The Devil Inside

21: A Measure of Progress

Cooper had just stepped out of the shower when he heard a knock on the door.

His first thought was that his mom had forgotten something or other on her way out. But she'd left over twenty minutes ago; she wouldn't have backtracked that far. Not when she'd been in such a hurry to go...well, wherever it was she was going. She hadn't mentioned any specifics, but he'd caught her checking her lipstick in the mirror by the door twice before she left.

Had "drinks with the girls" been code for "date"? Maybe he was better off not knowing.

Sighing, Cooper wrapped a towel around his waist and went to investigate the noise. "Calla, if you came all the way over here to bother me with some bullshit—"

But when he opened the door, it wasn't his neighbor staring back at him.

Vincent grunted. "Not who you were expecting?"

"No," Cooper said honestly.

Vincent made no move to come inside. Which was a problem, considering how cold it had gotten. Cooper shuddered as an icy breeze rolled over his exposed skin.

He was sick of this weather. He was sick of this town. Maybe he'd change his name and move to California and start a new life. He could...surf. Or something that required a lot less coordination.

Vincent scratched the back of his head. "Mind if I, uh...?"

He wants to come in. "Oh." Cooper immediately stepped aside. "Yeah. Sure. Of course."

Great. Now he was babbling. Cooper messed with his hair while Vincent made himself comfortable on the couch—though maybe comfortable wasn't the right word for it. He perched on the edge of the armrest as if the furniture might come to life at any moment and swallow him whole.

"You going to the party tonight?" Cooper asked, trying to find something, anything to say.

"The party? Oh." Vincent frowned. "Uh, no. I'm not."

"Oh." Cooper fussed with the edge of his towel. "Right. Um. Be right back."

He retreated to his bedroom and sat on the end of his bed, his head in his hands. Vincent had always been the one person he could talk to. They were basically brothers—if not by blood, then by bond. So why the hell was having a simple conversation so hard?

Stop hiding. Face him.

Easier said than done. Cooper changed into the jeans and button-down he'd laid out earlier this morning, per Calla's instructions. She'd also told him to wear a fair bit of cologne—a bizarre request, even by her standards. But he wasn't about to question her motives. Not yet.

There would be time for that later. For now, he planned on making this time with Vincent count.

When Cooper reemerged from his bedroom, he found Vincent lying on the couch, his feet dangling over the armrest. He looks exhausted, Cooper thought, his spirits sinking low at the realization.

At least there were no fresh bruises. None that he could see, anyway.

Vincent sat up quickly once he realized he wasn't alone. He cleared his throat. "You heading out?"

Cooper sat in the chair adjacent. "In a little bit."

"Oh." Vincent's expression fell somewhat. "I can leave."

"No," Cooper blurted. "I mean...stay. Or you can come with me," he offered quickly, before he could think better of it. He inwardly cursed. "The party doesn't start 'til nine."