Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 128430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Exhaustion sets in. My mind is too tired to keep going tonight. “I need to rest, Cooper.” I sit down, needing time to process the tragedy that we were so in love and lost it all because of the lies involved. I lean my head on the back cushion, my eyes still locked with his.
He says, “Get some rest.” And then I close my eyes.
My eyelids feel like they have a stack of quarters weighing down on each of them, but I force them open anyway. I yawn, not realizing I’d fallen asleep. A quick glance at the bed tells me Reed is still sleeping. Rest means healing, so I’m not upset, though I am a little anxious.
Cooper’s next to Reed as if he can’t stop hovering. I imagine he would have done the same with Reed in his crib, if given the opportunity. It breaks my heart to know that he’ll never get the chance.
When he sees I’m awake, he comes to sit next to me. Keeping his voice low, he says, “I’m thinking this might not be the time and place for me to meet him. He’ll be waking up just out of surgery and probably scared to be in a hospital bed. That will be a lot for him at his age to take in. I don’t want to add to any anxiety.” The emotions that overwhelmed him at the park return, and his voice cracks. “The focus needs to be on him healing, not on me.”
My heart aches again for him and for Reed for having to miss another opportunity that he’s not even aware of yet. I know that all Cooper wants is to meet his son, and the damn universe is still conspiring against us. Not sure what to say, I sigh. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. It’s not your fault.”
“We’ll set something up for next weekend when he’s home, settled, and I can make sure he’s not in any pain.”
“I think it’s best.” He stands, and I don’t know why I do, but I stand as well. Tucking his hands in his pockets, he says, “I guess I should go before he wakes.”
I walk him to the door like we’re at the end of a first date. The thought gives me pause, and I scold my heart and head for confusing the signs. I bite my bottom lip and tug on it to remind myself that this is not a date and there will be no kiss.
But when I look up at him, he’s watching my mouth like he wouldn’t be upset if it was pressed to his right about now. It’s not, though, and I need to force distance between us before I cave in. “Thank you for being here.”
“Of course. We have each other’s numbers now, so call or text me if you need anything, anything at all.”
“I have a question.”
He stays, suddenly not eager to leave. “What is that?”
“What kind of doctor are you?” I get that a dentist is a highly trained and skilled physician, but I’m going to be really disappointed if that’s what kind of doctor Cooper Haywood is.
And there’s that smirk . . . please don’t be a gynecologist either.
“I’m a pediatrician.”
And just like that, I’m swooning for this man again.
When he walks out, I’m left with a stupid grin that stays way past its invitation. I go to the bed to check on Reed again. If I could crawl in without hurting him, I’d let him snuggle up to me like we do on Sunday morning.
He’ll be excited about the cast, feeling very big boy that he’s part of the broken bone club. With him sound asleep, though, I settle back on the vinyl loveseat and close my eyes to sneak in a few winks before he wakes.
My phone buzzes with a text shortly after. Cooper: Despite the broken bone and hospital visit, it was amazing to see him, and it was really good to spend time with you again.
I smile, holding my phone to my chest and letting this little bliss I’ve found get the best of me since there are no witnesses.
Cooper: Too much too soon?
Giggling, I text him back: Not too much. I pause and take a breath before adding: Not soon enough.
39
Cooper
One Week Later . . .
* * *
Me: I’m fucking nervous.
Story: Don’t be. You’re meeting him today as Mommy’s friend.
What the hell am I supposed to say to that?
“Mommy’s friend?” I grumble. It’s sad that our kid will never know just how amazing his mommy and I were together, how we used to laugh until our cheeks hurt and never needed alcohol or drugs because we were so high on each other. It’s too bad he’ll never see how we loved so hard and were willing to risk it all for each other until we couldn’t any longer.