inside me. If Cooper was home, why wasn't he answering? Had something happened?

I stared at the doorknob, my mind racing with conflicting thoughts. Mom's voice echoed in my head, reminding me how rude it was to show up unannounced. She'd always been adamant about respecting other people's privacy and space. But this felt different. Cooper had sounded terrible on the phone, and it was like he'd passed out mid-conversation.

Was it really wrong to make sure he was okay? What if something had happened to him? I couldn't just walk away and pretend I hadn't heard anything.

Taking a deep breath, I reached out and grasped the doorknob. It felt cold under my fingers. I hesitated, my mind still warring over the right thing to do.

"Come on, Everly," I whispered to myself. "Just see if it's unlocked."

With a final glance around the deserted street, I turned the knob slowly, half-expecting it to be locked. To my surprise, it gave way easily, and the door creaked open a few inches.

I peeked inside, heart pounding in my chest. The living room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a lamp in the corner. Everything looked normal, tidy even. But there was no sign of Cooper.

"Cooper?" I called softly into the house, my voice trembling slightly.

No response.

I pushed the door open a bit wider and stepped inside, closing it quietly behind me. My heels sank into the plush carpet as I made my way deeper into the room.

"Cooper?" I called again, a little louder this time.

Silence.

The living room looked surprisingly tidy, but the pungent scent of alcohol hit me like a wall. It clawed at my throat, nearly making me gag. I glanced around and spotted the culprit: a broken bottle lying in shards against the far wall. It was clear he'd thrown it in a fit of anger or despair, and now glass fragments littered the floor.

I gently closed the front door behind me, not wanting to make any noise that might wake him abruptly. Each step felt heavy as I moved further inside, my heels sinking into the plush carpet. The tension in the room was palpable, almost as if it clung to every piece of furniture.

And then I saw him—Cooper—passed out on the couch. He looked different from the confident professor I had first encountered. His face was drawn, eyes closed tightly as if he were wrestling with some inner demon even in his sleep. The scars on his face seemed more pronounced under the dim light, adding to his troubled appearance. His shirt was wrinkled, and his hair stuck up at odd angles.

"Cooper," I whispered softly, unsure if I wanted to wake him or just let him sleep it off.

I took another step closer, my foot crunching lightly on a stray piece of glass. My heart skipped a beat as I watched for any sign of movement from him. He remained still, breathing deeply but unevenly.

Carefully, I bent down and started picking up the larger pieces of broken glass, placing them gingerly on the coffee table. My fingers trembled slightly as I worked, both from fear of cutting myself and from worry about Cooper.

I straightened up and looked at him again, feeling an overwhelming sense of sadness wash over me. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. He wasn't supposed to be like this—so vulnerable and broken.

But here we were.

I took a deep breath and made my way over to the couch. Reaching out hesitantly, I touched his shoulder lightly.

"Cooper," I whispered again, hoping he'd wake up enough to talk to me or at least acknowledge my presence.

He stirred slightly but didn't open his eyes. His brow furrowed as if he were dreaming something unpleasant.

"Cooper," I tried once more, this time with a bit more urgency in my voice.

Finally, he groaned and turned his head towards me, blinking groggily as he tried to focus. His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with exhaustion.

"Killer?" His voice was hoarse and barely audible.

"Yeah," I replied softly. "It's me."

"The fuck are you doing here?" Cooper slurred, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused. "It's a fucking dream… You're not real."

He turned, stumbling off the couch with an awkward lurch. Panic surged through me as I watched him sway on his feet, clearly unsteady. Before I could react, he bolted toward somewhere, leaving me no choice but to follow.

The bathroom, I realized.

By the time I reached the bathroom door, he was already hunched over the toilet, retching violently. The sound of him being sick echoed off the tiled walls, and my heart ached at seeing him in such a state.

Unsure of what else to do, I stepped inside and knelt beside him. I remembered how my mother used to rub my back when I was sick as a child, her touch soothing and comforting. Maybe it would help Cooper too.

Gently, I placed my hand on his back and began to rub in slow circles. "It's okay," I whispered softly. "You're going to be okay."

"Get the fuck off me!" he barked, his voice raw and filled with anger. He jerked away from my touch as if it burned him. "Christ, don't fucking touch me."

I pulled back quickly, tears pricking my eyes at his harsh words. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing with the sting of rejection. I shouldn't have come here. Clearly, he didn't want or need my help.

Swallowing hard, I stood up and took a step back, giving him space. My mind raced with uncertainty and doubt about what to do next. All I knew was that being here felt like a mistake—one that hurt more than I'd anticipated.

I stepped out of the bathroom, my heart still pounding from Cooper's harsh words. My eyes caught the glint of broken glass scattered across the living room floor. He was still drunk, that much was clear. If he stepped on the glass, it might ruin his skating career. I couldn't let that happen.

Taking a deep breath, I decided I'd clean up the mess and then leave. So what if I was late to the party? My mother's voice rang in my head about the importance of punctuality, but I pushed it away. This was more important.

I made my way to the kitchen, hoping to find something to clean up the broken glass with. The kitchen was neat and organized, much like the rest of Cooper's place. Dark wooden cabinets lined the walls, and stainless steel appliances gleamed under the soft overhead light. The countertops were spotless, a stark contrast to the chaos in the living room.

I opened a few cabinets before finding a box of trash bags and a pair of rubber gloves. In another cabinet, I located some soap, a bucket, and a sponge. I gathered everything and returned to the living room.

Kneeling down carefully, I put on the rubber gloves and started picking up the larger shards of glass, placing them gently into a trash bag. The smaller pieces required more effort; I used the sponge to gather them into a pile before scooping them into the bag as well.

The entire process took longer than I'd expected. My hands shook slightly as I worked, both from fear of cutting myself and from worry about Cooper's state. But eventually, I managed to get all the glass cleaned up, including the pile I made on the coffee table.

I straightened up and surveyed my work, feeling a small sense of accomplishment despite everything. The floor was now clear of any dangerous debris that could harm Cooper if he stumbled through here later.

I put the cleaning supplies away in the kitchen cabinet where I had found them, making sure everything was back in its proper place. Then I tied up the trash bag filled with broken glass and carried it outside to the garbage bin. The night air was cool against my skin as I hurried back inside, eager to check on Cooper.

As I re-entered the house, I wrinkled my nose at the lingering scent of alcohol. I wished he had a candle or some air freshener to help mask the smell. Heading to the kitchen sink, I washed my hands thoroughly, scrubbing away any remaining traces of the night's events.

With a deep breath, I made my way back to the bathroom, steeling myself for whatever state I might find Cooper in. As I stepped inside, my heart sank. He was passed out on the floor, his body sprawled awkwardly across the tiles.

I sighed heavily and knelt down beside him. "Cooper," I said softly, gently shaking his shoulder. "Cooper. Come on. Let's get you to bed."

He mumbled something incoherent, his words slurring together. "You don't want to go to bed with me, sugar," he finally managed, his eyes still closed. "I'll ruin you."

I felt my cheeks flush at his words, a mixture of embarrassment and something else I couldn't quite name. "Oh, you will?" I asked, trying to keep my voice light as I helped him sit up.

"You can't even imagine all the things I'd do to you," he continued, his voice low and rough.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I found myself asking, "What would you do?" I hoped that keeping him talking would make it easier to get him upstairs to his bedroom.

He leaned heavily against me as I helped him to his feet, his breath hot against my ear as he spoke. "First, I'd kiss you until you couldn't breathe," he murmured. "Then I'd trail my lips down your neck, tasting every inch of your skin. I'd leave marks too, just so everyone knew who you belonged to."

My heart raced at his words, and I swallowed hard, focusing on navigating him out of the bathroom and towards the stairs.

"I'd take my time undressing you," he continued, his words punctuated by the uneven rhythm of our footsteps. "Savoring every reveal, worshipping your body with my hands and mouth."

I felt heat rising in my cheeks and spreading through my body as he painted a vivid picture with his words. We reached the bottom of the stairs, and I tightened my grip on his waist, preparing for the climb.

"By the time I was done with you, you'd be begging for more," he whispered, his voice filled with a dark promise. "Begging for me to take you, to claim you as mine, in every which way you probably never even heard of."

I bit my lip, trying to ignore the way his words affected me. This was Cooper Sinclaire, my skating professor, and he was drunk. I couldn't let myself get caught up in his fantasies, no matter how tempting they might be.

"That sounds nice," I said softly as we made our way up the stairs, my arm wrapped securely around Cooper's waist.

He chuckled, the sound raw and unguarded, so different from his usual controlled demeanor. I glanced at him, and my heart skipped a beat at the sight of his smile. Even in his drunken state, with his hair mussed and his eyes slightly unfocused, he was beautiful.

"You're fucked, sugar," he said, his words slurring slightly.

"Nice," I replied, unable to help the small smile tugging at my lips.

When we reached the top of the stairs, Cooper turned right, leading me down the hallway. I held onto him tightly as he guided me to his room, my heart pounding in my chest with each step.

We entered his bedroom, and Cooper stumbled towards the bed and collapsed onto it, his body sinking into the soft mattress. I stood there for a moment, looking at him sprawled out before me.

I knew I could probably leave at this point. Zach was likely waiting for me at the party, wondering where I was. But as I watched Cooper's chest rise and fall with each breath, I found myself unable to turn away.

I wanted to make sure he was okay, that he wouldn't choke on his own vomit or do something stupid in his drunken state. So, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my Tbr list, searching for something to occupy my time.

Spotting a chair next to the bed, I sat down and made myself as comfortable as possible. With one last glance at Cooper's sleeping form, I opened the ebook and started to read, the soft glow of my phone screen illuminating the dimly lit room.