Page 25

Twenty Two

Past

I watch Cooper as he sits across the room from me. We’re at the inn again.

Another weekend away.

Last night, another push of my boundaries.

The woman in bed with me plays with my nipples as Cooper watches.

Suddenly he’s propped himself up over me.

Taking me in. His eyes sweep over my face and travel down my neck to my breasts.

They linger between breasts and belly button, and an overwhelming desire to know what he’s thinking hits me.

Before I can utter a word, his gaze moves down, over my groin, caressing my thighs followed by my calves.

His eyes devour every aspect of my body in a way that I can physically feel.

An appreciative smile forms on his sinful mouth.

Cooper feels too hot, too bright, like a wildfire that will consume me if I get too close.

He buries his face between my thighs and I feel his tongue; my body shudders toe to shoulder.

The woman continues teasing my breasts. A glance at Cooper shows his eyes on the movement of her hands on me.

He rarely joins in—preferring to watch while pleasing himself.

This participation has my pulse skyrocketing.

I reach out and touch the woman’s breasts.

He growls between my legs.

“Cooper,” I gasp, a desperate warning. He only grips my hips tighter in response, and his name scatters off my lips again, syllable by syllable until I am nothing but an exclamation.

It takes too long for the aftershocks to fade, too long for my vision to clear and make sense of the dust motes haloed in sunlight above us. He crawls up beside me; dismisses the woman. His chest mirrors mine, both of us heaving like we’ve just sprinted out of hell and back.

We tangle together on the bed, my arms wrapped tightly around him. He could easily pick me up and toss me around. He heaves a long sigh that could have stirred the curtains. Then he puts his head on my lap.

“You okay?” Cooper brushes his thumb along my cheek, smirking when I don’t— can’t—answer right away.

We’ve been doing this for a few months now—this secret, illicit affair that has swept me off my feet…sent ripple effects throughout my life, through my very core values and judgment. Flash sleeps curled up on the dog bed that Cooper bought for him to use while we’re here.

“Do you love me?” I ask.

The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating, like a fog I can’t wade through. I wait, my heart pounding, my ribs tight, desperate for something—anything—to fill the space between us.

The question still hangs in the air, fragile as glass.

Cooper doesn’t answer.

I see it happen in real time—the way his expression shutters, the way his body goes rigid, every muscle locking up like he’s preparing for a blow. Lie to my face because my heart can’t handle anything else, I think

He doesn’t look at me, not really. His eyes dart everywhere but at me—my face, my mouth, the sheets tangled around my body. I swear I can hear the frantic churn of his thoughts, the war waging behind his gaze, but he won’t let me in.

And that’s when I know.

My stomach twists. My throat clenches tight.

The realization cuts me open.

Because if he did love me—if he had even the faintest idea that what we had meant something—he would say it. Maybe not in those words, maybe not in a declaration dripping in poetry and romance, but in some way.

Instead, there’s only silence.

A sharp, ugly thing that slices between us, bleeding out everything I thought we were.

I force a swallow, but it does nothing to ease the burn clawing up my throat.

“If there’s anything you want to tell me, now’s the time,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

It’s not a demand.

It’s a lifeline.

A final plea.

But Cooper just stares at me.

I see the hesitation. The conflict. His lips part slightly like he wants to say something, but nothing comes.

Nothing at all.

A hollow ache sits heavy in my chest, pressing against my ribs, making it hard to breathe.

I stare at him, my stomach twisting, nausea creeping up my throat.

What have I done?

The question rattles inside my skull, over and over, until I can’t take it anymore. I shove the sheets away, the fabric cool against my suddenly feverish skin, and slide out of bed.

I move quietly, methodically, as I gather my things. My dress from the floor, my bra hooked over the chair, my heels kicked haphazardly near the door. Each article of clothing feels heavier than it should, weighted with regret.

Flash stirs in the corner, his ears twitching as I kneel to clip his leash onto his collar. He lets out a small whine, sensing my mood, but I don’t have the patience to comfort him. Not now.

I take one last look at Cooper—at the way his lips are slightly parted, yet not uttering a word.

It shouldn’t hurt like this. My stomach is a pit of acid and my hands are shaking as I slip out the door, slamming it behind me.

By the time I’m in my car, Flash curled up in the passenger seat, my pulse is a relentless drum in my ears.

I grip the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, my jaw tight as I pull onto the road.

My heart and my head are at war.

What the hell was I thinking?

I should have never let it get this far.

The weight of what I’ve done crashes down all at once, suffocating. I can already see the headlines, the scandal. Prominent psychiatrist engages in illicit affair with deviant younger patient.

I could lose everything.

I slam my foot down on the gas, frustration clawing at my insides, but it doesn’t help. Nothing does.

Because underneath the anger—the sharp, biting rage directed at myself—is something much worse.

Heartbreak.

I press my lips together, shaking my head.

I knew what Cooper was. I knew what I was getting into. And yet, I let myself believe—let myself hope—that maybe, just maybe, there was something real between us.

But love doesn’t live in the shadows.

And Cooper? He was never going to step into the light.

I dig my nails into the steering wheel, my vision blurring for a split second before I blink the tears away.

I made a mistake.

A devastating, irreversible mistake.

And now, I have to live with it.