Page 55 of Calling Chaos

Cooper

Seventeen-year-old Cooper sighed as he locked the apartment door behind him, turning to find his dad exactly where Cooper had left him—slumped over on the couch.

Napping? Passed out? But no, his dad opened one eye to peer out at him blearily. “Umnitsa,” he said, the word slurred with either sleep or booze or both. “Back so soon?”

Cooper repressed another sigh. “It’s been hours, Pop.”

“Has it?” His dad sat up, kicking over the bottle at his feet with the effort. It was empty, at least, so no vodka spilled on the carpet this time.

“I thought you were going to get groceries.” Cooper didn’t know why he said it. Chastising his dad never worked—it only ever made him more maudlin.

“Was I?” When Cooper didn’t take the bait, his dad tilted his head, a sad smile playing at his lips. “You look so much like your mother when you get disappointed in me like that. She made that exact same face when I forgot the milk.”

There was nothing to say to that, so Cooper kicked off his shoes before coming to sit beside his dad on the couch, ignoring the sharp smell of vodka as his dad threw an arm around him.

“How was it?”

“Fine.” Cooper shrugged. “An errand.”

Cooper had been delivering a package to Sergei. He hadn’t known what was in it—hadn’twantedto know—but his knowledge of its contents wasn’t required to complete the task.

He wasn’t exactly lying to his father. It hadn’t quite beenfine, but it hadn’t been awful either. Sergei just fucking hated Cooper for some reason. Probably because Cooper was so scared of him, or maybe because of his youth. Either way, he always referred to Cooper as “that drunk’s son,” making his men laugh by mimicking Cooper’s father’s swaying walk.

He was an asshole, basically, but there was nothing Cooper could do about it. Not if he didn’t want to end up bleeding out in some alley.

His dad let out a gusty breath, leaning his cheek against the top of Cooper’s head. “This was supposed to be a fresh start, a new country. But we ended up right back here, mixed up with gangsters. Just like home.” He chuckled, but it was a sad sound. “At least we have a nice apartment now, yes?”

“Yeah,” Cooper agreed dully.

The truth was Cooper missed the shithole he’d grown up in. At least there, no one had cared what they did. No one had cared that his dad was a mess, that he smelled like liquor or swayed when he walked, or forgot his keys and phone and had to yell at Cooper to let him in the door. Their neighbors had all had their own issues to deal with. Some of the moms had even made them plates of food when they’d had extra, dropping them off and not accepting a word of thanks for it, just reminding them to return the dishes when they were done.

But here, in their richer digs, people noticed. They cared, and not in a good way. Cooper had become aware now, every time he and his dad left the apartment. Aware of the looks they were given. Aware of the judgmental murmurs between neighbors.

He’d started to become anxious leaving the apartment, hypervigilant in a way that couldn’t be healthy.

What if one of them got sick of his dad making a mess of things, and tried to get him arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct? Would someone come and take Cooper away? He still had a year until he turned eighteen. Or what if enough people complained to Dimitri, and he decided that Cooper and his father weren’t worth the trouble and finally put them down like dogs?

“Should’ve protected you better, huh? Should’ve—should’ve done it differently.”

As his dad lurched off the couch, shuffling to the bathroom, Cooper let the anger run through him.

His dad had been doing that a lot lately—going on about his failures in protecting Cooper. All the ways he’d let him down. But he never actually did anything differently, did he?

After Cooper had signed on with Dimitri, his dad had been horrified. But he hadn’t decided to suddenly pull himself together. He’d gone on a two-week bender instead. Left Cooper alone and frightened as he entered a world he’d never wanted to be in.

So Cooper let the anger run through him—let it burn in his veins just for one blissful moment—and then he let it all go.

His dad was sick. It was an illness. That was what they’d said in health class, what all the online forums agreed on. Maybe without Cooper to care for him, his father would hit some sort of rock bottom, some new low that would force him to seek help. But Cooper couldn’t bear it, to think of his dad out on the street, all alone. And he wasn’t convinced it would happen at all. There was a deep, overwhelming sorrow in his father, ever since the death of Cooper’s mom. Nothing Cooper did could touch that sorrow. Only vodka seemed to help.

Who was Cooper to take that from him? He’d only turned seventeen last month. He might have graduated from high school early, thanks to skipping a grade, but what did he know about fixing something like that?

And he didn’t want to lose his father. The only person left who really loved him.

The man in question shuffled back out of the bathroom, scratching at his chest. It looked like he’d splashed some water on his face. He still looked like crap, his nose red and splotchy and the bags under his eyes bigger than ever. He needed some real sleep, not just naps caught on the couch. Maybe if Cooper got some food in him, he’d go to bed for real.

Cooper would stay up, maybe work on coding. He was getting pretty good with computers, courtesy of hardly ever leaving the house. What did he need to leave for, anyway? He was done with school, and he didn’t have any friends to speak of. Before, he’d had neighborhood kids he’d been friendly with, but when Cooper and his father had moved, those relationships had fizzled.

It was just him and his father, for better or for worse.

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