I rolled off the bed, stumbling a little on one of the shoes she’d left at the foot of it. My breathing was harsh and labored when I steadied myself, gripping one of the wooden posters for support. “Don’t be an idiot, Jess. You’ve never even met the guy.” And she never would as long as I had anything to do with it.
She sat upright in the middle of the bed and hugged her knees. She raked her hand through her strawberry blonde hair, making each movement seem like it was an effort. “There was a picture of them together on Leah Dishes.” When I slid my teeth together, giving her a hard look, she added, “But let me guess, you’ve been too caught up in Willow problems to even notice the resemblance.”
I turned my back to her. “I’ve got to pee.”
The moment I slammed the bathroom door behind me, I pulled my phone out, exiting out of the missed text messages from Cooper and my mother. I stood in the center of the enormous bathroom, fumbling through pages of a shitty gossip site I never visited, but once I found what I was looking for, I sank down on the side of the oversized bathtub staring down at it.
The photo had been taken at the meet and greet we’d done the evening after I found out who Cooper’s mother was. Cooper and Dickson were side by side, smiling, and the caption under the picture read: Tidal Producer (James Dickson) Greets the Man Behind the Surfer (Cooper Taylor).
I would have shrugged Jessica’s comment off and immediately turned off my phone if I hadn’t stared closer—if I hadn’t realized just how tense their body language was.
And the dimple in Dickson’s left cheek.
I slid my cell phone away from me, to the far corner of the porcelain tub, so I wouldn’t hurl it against the wall. Cooper had lied to me. He had f**king lied and—
And then I remembered the scar on his back. The long, jagged scar that he’d told me his father had given him when he was a kid.
My hands trembled as I grabbed my phone and sent him a message. I’m coming over. Are you home?
He responded quickly.
11:23 p.m.: I’m here. Are you okay?
I didn’t answer, shoving the phone inside the back pocket of my tight jeans. Taking a deep breath to clear my head, I walked out into the bedroom to face Jessica, who now lay back on a mound of pillows with her legs crossed, eating from a plate of fries that had gone cold hours before.
“I’ve got to go home,” I said.
The corners of her lips quirked up but she never moved, never even turned her gaze on me. “I won’t see you after this, will I?”
I reached the door. And I didn’t stop to look back at her when I said, “No, you won’t.”
***
Miller personally escorted me to Cooper’s front door, his gaze never meeting mine. He’d been quiet as he drove me from Jessica’s hotel, opening his mouth and then slamming it closed every couple minutes, and I knew he was disappointed in me. Hell, I was disappointed in me. And I was furious.
Furious at Cooper and at Dickson and at myself.
Eric answered the door in his boxers, holding a remote control and scratching his beard. He propped one arm up against the wood frame to support his tall, lanky frame. He started to make one of his usual remarks but Miller shook his head. Then Eric leaned forward a little and inhaled.
His easygoing expression slipped from his face, giving way to the worry I’d seen hundreds of times, and Eric dropped his gaze to the foyer floor. He moved aside so that I could step inside. “Cooper’s upstairs showering.”
I turned to Miller, holding my stomach. “Wait for me in the car.” The order sounded harsh when it came out so shaky and unsure but he lifted his chin.
Before Eric could say another word, I stalked past him, stumbling up the stairs and into Cooper’s bedroom which was steamed up from his shower. He was coming out the bathroom with a towel wrapped around him when I lunged at him, shoving him square in the chest with the palms of my hand. He barely budged, and when I went at him again, he grabbed my wrists in his hands, not seeming to care that the towel fell to the floor.
“Goddamn it, Wills, calm down. Calm down and”—his body froze and he dragged me closer to him, despite my struggling. “You’re drunk. Holy f**k, you’re drunk.”
I didn’t deny it. “You lied to me.”
He released me, scooping up his towel. Turning his back to me, he leaned up against the dresser sliding his hand back and forth over his forehead. “You’re drunk and you’re accusing me of lying?”
I backed up against the wall next to the dresser, sliding down it until I crumbled on the floor. “Is James Dickson your dad?” I demanded. When Cooper’s eyes went hard and the muscles in his neck tightened, I balled my hands into my flannel shirt. “So he beat the shit out of you and you decide to work for him? You let me go on believing he’s this good guy after he did that to you?”
Letting out a frustrated moan, he pushed away from the cherry wood. He kneeled in front of me a second later, to touch my face, and I flinched. “He’s not the one who hit me, Wills.” Then, raking his fingers through his wet blonde hair, he took a deep breath. “My mother was married to Colin Taylor when she got pregnant with me, Wills, and James Dickson . . . he’s had the same wife forever.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, but said nothing, compelling him with my eyes to continue.
“Mum passed me off as Colin’s for years but he always knew. He knew the whole damn time and tortured me for it.”
My lungs constricted, making it hard for me to catch my breath. “Did Dickson know?” I asked in a hoarse voice. When he didn’t immediately answer, I spoke louder, more desperately. “Did he?”