The Lies That Bind

25: Reunion

"What the fuck."

"Vincent—" Cooper started, anxiously scanning the street for any overly curious passerby.

"What," Vincent repeated, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, "the fuck."

Cooper went to grab his elbow. "Take a breath. The truck's right there—"

"Fuck you." Vincent batted away his hand. "Fuck you Mr. Need To Fucking Know, because I really needed to fucking know this!"

"Boys," Calla said calmly, stealing the wind right out of their sails. "If you two don't shut the fuck up and get in the truck, I'm going to tie you both to the tree in my backyard, ass naked, so you can ruminate over every stupid thought you've ever had in your entire life, until your balls freeze right off."

Cooper and Vincent traded a wary look. "I don't know about you, but I'm getting in the truck," Cooper mumbled.

No one said a word as they crossed the street and climbed into the truck, the only sound between them their own breath and the click of a button as Vincent angrily jabbed his finger against the console, firing up the heater. "Details," he gritted out, folding his arms against the cold, stagnant air. "Now."

It didn't take long to catch him up to speed. Vincent had never been so prone to questions as Cooper was. Nor did he seem to care for the specifics. This isn't like before, Cooper realized, watching his demeanor harden as Calla laid the truth bare before him. He doesn't want to be involved in this. He has a new life now. A life with Natalie.

A future.

"So." Vincent had relaxed somewhat now that the heat was worming its way through the truck, chasing away the chill. "Stephanie sent the dirt she had on you to Michaels, and he's using it to blackmail you into...doing bad shit."

Cooper glanced in the side mirror, analyzing Calla's reflection. She had her head propped against her knuckles, her elbow balanced against the rear window. "Yup," she drawled. 

"Because he hates your guts. Because you killed his son."

"Yup."

"It was a group effort," Cooper supplied helpfully.

Vincent glared daggers at him. Quiet, that look said. "And now that he's reached the end of his little game," he spat, redirecting his anger to the backseat, "he's going to kill you and anyone involved with what happened five years ago. Stephanie and Cooper and me and the fucking twins and God knows who else."

Calla just sighed. "Probably."

If Cooper were a betting man, he'd say they had about fifteen seconds before she went absolutely apeshit. He could hear her now: Enough with the repetitive questions, you dithering dimwit.

"Fantastic." Vincent twisted around to pin her with a poisonous glare. "You're going to get us all fucking killed."

Cooper's hands flexed in his lap. "Vincent."

"No." He hadn't stopped glaring at her. Hadn't broke eye contact at all. Calla stared right back, utterly disinterested. "No, she needs to hear this. She needs to know what she's done."

"That's not—"

"He's right," Calla said, and Cooper nearly choked on his words. "This long, convoluted mess started with Tracy. With me." She turned her gaze to the window. Cooper didn't imagine she was admiring the scenery. "And I'm going to finish it. One way or the other."

Vincent's eyes narrowed on her slender frame. "How?"

"I'm working on it."

"That's not good enough."