The Lies That Bind

3: Two Can Keep A Secret

Calla had been right all along. Cooper was a moron.

He glared at the giant slice of cake he'd cut for himself. He still wasn't sure why he'd come here, why he'd driven three hours to show up on Calla's doorstep, unannounced. It had been the thought of his empty apartment, he supposed—stuffed with those stupid heart-shaped balloons, his drawers crammed with Lauren's old t-shirts and hairbands and those goddamn bobbypins—

He used the fork he'd found while rummaging around in the dishwasher to spear the slice of cake right through its center, and then took an angry bite. Chocolate. Lauren's favorite. It tasted like cardboard on his tongue. He shoved the plate aside with a heavy sigh.

"Does it taste as awful as it looks?"

Calla stepped into view. She'd pulled her hair, damp from the shower, in a low bun. He frowned at her as she lifted herself onto the kitchen island, the glass of wine he'd poured for her already in her hands. "It's really not that ugly."

She sniffed at her glass. "It's easily the most foul cake I've ever seen."

"Seen a lot of cakes, have you?" She shot him a look of such exasperation, he had to laugh. "Sorry," he muttered, staring down at his hands. "It's been a long day."

"Right. Why did you and Lacey break up, again?"

He gave her a pointed look. "Lauren."

"Lauren." She rolled the name across her tongue, tasted it. Her lips curled in a humorless smile.

Cooper took a sip from his glass of wine. Sipped again. "We had our differences."

"That sounds ominous."

"It was for the best, honestly."

"If you say so."

He glared at her. "You're about as comforting as a bed of nails. Has anyone ever told you that?"

She tapped the rim of her glass against his in a mockery of a salute. "If you wanted comfort, you should have run to dear Vincent. How is he, by the way?"

Cooper sighed. "He's busy. Big game tomorrow." Which was precisely why he couldn't bother Vincent with his abysmal love life. Not with the rivalry game on the horizon. Vincent would have questions about the breakup—a million whys and what fors. And then he'd probably insist they get shitfaced drunk. Which would normally be fine. Preferable, even. But Penn State's playoff hopes were on the line, and a hungover quarterback was the last thing anyone needed.

Calla considered him for a long moment. "Alright. I'll bite. Tell me all about this dramatic breakup of yours."

Cooper flushed. Glared down at Calla's foot swinging between them. "There's not much to tell. It's just...over. She dumped me. End of story."

"Ouch." Calla gave him a sympathetic pout that was disturbingly convincing. "No particular reason?"

Because I'm broken and there's no fixing it. "Let's call it a lack of communication."

"A lack of communication, huh." She feigned surprise. "Not sure how that's possible, considering you never shut the fuck up."

"You are—" he tried to swat at her foot, but she pulled away from him, cackling, "—the worst."

"Oh, c'mon." She was grinning. "Don't be so sensitive."

"Normal people are sensitive after breakups," he snapped. A low blow.

But her grin only widened. "Oh-ho. He bites back."

His words had missed their mark, but still he felt guilt worm its way into his chest. He'd made the decision to come here, after all. With no warning, no thought spared for her schedule. And Calla had welcomed him inside without question. "Give me that," he said, gesturing to her empty glass. A peace offering.