Page 144 of Collateral Damage
The man I love and trust did this. I’ve brought him into my life and my body and my heart.
I stumble away. “This isn’t over,” I say, voice trembling with rage and cracking with betrayal.
“Oh, but it is,” Lance confirms. “Let me give you one last piece of business advice, Sybil. Learn when to give up.”
I turn and flee, the door slamming shut behind me. I gasp in short and shallow breaths. My chest tightens as if it’s collapsing in on itself. The tears finally break through, proof I’ve been played, that I’m as weak as those men think I am.
I’ve let my family down. The man I love isn’t who I thought he was. I can’t even go to Arden because she’s married to a King.
I open my phone to see more missed calls from Cooper as well as a slew of unread texts, but I’m not ready to talk to him.
The only thing I can do is pull off an incredible gala in two weeks and pray the hiring board sees the value I bring to Laurence.
I’m not very optimistic.
Sixty-Two
Cooper
Past - Age 26
I used to be a party person, but I lost that side of myself when I lost my leg. I didn’t want to come tonight, but Ethan insisted. It’s New Year’s Eve, what used to be a favorite night of the year, but Ethan doesn’t understand the old me is gone.
It’s not like a prosthetic is one and done. I learned that the hard way. Six months in, and I’m already on my second leg. The thing about prosthetics is that not only do they wear down over time, but my stump changes over time as well. If I lose weight or gain muscle, I’ll need an adjustment. If something is misaligned, I’ll need an adjustment. If I develop neuroma or bone spurs, same thing. Don’t even talk to me about friction and pressure points.
The fact that I’m even doing as well as I am is nothing short of a miracle, and that’s mostly thanks to having been born into a rich family. Lots of people with limbs like mine aren’t so lucky.
Not that I consider myself lucky. I’m still angry, but at least I’m channeling that anger into an actionable plan.
Tonight, however, the plan is to get wasted.
The hotel ballroom is a glittering nightmare, packed shoulder to shoulder with twenty-somethings who belong at this party more than I do.
The chandeliers sparkle like they know it’s their night to shine, and so do all the dresses. It’s a sea of silver and gold. Even the ice cubes have edible glitter. The whole thing screams opulence and wealth.
Ethan is busy with his arms around Arden, the two already lost in their love-bubble. His laughter is lighter than it’s been in years, and I’m happy for him. They’re like a vision out of a holiday romance, while I’m their misplaced plus one, nursing my second whiskey and trying to make myself invisible.
Hard to do when everyone at this party knows about the prosthetic. They also know about the drama between the King and Laurence family.
I note that I’ve slept with many of the women here at one point or another and take another drink. Not that I’m sleeping with anyone anymore. I can’t.
Every time I try to hook up with someone, I panic about my leg. It’s fucking ridiculous. Even the hot nurse at the rehab didn’t do it for me, though I played it off like we were fucking, so Ethan didn’t worry any more than he already was.
I can feel eyes on me—curious, pitying eyes. They’re coming from every corner of the room, heavy and scrutinizing.
I adjust in my seat at the bar, the prosthetic leg awkward beneath me. The marble floor isn’t made for comfort or subtlety. The last thing I need is to fumble on that dance floor, so I stay right here with my ass in this chair and plan to stay here all night.
A familiar laugh breaks my thoughts. I turn to find at the woman who ruined my life flirting with a man farther down the bar. Nowshebelongs here, with her shimmering dress,her striking auburn hair, and her sultry green eyes. She always looks like she belongs everywhere she goes while simultaneously standing out, like she’s better than everyone else. It’s a Laurence thing.
I used to love that about her, but now I hate it. I hate her. For everything. For the accident. For breaking my heart. For hurting my family. Even for being here right now and not looking my way while everyone else stares at me like I’m fragile and broken.
Taking another drink, I turn from Sybil to take inventory of the bottles behind the bar instead. I need something stronger. I drain the rest of my whiskey and order vodka. Mixing these is a bad idea, but I don’t care.
I drink, and I drink, and I drink.
Midnight closes in, and the crowd grows rowdy. The old me would’ve been out there feeding off that energy, but the new me is still planted in this chair.
Not for the first time—maybe not even for the hundredth time—I find Sybil and the man she’s been flirting with all night. He’s tall and wearing a cheap suit and looks like a bank-teller. She’s practically rubbing her breasts against his arm as they talk.
