17. Everly

17

Everly

I was drowning. Water pressed in on all sides, cold and unrelenting. Hands gripped my mouth, silencing my screams, and I thrashed against the weight. Panic clawed at my chest.

Suddenly, I woke up. My heart raced like it was trying to escape my ribcage. The room spun for a moment before my eyes focused on Cooper lying next to me.

He looked different in the dim light. His sharp features were softened by sleep, but there was still an intensity in his face that never seemed to leave him. The lines of old scars crisscrossed his cheeks, hints of battles fought and won.

Was this a dream too? I blinked hard, rubbing my eyes, trying to clear the remnants of terror from my mind.

I took a deep breath, willing myself to calm down. The air felt thick in my lungs as if I was still underwater. Cooper's presence grounded me, though. Without thinking, I reached out and touched him. His skin was warm under my fingers, reassuringly real.

He stirred slightly but didn't wake up. My hand lingered on his face for a moment longer before I pulled it back, suddenly self-conscious.

I slid out of bed, careful not to wake him. His breathing was steady, almost hypnotic in its rhythm. The hardwood floor felt cold against my bare feet as I made my way to the attached bathroom.

The bathroom was a sanctuary of marble and glass. Smooth white tiles covered the floor, leading to a large bathtub-shower combo framed by sleek chrome fixtures. A frosted window allowed soft morning light to filter in, casting gentle shadows that danced across the walls.

I moved to the shower and turned on the water, adjusting it until steam began to rise. The sound of water hitting the tiles was soothing, almost drowning out the chaotic thoughts in my head.

With a deep breath, I pulled off Cooper's shirt. The fabric clung to me for a moment before sliding off, leaving me standing there in just my underwear. I brought the shirt to my face and inhaled deeply. His scent surrounded me, a mix of cedar and something uniquely him. It made me feel safe, like an anchor in a storm.

I caught sight of myself in the mirror and forced myself to look at my bruised body. Dark splotches marred my skin, each one a reminder of what had happened to me. My breath caught in my throat, but I refused to look away. This was me now; this was part of my story.

The steam from the shower fogged up the mirror, blurring my reflection. It was a small mercy. I took one last deep breath and turned towards the shower.

The water was hot against my skin as I stepped in, but it felt cleansing. I let it cascade over me, washing away the remnants of fear and doubt that clung stubbornly to my mind.

As the water streamed down, I closed my eyes and let myself get lost in its warmth, if only for a moment.

The water pounded against my back, hot enough to sting. I grabbed the soap and began scrubbing my arms. As the lather built, memories forced their way in.

I was at the party, laughing with Zach and his friends. The room buzzed with music and chatter. Then, everything changed. I felt a hand on my shoulder, pulling me back into a darker corner of the house. The air smelled like stale beer and sweat.

Now, in the shower, I scrubbed harder. My skin turned pink under the relentless pressure, but it didn't feel clean. The water washed away the soap, but I still felt his touch lingering on me like a stain that wouldn't fade.

"Get off," I whispered to myself, scrubbing harder. My skin started to turn red, raw under the relentless assault of my hands.

Zach's breath had been hot against my neck as he whispered things that made my stomach churn. I tried to push him away, but he was stronger.

I rubbed at my neck now, desperate to erase the sensation of his breath. The steam filled the bathroom, making it hard to breathe.

He had pushed me on the bed his hands everywhere they shouldn't be. My heart pounded in my chest as I fought against him with every ounce of strength I had.

"No," I muttered through clenched teeth as I scrubbed harder. My nails raked against my skin until it burned.

The memories were too vivid, too real. His weight pressing me down, his laugh echoing in my ears.

"Stop," I cried out loud this time, my voice breaking through the sound of rushing water. But no matter how hard I scrubbed, it wasn't enough.

My skin felt like it was on fire now, but still not clean. Tears mingled with the water running down my face as frustration built up inside me.

"Why can't you just go away?" I screamed at no one in particular, my voice echoing off the tiled walls.

I collapsed onto the floor of the shower, letting the water pour over me as sobs wracked my body. No matter how much I tried to wash it away, Zack's touch lingered like a ghost that refused to leave me alone.

I didn't know how long I sat there, water cascading over me, tears mixing with the steam. Time seemed to lose meaning in the haze of my grief. The sound of the door opening jarred me back to reality. I looked up, startled.

Cooper stood there, his eyes locking onto mine. I held my breath, waiting for him to tell me to get out, to call me silly for sitting in the shower like this. His gaze flickered over my bruised body, and I saw a flare of anger burn in his eyes.

Without a word, he stepped into the shower, fully clothed. The water soaked through his shirt and pajama bottoms instantly, but he didn't seem to care. He sat down next to me, his presence solid and grounding.

The steam wrapped around us like a cocoon as he pulled me into his arms. The heat of his body contrasted with the cool tiles against my skin. For a moment, I resisted, but then I felt myself collapse against him, my sobs renewed with an intensity that surprised even me.

He held me tight as if anchoring me to reality. His arms were strong and steady, and I buried my face in his chest. The water continued to pour down on us both, a relentless backdrop to my emotional storm.

I cried until there were no more tears left in me. Until my body felt hollow and exhausted. Cooper's grip never wavered; he was my rock in that moment of utter vulnerability.

When my sobs finally subsided into quiet hiccups, he still didn't let go. His presence was a silent promise that he wasn't going anywhere.

The water turned lukewarm. My shivers intensified, but Cooper's arms remained steadfast.

"Come on, killer," he murmured softly, his voice a balm to my frayed nerves.

He helped me to my feet, steadying me as I wobbled on weak legs. His touch was firm yet gentle, like I was something precious. He reached out and turned off the shower, the sudden silence deafening after the constant rush of water.

He grabbed a fluffy towel from the rack and began drying me off with a reverence that made my breath hitch. Every movement was careful, as if I were made of glass and might shatter under too much pressure. His hands moved with surprising tenderness, taking their time over each bruise and scrape.

How could someone as rough around the edges as Cooper touch me like I was sacred? His calloused fingers glided over my skin with such care it brought fresh tears to my eyes.

Once he finished, he picked up his shirt from the floor and slipped it over my head. The fabric was warm and smelled like him—comforting and safe.

"What about you?" I asked, my voice raw from crying. "You need to dry off."

He cocked his head to the side, giving me a long look that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

"Please," I whispered, my plea hanging in the steam-filled air.

Reluctantly, he handed me the towel. I took it and began to dry him off, ignoring his wet pajamas clinging stubbornly to his body. The fabric was heavy with water, but I worked through it methodically. His skin felt warm under my hands despite the chill setting in from the cooling air.

Each stroke of the towel felt intimate, like we were sharing something profound in this quiet moment. His eyes never left mine, and I found solace in their unwavering gaze. I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of peace settling over me. The storm inside me had calmed, at least for now. And as we stood there in the aftermath of this moment, I realized that maybe—just maybe—I wasn't alone in this fight.

When I finished drying Cooper off, I hung up the towel carefully. Each movement was deliberate, an effort to reclaim a small measure of control over my chaotic world.

"You don't have to do that," he said, his voice rough yet gentle.

I didn't reply. Explaining why I needed this—this tiny bit of control—felt impossible. Words seemed inadequate to convey the tumult inside me.

Turning to face him, I took his hand in mine. For a second, I thought he might pull away, but he didn't. His grip was firm and reassuring. We moved back to the bed together, crawling under the covers and facing each other.

"Cooper," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the hum of silence in the room. "Can I touch your scars?"

"Why the hell would you want to do that?" he asked, his tone low and filled with an edge of disbelief.

"Because I do," I replied simply. "Because you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, Cooper Sinclaire."

His eyes flashed with panic, a warning clear in his gaze. "Everly," he growled, as if cautioning me against something dangerous.

I didn't push him; the last thing I wanted was to pressure him into something he wasn't ready for. Instead, I waited, letting the moment hang between us like a fragile thread.

Then, surprising me, he took my wrist and guided my hand to his face. My fingers brushed against his scars—rough patches of skin that told stories of pain and survival. He went so still that for a moment; I thought he had stopped breathing.

"I promise I won't hurt you," I said softly, hoping my words could soothe some of his fears.

"You can't make a promise like that," he countered, his voice strained.

"Yes," I insisted gently. "I can."

"When I was a kid, my mom would tell me that a girl's duty was to save herself for the right man," I murmured. "She always made it sound like a prize, something that made me special because most girls didn't have that innocence. She would say it should be explored with someone I trusted."

I traced Cooper's scars, my eyes following the movements of my fingers, even though I could feel his gaze burning into my face. The rough patches of skin felt like a roadmap of his past, each one a story of survival.

"I didn't believe I needed to save it for marriage," I continued, my voice soft and hesitant. "But I did believe that the first time should be special, and now…" My voice caught in my throat. "Do you think… do you think when I find the right person… do you think I can offer him something special even without… without?—"

"A gift taken is not the same thing as a gift given," Cooper said, his voice firm yet gentle. "The right man won't care about that."

"How can I possibly know who the right man is?" I asked, my eyes finally meeting his. "I thought that was Zach, but… I was wrong."

"I wouldn't know," Cooper said. "I've never been the right man."

"That's not true," I said quickly, shaking my head. "Would you ever?—"

"Never," he interrupted, his voice leaving no room for doubt. "Don't need to force anyone."

I nodded slowly, absorbing his words. A sense of exhaustion washed over me, the weight of everything settling in my bones.

"I think I'm going to sleep now," I murmured. "Will you stay with me?"

Cooper clenched his teeth together but nodded once. Without warning, I wrapped my arms around his body, placing my head on his shoulder.

"You're so comfortable, Cooper," I murmured before sleep claimed me.

This time, I didn't dream at all.

When I woke up, I felt a rush of energy and determination. I was a survivor, and I wasn't going to let what happened to me happen to anyone else. I couldn't do much, unfortunately, but what I could do…I would.

The sun peeked through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Cooper's arm was draped around my waist, holding me close. For a moment, I let myself enjoy the comfort and safety of his embrace.

But then, I decided I wanted to do something for him as a thank you. I carefully tried to slip out of bed, but his grip tightened around me. I turned to look at him. He was still asleep, his features relaxed in the early morning light.

He really was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Despite what happened with Zach, Cooper made me believe in the goodness of people again.

I tried pulling away again, but he wouldn't let me go. I couldn't help but giggle softly.

Cooper opened one eye and looked at me.

"Can I make you coffee?" I asked, tilting my head to the side so my messy hair spilled over my shoulder.

"Do you know how?" he replied, raising an eyebrow.

My mouth dropped open in mock offense. "Cooper Sinclaire! I'll have you know I make the best coffee. Please?"

He stayed silent for a moment, just staring at my face. Then he sighed, pretending to be put out.

"Fine," he said.

A grin spread across my face. "Thank you," I said, leaning in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek before sliding out of bed.

Today was going to be a good day.