“What the fuck is wrong with me?”
Raking a hand through his hair, Seth Cooper sank onto the bottom step of the house he shared with Kenneth Beckman and their girlfriend, Heavenly Young. The riser creaked beneath his weight. His lungs felt as if they’d collapsed. Each breath was a conscious effort as he sat frozen, the weight of his choices—past and present—crushing him like a vise.
The two most important people in his life were upstairs, waiting for him so they could start their happy future…and he was down here, choking on his own bullshit.
He had to think. Had to breathe.
Their last conversation replayed in his head.
You’re going to get her pregnant. Seth had hurled the words like an accusation.
Beck hadn’t blinked. God, I hope so. You can be a part of that, but you’ve got to decide if your past is more important than your future. If it is, well… You know the way out.
The thought of intentionally impregnating Heavenly dredged up memories Seth had spent years burying. They crashed past his barriers and drowned him with regret. He could see it all now: pulling up to his house, pieces of his wife’s car still smoldering on the neighbor’s yard. Flames shooting out from the busted windows while Autumn and their infant son burned inside. Tristan’s pacifier melted to the concrete. A singed blue bootie in the gutter. The teddy bear his boy had slept with every night since birth burning as the December ice beneath it melted.
Seth pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, but that didn’t stop the images from coming. The baby blanket his mother had lovingly handcrafted, caught in the branches of the bare oak tree, edges blackened and curling with the heat. The smell—god, the smell—of melting plastic from the car seat his baby had been strapped into. And the terrible note the killer had left for him: Merry Fucking Christmas.
He’d stood there, helpless, knowing the only person he could ultimately blame for Autumn and Tristan’s murders was himself. If he hadn’t been so reckless, so stubborn and arrogant in pursuing the case that had gotten his father killed nearly a decade prior, they would still be alive.
That’s what he was running from now. Not just losing his wife and son, but the terror that history could repeat itself.
The logical part of his brain—the investigator, the problem solver—kicked into gear, sifting through evidence.
Their killer is dead. Eight years ago, Seth had made damn sure he’d slaughtered the bastard who had murdered his young family—in the most violent way possible. For four days, he’d tortured Silas Nichols in his disgusting South Bronx apartment, feeding off the man’s screams before putting a bullet between his eyes. That monster was rotting now, six feet under and serving as maggot food.
No one had ever connected Seth to Silas’s death. No one ever would.
And in the years since, had there been even a whisper of a threat? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing. So why was he still living like everyone he dared to love had a target on their back?
“Because you’re a fucking coward,” he whispered into the awful silence, the words burning his throat.
Despite becoming an edge-walking, gun-toting badass, his father would’ve admonished him for being afraid of a boogeyman he’d already vanquished. Fear had never stopped Michael Cooper from living, from loving, or from fighting for what mattered.
Seth curled his hands into fists. He was going to lose them. Beck’s patience had run out. And Heavenly, his sweet angel, had walked away from him tonight. Not physically, but emotionally. He’d seen it in her eyes. Heard it in her trembling voice.
I’m sorry, Seth. I won’t sacrifice having a family because you’re too scared to make one.
Her quiet devastation had cut deeper than her anger ever could.
Then, while he’d been clutching his figuratively kicked-in balls, Beck had heaped more truth onto him.
If you were actually trying to help yourself, we’d gladly give you all the time you need. But you’re not. Heavenly and I have waited for months. We’re done. We’re starting our future tonight.
Seth bit back a curse. What was he fighting so hard to avoid? More loss? More pain? He’d lived through both. It had nearly destroyed him, but he’d survived…though he hadn’t really healed. Instead, he’d weaponized his grief, using it like a shield against any potential heartbreak. As if loss could be prevented by refusing to truly live. If he didn’t get his shit together, he’d let his past—and his fear—fuck his future for good.
And he’d have no one to blame but himself.
The realization slammed into him like a wrecking ball. He couldn’t put off this decision. They intended to start their tomorrows tonight. Right now. So he had to choose: stay paralyzed by fear and lose everything…or step into uncertainty and fight for the life he wanted?
Because he did want it. All of it. Beck’s steady strength. Heavenly’s endless compassion. Their morning coffees and midnight confessions. The brash yet stoic way Beck always had his back. The sweet sound of Heavenly’s laughter and her soft smiles.
Seth scrubbed a hand down his face. How could he ask the woman who had already put her life on hold for her dying father to wait again because he was scared shitless? How was it fair to deny her motherhood because he feared what might happen?
It wasn’t…but neither is them expecting me to get over eight years of grief in the next three minutes.
He sighed. Hell, maybe I’m just dragging them down, and they’re better off without me.
Seth tried to picture himself walking away. Beck and Heavenly would move on. They’d be happy without him. A clean break would hurt less in the long run, right?
