Best I Ever Had

A knife slicing through my skin hits like a tidal wave dragging me under the surface of memories I’ve tried to bury. An open wound the size of a canyon scores my chest. Images from a night I’ve tried hard to forget come back like relics of a past, too scarring for me to avoid revisiting.

The fear.

The agony.

The helplessness.

“Story.”

The voice is firm but soothing as he calls to me, but I struggle to find purchase in it. “Story. It’s me. Cooper.”

Unbreaking in his insistence when he summons me back to him, I open my eyes to sink into the comfort of his arms and green-eyed gaze. A gentle smile lifts the corners of his lips, and he says, “Hey, babe.”

“Hi,” I reply, my breath still coming heavy.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m great.” Trying for a smile, I attempt to act natural. “How are you?”

His smile grows. “I’m doing all right. How about we get you up, and I can take a look at your knees?”

Bending to see my knees, I ask, “What’s wrong with my knees?” Then I realize I’m on the floor of the shop, and everyone is staring at me. “Oh, um . . .” My heart starts beating erratically again, and I scurry from Cooper’s arms. “I need to get . . . yeah.” Freeing myself, I run into the back room, leaving the door to sway behind me.

I plant my hands on the cold steel of the counter and close my eyes, taking deep breaths. “One. Two. Three—”

“Story?” Cooper asks barely above the breeze of the swinging door. His tone is still so even that my beating heart steadies from the sound of it and from him being close again. I push that calm away because I have to do this on my own.

“Give me a sec, okay?” When I don’t hear the door squeal against the hinges, I look back to find him standing there. I turn around abruptly and grip the counter. I’m unsure what to say since I can see how much I’ve worried him.

A line creases between his brows, and the smile from before has been wiped clean. I watch as he slowly slides his hands into his pockets, and I’m starting to realize there’s a pattern when he does that unrelated to the weather. I hate that I’ve caused any uncertainty when it comes to us.

I look down at his feet. He stands so securely that I try to convince myself I’m reading too much into the rest of his body language. “I . . .” I start and stop, not sure where to go with this. “We’re new, if we’re even a we,” I ramble, peeking up through fallen bangs over my eyes, “and I hate that you’ve seen something that might make you leave—”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, Story. Right here with you.” He is, too. When he doesn’t make a move to leave, I start to wonder how I feel about it and how he feels about me.

Too many thoughts cloud my mind to think rationally through the other trauma. “You don’t have to be so nice about what just happened.”

“What just happened?”

I’m usually most vulnerable when I’m trying to fall asleep at night. Being at work changes things. I stare at him, annoyance rising in my chest from the question. I usually have time to work through these little attacks, but I’ve never had one at work before. With customers waiting and Cooper worried, I don’t have the benefit of time on my side.

Not reading the room or choosing to ignore it, Cooper waits for an answer. “It’s nothing.” My temper is short, and my words clipped. I hate myself for being this way with him.

“Nothing, huh?” The peace I heard in his tone before remains despite the sting of my response.

Pointing at my legs, he says, “We should probably get your jeans off and clean up your knees.”

I had forgotten about that pain until the mention of that again. I look down and see little spots of blood penetrating the denim. “I don’t have anyone to cover the front.”

“I’ll cover it for you.” He sets his hand against the door. “You’ll take care of yourself, right?”

I nod. “Thanks.”

His chin dips once before he pushes through the door.

My heart still beats heavy in my chest, but it’s not racing anymore. Thanks to Cooper. Grabbing the first-aid kit from the top shelf, I head into the office. I undo my jeans and push them down past the scar on my thigh that never sees daylight and lower past my knees. I didn’t even realize the glass cut me, but it got me good.

Nothing that time won’t heal. That’s a lesson I’ve learned well.

I clean myself up and then return the kit to the shelf. Taking a moment to finish collecting myself, I check my appearance in a mirror in the office, lick my lips before they get chapped, and try to fix the nest that my hair is the best I can. It’s pointless, so I tighten the apron strap around my waist and return to the front.