| |
NO MORE EXCUSES FOR Rivers to stay away from Cooper in the waiting room. She’d gone into the hall, called home, and spoken to both of her parents. Her father had promised they were fine. Then she’d checked in with the substitute taking care of her clients in therapy and waded through her email. She’d even texted Jordan’s mom. Brooklyn was still suffering, but of course, it was no wonder. She had lost both of her children way too soon. That kind of loss had to seem like a sea of grief too wide to cross.
How did a woman anchor her faith when faced with so much pain? Rivers swallowed back tears. Before she’d lost Jordan, she’d thought she had the answers. Now she struggled to feel safe in her own skin and cling to a scrap of faith.
Brooklyn’s twin sister, Pearl, had come to stay with her after Jordan’s loss. It was so strange to think of Pearl as Cooper’s mother, to think of Mr. Knight as Cooper’s father. From the way the family had spoken of Cooper—Jay—one would think he was some sort of hoodlum. Hardly the man she’d spent the past couple of days around.
An elderly woman scraped by using an old walker for balance. The lady needed some tennis balls on the front legs so the contraption would move more smoothly. Rivers tisked. If she were in Memphis, she would find a way to get some.
But she was here.
Rivers forced her feet back toward the waiting area. At the door, she waved her hand below the sanitizer station. The cool foam squirted onto her palm, and she rubbed her hands together. A habit from when her mother had been in and out of the hospital for multiple surgeries.
A young couple milled about at the snack machines just inside the entrance, trying to choose between the unhealthy selections.
Her gaze fell to Cooper across the room. He was bent forward, elbows on knees, chin propped in his palms. His dark hair hung down and shadowed his brows. With his eyes closed, his lashes touched the olive skin below.
Her breath hitched. He was a beautiful creation.
A current of emotion rolled through her, and a picture formed in her mind. If only she had canvas, oils, and brush that would work together to capture this moment.
Crazy thoughts.
What had it been like for Cooper growing up? A late bloomer, while Jordan shone so brightly. That light probably both blinded Cooper and overshadowed everything he’d tried to do. He seemed to be a tender soul who’d ended up caught in the murky waters of life in a fallen world.
More crazy thoughts.
She blinked them away and slipped into the seat beside him.
Though she’d tried to be quiet, he shifted and opened his eyes. “Everything okay? You were gone a while.”
“Just checked in with my family and my substitute at the clinic.”
“Your substitute?” His voice was the usual low, gentle tone.
“My friend has been filling in.” Getting much more than she’d bargained for. “She’s agreed to stay one more month while I handle the properties here.” It had seemed another thirty days would be more than she needed when the trip was planned. But now...
“Right. You intend to clean out and sell the properties.” The corners of his lips turned down. The plan that would crush his current setup. “Someone’s taking your place at work for a month?”
“Actually over a year. My friend agreed to help until I could get myself together enough to counsel the kids. She had no idea she’d still be doing it. So I have to decide whether I’ll go back to work as an art therapist or if they should hire someone else permanently.”
“What have you been doing since the...incident?”
Was she really ready to share so intimately with him? She stared at the bland poster framed on the far wall. “I stayed at home in bed for a good while. Dealt with paperwork that is demanded when someone dies.” Bitterness coated her tongue, and that dense layer of gloomy fog lay heavy over her faith once again. Death seemed so final, despite what she’d always believed. A crimson void of emptiness where once her beloved had been so vibrant and alive.
“I’m sorry.” His hand wrapped around hers, warming her chilly fingers. And maybe her heart for a brief moment.
“Eventually, I worked some. I led tours, did paperwork, checked people in at the front desk of the museum.” She caught her lip between her teeth for a moment. “I just couldn’t counsel others while my own emotional state was such a mess and my faith so wobbly. I couldn’t paint in our church’s worship gatherings anymore either. My heart seemed like it had become a swirling mass of black.”
“How is your faith now?” The pad of his thumb made light circles on her knuckles, sending mini ripples straight to that achy place in her chest.
“I picture my faith floating over a deep abyss, barely hanging on by a golden strand. I mean, I believe in God, but I never saw something like that coming.” She sucked in a shaky breath. “I thought my mom’s accident was our cross to bear.” She should stop talking, but somehow the truth wanted to spill out. “I don’t know how much more God expects me to take. My heart feels absent, like I’m a deserted shell.”
“He’s still with you. You know that, right?” His other hand cupped hers now, too, and squeezed. He shifted to face her, his gaze fervent. “He hasn’t deserted you, and He won’t. This may or may not be the hardest chapter of your story, but He loves you. His plans are still good.”
“That’s the thing. My mind knows all the ways to heal. My church upbringing gives me all the right words. But I’m floundering when I try to get the messages into my broken heart. My spirit keeps wrestling with the ancient truths I’ve always believed.”
“Wrestling is okay.” He squeezed her fingers. “It proves you’re alive.”
“Yeah.” But maybe the problem was she didn’t want to be.
“Family of Star Youngblood?” a man’s voice called into the room.
“We’re her friends.” Cooper gave her hand one more squeeze then stood to face the doctor, leaving cool air where his warmth had been beside her.
The doctor gave them a suspicious once-over.
“Actually, I’m Cooper Knight, a therapist from the Re-Claimed sober living house where she was brought with the injury.” He nodded toward Rivers. “And this is Rivers. She’s an art therapist who has agreed to sit with Star. We don’t know if Star has family.”
With a nod, the physician motioned for them to come into the hallway. Once they were out of earshot of other families, he stopped. “Star was stabbed, maybe with a screwdriver. She was lucky the wound didn’t go too deep. I was able to get it closed. She also has some bruising where she fought her attacker.” The doctor folded his arms over his chest. “I hope she’ll agree to get help once we release her.”
“When will that be?” Rivers couldn’t imagine the terror of being stabbed. Being shot from a distance had been horrendous enough.
“A day, maybe two, as long as there’s no sign of infection.”
That quickly. Hospitals didn’t keep patients long anymore.
“What about pain management?” Cooper seemed to be moving into his addiction counselor role.
“We can try to avoid the opioids, if that’s what you mean. We’ll try Tylenol through her IV at first. See how it goes.”
Rivers let her fingers run across the indention in her shoulder. The searing pain she’d endured after her surgery had been rough. This doctor had said Star’s wound wasn’t bad, but it would hurt while she healed. The area would need to be kept clean, and Star would need to rest.
“Are you sure you’re okay staying here with her?” Cooper asked.
Would she be okay? Not necessarily. Rivers shifted her feet.
“You have so much on you already.” Cooper’s warm hand captured hers.
Nothing about this trip had been easy, but helping this girl was more important than her comfort.
“I want to stay.”
~~~
HE REALLY HAD TO STOP touching Rivers. Cooper slid his hand away, immediately missing the contact. But something about her bravery in the midst of her own fragile situation drew him to her even more.
Like a moth to a blazing inferno or a match to TNT.
He needed to go to a meeting later. Not thinking about Rivers might be as hard as his previous addiction. Cooper pressed his palm to his forehead while the doctor gave her a few instructions for the night ahead.
Any other single woman in the world, and these emotions stirring within him might make sense. But this was Jordan’s girl, for goodness’ sake.
First, she’d never be interested in a guy like him, and second, even if she were, it would be another savage blow to his aunt, uncle, and his parents. They already hated him.
A month. Thirty days or less.
Rivers was leaving after that. He could white-knuckle his ridiculous attraction for that long, then sink himself deep into some heavy-duty counseling. That and look for a new place to live, hold art therapy, and sell paintings.
“Do you have a headache, Cooper?” Rivers stared at him, searched his face, her blue gaze concerned, kind.
“Something like that.” Not a lie. His brain was scrambled.
“You go back. They’re sending her to a room now.” Her head cocked to one side. “And didn’t you say something about art therapy with the guys tonight?”
He gave a slow nod. Yeah. He should go, but something about her gaze was like a whirlpool sucking him in. His feet took him about an inch from her. “Call me if you need anything. Or if you change your mind.” His hands lifted, but he commanded them to stop before he touched her again. “No matter what time.”
“I will.” Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper.
“I... I should...” The hospital’s bright overhead lights shimmered in her flaxen hair, which hung in loose strands around her face, framing blue eyes the color of the Caribbean on a clear day. What was it he’d been saying he should do?
“You can go. Really.” Her brows raised as she gave him a soft nudge on his shoulder.
His fingers threaded through the front of his hair. “Right. Going.” He turned to leave, realizing as soon as he took a step that the exit was behind her, not the way she’d sent him. Of course, Rivers was the one with no sense of direction. Pivoting back, he restarted on the correct course.
“What? I’m fine.”
“It’s actually”—he pointed toward a red exit sign beyond her—“behind you.”
A giggle slipped through her lips when she turned. “Sorry. I—”
“I know.” Smiling, he passed her, hands stiff at his side.
No looking back either, bro.
Now he was talking to himself. Even more than usual.
Half an hour later, Cooper stood in the studio in front of eleven men who were already armed with easels, brushes, and acrylic paints. Earlier in the day, he’d formulated his agenda. But with thoughts of Rivers screwing up his mind, he struggled to remember what that game plan had been.
The great thing was that the creative process allowed his clients to express their emotions, often even in the most closed-off cases. Using art to communicate what was bottled up inside somehow felt less invasive than talk therapy.
He may as well begin with an old standby. “Let’s explore color with abstract paintings. Use a pencil and draw off a few sections on the canvas. Think of your addiction as a color. Picture your sobriety as another color. Where do they meet? Where does God fit into the picture? What color represents Christ? His sacrifice? Imagine a shade for forgiveness for those who’ve wronged you, and another for forgiveness you receive from God for yourself, your mistakes.”
A few nods answered him. The group was no doubt somber because of the earlier trauma. Most of these guys had seen violence and tragedy, so a new encounter often dredged those memories to the surface. Another reason he’d been so worried about Rivers. What would the trauma do to her?
He should say a few words of encouragement. “Tonight was hard. We’ve all been in those dark, dangerous places, but praise God, we’ve been given another chance. So have Star and Blake. Her injury isn’t too serious according to the doctor.” Pacing, he said a silent prayer. God, give me the words they need to hear. “Don’t look inside and get depressed, look up and see a powerful God. Tell every big-mouthed enemy voice whispering those old lies in your ears to get gone in Jesus’ name! Say it out loud if you need to.”
Some in the group spoke the command.
Cooper’s passion and volume rose. “There is power in speaking His name. Sing praises, even when it makes no sense. More power. And when nothing’s working, go to the Lord and say, ‘Search me and see if anything is keeping me from hearing you.’”
“Amen.” Kevin and Davis chimed in. The others nodded.
“Okay, that’s my sermon.” Cooper removed his phone from his pocket and held it up. “Y’all want a playlist while you paint?”
No one answered.
“Playlist it is.” He opened one with his favorite worship bands and turned on the Bluetooth speaker.
Near the back wall, Kevin sat on the newbie couch with Blake. Frequently, first-timers preferred to watch, but in Blake’s case, it didn’t really matter what he wanted. The guy probably couldn’t hit the canvas with a brush if they gave him one. His heavy eyes had become almost slits but would sometimes pop open as he mumbled something that sounded like Star. Or Thar or Gar. When clients slurred, it often brought back memories of his own lisp.
Man, he’d hated the way his stupid tongue had twisted. He’d hated being called little Jaybird too. It reminded him of his lonely childhood, so he’d ditched the nickname Jordan had given him when they were kids and taken his middle name. No one had called him Jay since elementary school other than his immediate family.
“Coop, you look like the kid on the front of a Sour Warheads package.” Davis laid his brush aside, walked over, and held out his arms, a goofy grin covering his face. “Does someone need a hug?”
“Don’t even start with your shenanigans.” Yeah, they offered hugs at times, but Davis was messing with him.
“Let’s go outside and chew the fat a minute. My first layer of paint is drying, and I want this one to be my masterpiece.” Davis motioned with his head toward the door.
Was Davis having issues, or would the powwow be about tonight’s incident? “Kev, you all right for a few?” Cooper called.
“Not going anywhere. Take your time.” Kevin’s brows rose as he pointed a gaze on Blake, whose head bobbed, fighting sleep.
“All right. Let’s talk.” Cooper led Davis out the door onto the small porch behind the gallery. “What’s happening?”
“So tonight was a little bit of scary town, right?” After pulling a pack of gum from his pocket, Davis popped a couple of pieces in his mouth.
“You shaken up?” Davis didn’t look it.
“Nah, not me. But your little woman seemed to be.” He blew a bubble the size of a Ping-Pong ball, then popped it. “I don’t mean to get up in your grill or break man-code, but you got eyes for that Rivers girl. It’s as obvious as a dead skunk on a highway, and I’m worried. Is she in recovery?”
Nice. What a gross metaphor. And the attraction was that obvious? “She’s not.” Cooper shot Davis a hard look. “Remember when I asked your opinion? Yeah, me neither.”
“Oh, is this one of those never-miss-an-opportunity-to-keep-my-mouth-shut things?” He crossed his eyes and gave a sideways grin.
A hearty laugh tumbled out of Cooper. He’d been a tad hard on Davis. The guy was just doing what he’d been taught to do. Be honest. Ask difficult questions. “Sorry. You’re on track. It’s just that Rivers isn’t what you think.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Between you and me—and Kev and Gabby, of course—Rivers was Jordan’s fiancée. She inherited the gallery and came to sell it.”
“Whoa. I did not see that one coming.” His head bobbed. “Harsh news about the gallery, and you have a thing for her too. Your cousin’s—”
“Shut up, dude.” Cooper massaged his temples as if it would do any good. “I never said I had a thing for her.”
“Didn’t have to, but I’ll keep that part between me and the Big Man Upstairs when I pray for your gooey-eyed self.” He clucked his tongue and mumbled under his breath, “But it’s as obvious as a dead sku—”
“Enough with the skunk.” Cooper looked up. Please don’t let it be that obvious to Rivers. He’d need to come to terms with his attraction before he messed things up big-time.
