Boomerangers: A second chance romantic comedy (Cajun Girls Book 1)
Boomerangers: Chapter 10

What the hell just happened?

I hit him. I fucking hit him.

“Cooper, wait,” I cry out, chasing after him ’til he rounds the edge of the house. He doesn’t even look at me.

Throwing my hands in the air, I watch him go. To hell with this. I refuse to chase after him in front of my children.

Was I wrong? I mean, obviously I was wrong for hitting him, but he was wrong, too. How dare he insinuate that I’m only using him for a booty call?

But isn’t that what you’re doing, Spencer?

No. No, it’s not. We had a great time at the lake today, and afterward, here tonight, before this . . . whatever this is.

A knot begins to form in the pit of my stomach, and I suddenly find it difficult to swallow. The wood creeks as I lean my back against the side of the house, bending at the waist with my hands on my knees. I can’t breathe.

Ugh! I can’t do this right now. Kyle still needs to be fed dinner, and I’ve got to get all of the kids cleaned up and ready for bed. My boys start their first day at a new school tomorrow, and I should be focused on that, not hiding on the side of the neighbors’ house on the verge of tears because of a man. I don’t have time for fights, I don’t have time for feelings, and I most certainly don’t have time for fucking strings. I told him that from the beginning.

Why is he doing this to me?

Retrieving my phone from my back pocket, I decide to send him a text to apologize and maybe smooth things over.

Me: I’m sorry I hit you.

I wait around for a minute to see if he’ll reply, allowing time for my face to cool down, and hopefully some of the redness to leave my cheeks, but Cooper doesn’t respond, and I guess I don’t really expect him to.

With a heavy sigh, I come around the corner of the house, and the parents immediately stop talking, giving me worried smiles. Kyle is already eating with both Momma and Mrs. Nelly, and Mr. Neal is staring down at his food like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.

“Dis gooood cawfish, Mom.” Kyle beams, breaking the awkward silence. He’s got juice leaking down his face and arms, and his white shirt is covered in orange stains.

I force myself to smile back at my baby while trying to ignore the way my heart feels like it’s been wrapped in thorns. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it, bud.” I can’t disguise the pain in my voice.

“Go on up there and talk to him, honey. Whatever it is, y’all can fix it,” Coop’s mom urges.

My smile feels exactly like the lie that it is. “I’m just gonna go home and get the boys’ things together for school tomorrow. Thanks for dinner, Mrs. Nelly.” I place a kiss on the top of Kyle’s head, which is probably the only spot not covered in crustacean guts, and even that’s iffy.

“But, you didn’t even eat yet.” She wipes her hands off on a napkin and starts to rise. “Here, let me make you a plate.”

I hold up my hands to stop her. “I’ve lost my appetite. I’m fine, really. Thank you, though.”

I can’t handle the broken look on her face as I turn tail and head back to the house.

I keep checking my phone for a response from Cooper. Maybe an apology of his own or even a fuck you. The silence is killing me. Of course there’s not one, because with the way my attention is honed in on this phone, I’d have heard it if there was.

I practically jump out of my skin as I’m setting the blow dryer down and the message alert finally sounds, but the wind is swiftly knocked out of my sails when I see that the message is from Gina and not Asshole.

Gina: You will never guess who I ran into at the club last night.

Me: You’re right. Who?

Gina: Kyle’s sperm donor.

Me: Did he talk to you?

My phone starts vibrating in my hand.

“Don’t be mad at me, okay?” Gina asks nervously.

Oh shit. “What did you do, Gina?”

“Well, I, uh . . . I may have accidently told him you had a boy.”

“How do you accidentally tell someone the gender of another person’s child? That’s not that big of a deal, but why were you talking to him about Kyle in the first place?”

“He just came up to me and asked if you were around and I told him no . . . So, he asked how you were doing, and I said great.”

“Okaaaay . . .”

“Well, then he says that he might like to see the baby sometime, and I told him to leave you and Kyle the fuck alone.”

Good girl.

“But then he starts getting all googly eyed,” she continues, “going on about how he has a son. And I went off and told him that he doesn’t have shit because he gave up that right.”

“Well, what did he say after that?” I ask as my chest tightens.

“Nothin’ really. He just walked off and that was it. But, I feel really bad for even talking to him.”

“I’m sure he was just drunk and feeling sentimental. Don’t worry about it, Gi.” But, I have this sick feeling in my gut that Alex is about to cause problems.

“You think?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, good . . . I can’t wait to see you next week!”

The thought of seeing my best friend brings a genuine smile to my face. “I can’t wait either, girl. You have no idea . . .”

Then I proceed to fill her in on all of the shit that’s been going on with me since I arrived here yesterday morning. Just two days. I can’t wait to see what the next weeks and months have in store for me.

The sound of the screen door slamming and the kids’ voices lures me down the stairs. Ignoring the curious looks from my mother, I send the twins up to take turns showering and scoop Kyle into my arms, returning to my bathroom to bathe and get him ready for bed.

I spend an extra long time rocking him tonight, continuing long after he’s fallen asleep. I run my finger over his face, studying his little features, which are mostly mine. His brown eyes and coloring are all he took from Alex. By the time that I lay him down, I’ve completely forgotten the fiasco from earlier this evening.

That is until I walk downstairs and find Momma waiting at the table with the Yahtzee game laid out and two margaritas complete with little umbrellas and limes. She greets me with a cheesy grin. Could she be any more obvious?

“Took him a long time to go down tonight,” Momma observes, starting out with a little small talk. “Must’ve been over-tired from his busy day.”

I decide against telling her about Gina’s call, forcing a smile instead. “Must’ve been.”

“I sent the boys to bed.”

“Thanks, Ma,” I say, pulling out the chair across from hers.

I must say she impresses me with her ability to wait a full ten minutes into our game before drilling me about Coop.

“So . . .” she drawls, leaning across the table. Here it comes. “You gonna tell me what happened earlier tonight?” she asks, clearly annoyed that I haven’t spilled voluntarily by now.

“Not if I don’t have to.”

“Well, you have to. What the heck happened? I thought things were going so well.”

My eyes well up, and Momma’s face falls. I know it’s more than just this mess with Coop that has me so emotional. It’s everything compounding, and I feel like I’m falling apart. This shit with Alex is just the icing on the cake, and I don’t even know for sure that there is any shit with Alex.

“We had a fight.”

Momma’s lips purse in annoyance. “Well, no shit, Sherlock. What about?”

I nervously click the pen in my hand repeatedly as I fill her in. “I heard him fussing at the boys and called him on it. He accused me of something that wasn’t true . . . mostly. And I got pissed and . . .” Oh God, I still can’t believe I slapped him.

“And . . . ?”

“I, uh . . . I sort of hit . . . him”

Momma stares at me, wide-eyed, before shaking herself from a stupor. “You. Hit. Him?” she says, annunciating each syllable. “Did I just hear that right? My old ears must not be working correctly because I could swear you just told me that my thirty-three-year-old daughter just hit someone because she was angry . . .” Her judgy eyes scour my face. “Did I hear that right, Spencer Rose?”

“I feel bad enough without you rubbing it in.”

She stands up from her seat, shoving the game back into the box with attitude. “Well, you should feel bad. Are you trying to push him away? Do you not want him back, Spencer? Because I’m hella confused right now.”

I can’t hold it in any longer as the stress of today pours out of my eyes like a raging river. “It doesn’t matter what I want, Momma,” I wail, rising from my seat. “The only thing that matters anymore is what’s best for my boys. Why can’t you understand that?”

“I do understand that, and I think you and Cooper together is it,” she insists, cupping my hands in hers.

“Momma . . . listen to me, please?”

She nods.

“Cooper does not want kids. He left his wife because she wanted to have children. That’s why they got divorced, and that’s how badly he doesn’t want them. I have three and their own fathers don’t want them. I’m not about to get involved romantically with another man who doesn’t want them. They’ve had more than enough disappointment in their short lives.”

Momma’s hands lift to my shoulders. She pulls me close, wrapping her arms around my neck, and I cry harder. “You’re sup-p-p-posed to be on m-my s-side, Mom.”

Her fingers comb through my hair. “I am, honey. I’m always on your side. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize . . .” She sighs. “I’m sorry, Spence.”

After our emotions settle a bit, Mom and I snuggle on the couch and watch TV before heading up for the night.

When I enter my room, my body seems to glide right over to the window where I stare across the yard at Cooper’s. His light is on, but the curtains are drawn tight. It’s only taken me two days to push him away, and it hurts far worse than it should. Because, no matter how many times I say that I don’t want the strings, the reality is that I’ve been tied to Cooper since I was just a little girl.

There is a nagging pain in my chest. My heart physically aches for that man. I’ve picked up my phone at least a dozen times to type out another message, one that maybe he would answer. But, what do I say? I’m sorry again? No other person has ever been able to hurt me the way that Cooper can, and he doesn’t even have to try. A simple unanswered text between “friends” has me tied up in knots.

When I finally collapse into bed, I crave him. It’s stupid. I’m pissed at both Cooper and myself, and I’m stressed as fuck, but all I want is for him to make love to me. For him to make it all better, because I know that it would. Sex heals everything . . . well, almost. I’m fairly certain that if I summonsed him he’d come, but I don’t want it like this. Not while he thinks that that’s all I want from him. Fabio doesn’t even tempt me. It’s finally happened. I’m broken.

I drift off to sleep both horny and frustrated.

At exactly one in the morning, a text comes in and I’m instantly wide awake as if I’d never even gone to sleep. My heart soars, beating rapidly, assuming that Coop has finally replied, and then it plummets just as quickly when a different name pops up on the screen.

Latin Lovah: Can you just send me a picture?

I can’t breathe. Can. Not. Breathe. My eyes begin to burn as I screenshot his message and shoot it over to Gina, not caring about the time. I’m freaking the fuck out.

Gina: Don’t answer. Are you okay, babe? Just ignore him. You don’t owe him shit.

Me: Okay. I’m scared.

Gina: I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.

My first thought is to message Cooper. He’s a lawyer. He could help me or at least tell me what to expect. But, I can’t do that because I basically told him to butt the fuck out earlier today.

With a few deep breaths, I attempt to calm my racing heart. I try to rationalize with myself. Nothing’s happened. He asked for a picture. Maybe he will just go back into the hole he’s been hiding in for the past three years. As if I could be that lucky.

Clicking back over to my messages with Cooper, I find that there’s still no reply. With a lump in my throat, I send him another.

Me: This hurts.

It’s the middle of the night, and I don’t expect a reply, but almost immediately my phone sounds.

Asshole: Is this a summons?

Me: No. I’m just sorry. I miss you already.

Asshole: I’m sorry. That sounds like strings. Hit me up if you need to take advantage of my position. I’m always up for a good fuck.

Ouch.

Shit, does that hurt. Cooper has never ever been downright cruel to me. Even when we broke up, he did it in the gentlest way he could. I shouldn’t have messaged him. I shouldn’t have come back here. If it was only me, I’d leave tomorrow. But, what would I say to my children? Psych! We’re going back home, kids. No. I have to stay, and hopefully he will get his own place soon and things will blow over.