Cooper (The Family Simon Book 6) Page 21

He didn’t know what to say. Hell, even if he did, he wasn’t so sure he’d be able to get it out. Throat tight, he stared across the table at a woman, who, years ago, had meant the world to him. Until that night when it had all gone to shit. Until that night when she’d broken his heart into a million pieces. Shattered it so badly, he thought it would never be whole again.

  But it was whole. It was strong and happy, and he had Morgan and…

  Cooper sank back into his seat. Holy hell. He loved her.

  “They’re running a story.”

  Distracted he looked up. “What was that?”

  “A tell-all.” A single tear slipped down her cheek. “I had to tell Nolan everything.” She laughed, an awful sound that, in spite of himself, tugged at a sliver of compassion. “He had no idea Holly Cronkwright was really Holly Adams, former ‘it’ girl on the Hollywood scene. Former junkie with a nose for disaster. Had no idea of my past, the crazy shit I did when I was off my meds. He had no idea about you.”

  She paused and a sob escaped. “I’m so sorry, Cooper. About everything. But if it’s any consolation, when he found out he broke up with me. He pretty much said the same thing you did the next day when you came to see me in the hospital. Do you remember what that was?”

  He did. As if it were yesterday. He’d walked into her room, saw her parents huddled by the bed—her wrists shackled because they were afraid she’d hurt herself—and all he could think about was…

  You’re not human. I don’t want to ever see you again. We’re done.

  Her howls of pain as he’d left her there were howls he heard every night for years. She’d tried to kill herself but had only managed to kill their unborn child. A child he hadn’t wanted. A child he’d accused her of manipulating him with. A child whose early end was an end he blamed himself for.

  He saw the hurt on her face. The pain that still lived there.

  “I don’t blame Nolan. I guess I am a monster and now the whole world will know.”

  Cooper didn’t know what to say. His thoughts were jumbled. Scattered. He’d been angry for so long, he didn’t know how to feel anything else. He’d met Holly when he was traveling in St. Petersburg. They’d fallen into a passionate, volatile relationship that slowly deteriorated along with her mental health. The fact they’d stayed in Europe for the duration of their time together was the only reason they’d been able to keep things on the down low.

  “But that’s not all. Alice, remember her?”

  Alice? He had no clue who she was. He shook his head slowly, dread making him anxious as hell.

  “She was my publicist back when I had a career and needed one. She called me two days ago because she was getting phone calls, media outlets looking for a comment on rumors circulating.”

  “A comment about what?” he asked harshly.

  “Cooper, the things that were stolen from my apartment were journals, and in them, I talked a lot about us. About you. They know you’re Lee Holloway. They know your first book was based on what happened between us and…” Her face crumpled.

  “And?” He slid from the booth and was on his feet, pushing back even as he waited for her answer.

  “They wanted to know if your next book would be about your new girlfriend.”

  Face grim, Cooper waited for the hammer to fall, and for what it was worth, Holly looked truly upset.

  “Apparently, her life has Lee Holloway written all over it.”

  “How much time do I have?” he asked harshly, feeling that cold dread work its way into his gut until he felt sick.

  She slowly shook her head. “Not much.”

  30

  Morgan knew that life could turn on a dime and alter your course so far left, it would take years to find your way back. It could cripple and maim and destroy. She knew this. It was the main reason she’d pulled back, content to watch things from the shadows. Safe in the protection the dark, silent corners afforded. If you didn’t let yourself care or love, then the probability of getting hurt was pretty much zero.

  She’d lived by that code ever since the accident. But somehow, Cooper Simon had managed to smash down those walls, and now she was out in the open, her face turned to the sun, her heart exposed and vulnerable. She’d realized it days earlier and had managed to convince herself that maybe this time, things would be different. Maybe this time, she wouldn’t get hurt.

  But that’s the thing about life. Its unpredictability is the one thing that makes it so damn predictable.

  It was late afternoon when the doorbell rang. Morgan had spent most of the day in her father’s office. Along with his general lack of enthusiasm for most things over the past six years, his records were in shambles. She couldn’t spend every waking minute out at the McLaren place, and with her head in the clouds, she needed a distraction.

  Once she’d exited the bookkeeping program, Morgan glanced at her watch and headed for the door. It was almost four, and anticipation tingled along her spine. Within the hour, she’d be at Cooper’s. She smiled at the thought.

  Not bothering to glance through the side window, she opened the door expecting, well, she didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it sure as hell wasn’t a flash going off, along with a stranger standing on the porch, holding what looked to be a video camera and a microphone.

  Confused for a moment, it took a bit for her brain to catch up and comprehend what exactly was going on.

  “Miss Campbell, any comment for us on your relationship with Cooper Simon?”

  Ice rushed through her, and she froze. “I… Who are you?”

  Dressed in jeans and red-and-blue-plaid flannel, the stranger was on the tall side. He wasn’t as young as he’d first appeared, and his dark, curly hair was peppered with gray. It stuck out from beneath a faded ball cap. Overly large framed glasses magnified shrewd blue eyes, and she shuddered as they did a slow perusal of her body. The fact that they lingered along her right side, there where her collared shirt and hair hid her scars, had alarm bells ringing almost immediately.

  “You’ve heard of Hollywood Tattler?”

  “I…” She had. Of course she had. Everyone in America had.

  Those damn alarm bells intensified, and she took a step back, hands clawing at the edge of the door as panic rolled through her, accompanied by a healthy dose of fear.

  The man took a step forward, his large foot shooting out and effectively stopping the door from slamming shut.

  “Can you give me a comment on Lee Holloway being the pseudonym for Cooper Simon? Can you tell me when you found out? How you found out? Did you know about Holly Adams? About their baby and the attempted suicide?”

  Shock held Morgan still. Cooper was Lee Holloway? Who was Holly Adams? Why did the name sound so familiar? And…baby? Cooper had a baby?

  “Morgan?” Cold and calculating, the man stared back at her through the five-inch opening his foot had created. But his face began to shimmer and blur.

  “Please go away,” she whispered.

  “Give me a comment, and I will.”

  She swayed a little and closed her eyes, but it was no use because the reporter’s voice was right inside her head.

  “Lee Holloway has a history of writing about things that supposedly impacted his real life. In retrospect, his first book is somewhat autobiographical in nature, considering the subject matter.”

  Dazedly, Morgan’s eyelids fluttered open. Her throat was dry, and she croaked, “Subject matter?” She couldn’t think. Couldn’t process.

  “Yes. Long Time Gone seems to be about his rocky relationship with Holly Adams. Do you think your story will make it to print? The accident that claimed your mother’s life and ruined your track career? Sounds like a juicy movie to me.”

  Morgan’s stomach tumbled all the way to her knees, and she clung to the door, because if she didn’t, she would have collapsed.

  “Go away.” It started as a whisper but ended on a wail. “Go away!”

  “You heard the lady. Get the hell off this property, o
r I’ll toss your skinny ass myself.” The threat was real, and as Hank jumped onto the porch, quickly followed by Sara, the reporter realized he’d overstayed his welcome. Clutching his equipment against his chest, he slid past Hank and jogged to the van parked at the edge of the driveway.

  “Morgan.” Sara’s voice was soft, and all it took was one look. One look and she fell into her sister’s arms.

  How long they stood in the doorway, Sara’s arms around Morgan, was unclear. But after a while, the room came into focus, and, like an old friend returning, the mask she’d put away weeks ago came back. It slipped over her. In her. There were no thoughts in her head. No questions. No possible answers to questions. There was nothing.

  It was strange but familiar.

  She extricated herself from her sister’s grasp, and Hank and Sara followed her all the way to the kitchen. No one said a thing, and for nearly five minutes, Morgan stared out the window into the backyard. She noticed the lilacs in the corner near the shed were blooming. The grass needed cutting. The garden should be tilled.

  Eventually, she became aware of a few things. One, she’d dug her nails into her palms so hard, they’d drawn blood. And two, her sister stood beside her and was speaking.

  “What was that?” she asked Sara, voice calm as she reached for the tap to run her hands under the water. She stayed focused, scrubbing methodically until the blood was gone.

  “Are you okay?”

  Morgan didn’t ponder the question. Didn’t bother to answer it. Instead, she turned around and smoothed her hands over her thighs. Damp marks trailed across the worn denim, and she rubbed at them, glancing up at her sister.

  “How did you know?”

  Sara looked at Hank, and the big man shrugged.

  “I was over at Hank’s place, and we were, ah, just talking, and I wanted to know what the weather was going to be on the weekend because we were thinking of going to Boston.” Sara waited a few beats as if expecting some sort of reaction, but Morgan stared at her blankly, waiting for her to finish.

  “I put on the TV and was channel-surfing for the weather network and I…well, we saw the story on some stupid tabloid show.”

  Morgan pushed away from the kitchen sink and headed back to the front room. Sara and Hank followed quietly, and no one said a word as Morgan scooped up the remote and turned on the television.

  She didn’t have to look long. Not only were the trashy tabloid sites carrying the story, but other, more traditional outlets were as well. She leaned against the chair and, suddenly cold, wrapped her arms around herself. A young blonde reporter read from her teleprompter as the screen behind her lit up with pictures of a young Cooper Simon and an ingénue, a young starlet named Holly Adams.

  A loud knock at the door sounded, but Morgan didn’t bother to look up as it opened. She couldn’t even if she wanted to. She heard voices, Hank, Sara, and…

  With a deep exhale, she glanced over to the entryway. Hank stood with legs spread and arms folded, the large body all but blocking Cooper’s way into the front room. She couldn’t look into his eyes, not yet.

  “Let him in.” She spoke quietly, and at first no one heard her. She repeated herself once more, this time much louder, and when the voices stopped, she turned her attention back to the television. She knew Cooper was in the room. She felt his gaze on her. And she knew when he turned away, lured by his past and the truths he’d kept to himself.

  The reporter’s Boston accent was muted, and the soft cadence of her voice filled Morgan’s head.

  “Miss Adams has been living in Switzerland since her parents whisked her out of the country and committed her to a treatment facility that specializes in addiction and mental illness. No word on whether she’s been in touch with her former lover, Cooper Simon, and so far no comment on the sordid details of their split.

  As for Mr. Simon, the news that he’s in actuality the elusive Lee Holloway, whose best-selling books have been made into movies, is a surprise. Long heralded as the playboy of the Simon family, he’s been linked to several socialites, actresses, and a model or two. Some of whom were otherwise married. With this new insight into this fascinating member of the Simons, one has to wonder if his new relationship was born out of love or is it just research?”

  A picture flashed across the screen, taken the night Morgan and Cooper had attended the hockey game in Boston. The caption below it: Cooper Simon’s New Mystery Lady Revealed. Another photo came up and stole Morgan’s breath.

  It was a picture of Morgan after she’d run an Olympic qualifier. She stood there, a huge smile pasted on her face, her lithe body shiny from sweat as she accepted her award. She was young, vibrant, and beautiful. In that moment, she was whole. Undamaged.

  “Cooper’s mystery woman is no longer a mystery. Her name is Morgan Campbell. At one time, she was touted as the next big thing in the sprinting world. Sadly, her career came to an end when a car she was driving hit a transport truck, killing her mother and horribly maiming the young woman. She spent several months in the hospital recovering from major burns sustained in the fire and, according to a source, was left horribly scarred.”

  The reporter paused as a video rolled, showing the last ten seconds of the last race Morgan had ever run. It segued into video footage of the crash site. A close-up of the mangled car and the blackened road, burned from the fire. Along the side of the road, a body was covered. A body? It was her mother.

  Throat tight, she felt her mask slipping. She’d never seen these. Not once.

  She stared carefully at the image, aware that Sara was crying and in Hank’s arms. Aware that Cooper stood inches to her left.

  The bright orange beanie she’d worn that night lay on the ground, inches from where her mother lay. Odd, but Morgan wondered whatever happened to that beanie. Did she still have it? Would she have kept it?

  The reporter launched into more details, but Morgan didn’t want to see anymore. She clicked off the television, and then there was silence. She tossed the remote onto her father’s worn La-Z-Boy and slowly turned to face Cooper. It took a bit for her to manage to get some words out. When she finally did, she was grateful she sounded calm and composed.

  “Is all this true?”

  Grimly, he nodded.

  “Were you ever going to tell me?”

  Again, he nodded. “Yeah. I was.”

  Already cars were pulling up outside, and there was a gathering of people at the curb. All of them from out of town. All of them with Morgan Campbell in their sights. It scared the crap out of her.

  She was afraid her mask would slip again and took an extra heartbeat to get her shit together. She couldn’t do this. Didn’t want to do this. But it was the only way she knew she’d survive.

  Retreat. The word screamed inside her head.

  She moved past him, sidestepped when he would have grabbed her arm, and headed for the stairs. She heard Cooper swear, and Hank stepped up, blocking him from following Morgan.

  She took the first step but paused before fleeing to the sanctuary of her room, searching for the right words to convey what was inside her. He’d lied to her from the beginning. About everything. And now her past, her pain, and her guilt, was there for everyone to see.

  “Morgan, let me explain.” Cooper took another step toward her.

  “Was I just a muse to you? Inspiration for that book you’ve been working on? Did you use my pain for your art? Is that all I was?”

  “No.” The word tore out of him. She almost believed him.

  “How can I believe that? You’ve shared nothing with me, and yet you know everything about my life.” She laughed bitterly. “And now the whole world knows. They know about us, my mother. My scars. I tried to hide for so long.” Anger washed over her, pressing hard. So hard she could barely get the words out. “You pulled me out into the open. You made me want to live again and be normal, and, God, you made me feel beautiful again.”

  She would not cry. Not in front of him.

  “Morgan, plea
se let me explain. I need to explain.”

  “I’m sure you do.” She looked back one last time. “But you waited too long.”

  He took a step forward, but Hank moved, his large frame blocking the way. “I think you should go.”

  Morgan grabbed the railing and, with every ounce of strength she had left, took the stairs in a methodical, controlled manner. She reached her bedroom and closed the door. Drew the blinds. Tried like hell to un-see the images from the report. To un-feel the overwhelming emotions inside her. But the images were there. Burned into her mind so deeply, it left her numb. The pain in her chest cut deep, and with a gasp, Morgan fell onto her bed.

  She grabbed her pillow and stared at the wall until hours later she fell into an exhausted sleep. And all the while, a storm gathered out front.

  31

  The media shit storm hit, and it hit hard. By the time Cooper returned to his place on the ocean, news crews were parked along the road waiting. The flashes of lights as he drove past nearly blinded him, and the slow-burning anger inside festered until it broke open like the waves that beat against the Atlantic coast.

  He walked into his silent home, and everywhere he looked reminded him of Morgan. Smiling as she rested her chin on the island and watched him prepare something for dinner. Laughing at some stupid joke he told, or whimpering in pleasure at the touch of his hand.

  He couldn’t take it and climbed the stairs to the attic, where he lost it. He roared his anger, swinging at the bag he’d installed only days earlier. He let fly punch after punch, until his hands were bloody and his body covered in sweat.

  Still it did no good. The image of Morgan, her beautiful pale eyes filled with pain—pain that he’d caused—was something he’d never forget. Just the thought had him swinging his fist again, and he swore savagely when he felt something give. Didn’t care. Hell, he deserved pain.

  “You about done?”

  Sides heaving, Cooper spied Maverick standing on the top step, his face filled with concern. He scowled and pushed off from the bag. “Not even close.”