Saving Bliss Read online

  Failure is not accepted.

  If you fail, you may as well disappear.

  The thing is that I want to disappear. I want to disappear to a place where no one knows my name, to a place where I can be happy, where I can be me. Does a place like that even exist for someone like me? I'm going to guess probably not. If it did, I would have tried to get there already. If by chance that place does exist, I need to find a way to get there soon. Before expectations are made. Before I'm forced to take my rightful place next to my father. Before I'm forced to be his predecessor.

  I may be the one person who doesn't want to be known, at least not by my last name. In this town, though, it's almost impossible to blend in. If you are a Cooper, you are held in high regard. It's not out of respect, but fear. People fear my last name because they fear my father. Our family has been in control of this town for so long, too long, in my opinion, people don't know any other way.

  Now it's supposed to be my turn. I graduate in a year, and I'm expected to come home and work side by side with my father for two years before heading to law school, eventually taking over his mayoral seat. Yes, I'll have to be elected to the position, but remember, failure is not an option if you are a Cooper, and thus far, a Cooper has never lost an election. Yippie!

  That's my life. It's been mapped out for me since I was a little girl. Actually, since before I was born. My parents were expecting me to be a boy based off a comment one nurse made about how I kicked. They didn’t have a name for me when I was born. I was going to be Carl, had I been a boy. father, not wanting to risk having to choose between his children, had the doctor give him a little snip before I was born. He was happy. He was going to have a son, a legacy. Then—Surprise! It's a girl!

  From what I've heard, the doctor left town the day after I was born and has never been back. I imagine my father drove him out. Either that or he feared that his fate would be worse if he stayed. Knowing Daddy, I would guess he left the good doctor with no other option. Daddy always gets his way.

  Freedom Falls has always been his home. The Cooper family was one of the original families to settle here, and we've been here ever since. Daddy was born and raised here. I was born and raised here. My mother, originally a Roberts, was born and raised here.

  The Cooper family has also always held the position of mayor, originally self-appointed and now citizen elected. In fact, since no one besides a Cooper has even held the position. My father has even run unopposed for the last two elections. Lucky him. When they tried to limit the number of terms that an individual could hold the mayoral seat…well, I'm not sure what happened, but there is still no limit to the number of terms a mayor can be elected. Like I said, Daddy always gets his way.

  I've tried to convince my father that I don't need to follow in his footsteps, to show him that I'm good at other things. He doesn't care. I'm his legacy, and it's my duty as his daughter. If there was one person in this world I could wish dead, it would be him. Then, I wouldn't have to worry about any of this.

  When he told me about Owen this morning, I was shocked. He's never hired me a bodyguard before. Did I drive him to this? It's not like I cause trouble or go looking for it. It finds me from time to time, but that's normal. I think it's safe to say I'm a good person. I have values, and I know my limits. Do I engage in activities that might not be up to my father's standards? Of course, I do, occasionally, but a bodyguard? Really?

  There has to be something bigger going on. It's the only reason I can think he would do this. Not only that, but apparently, he’s living with me, too. Really? Does Daddy need to know my every move? Is he that concerned that I'll run away from my family obligation? Okay, even I can't blame him for having that thought. I would run away if I thought no one would ever be able to find me.

  The kid behind me coughs again, and I can't help but wonder if I'm going to wake up sick in the morning. That's the last thing I need. Daddy made me wait until the very last minute to come back this year, and school starts bright and early tomorrow.

  I close my eyes and try to imagine what my new roommate will look like. I can't help but hope he's not hideous. If I have to share a living space with someone, be around them the majority of my day, I would at least appreciate something nice to look at. I bet Daddy found the ugliest person he could just to make sure I wasn't distracted. I wonder if he even took credentials into consideration before hiring him.

  The captain announces our descent into JFK International Airport, so I close my eyes and brace for impact. I hate flying. That's not entirely true. I don't mind the flight. It's the take-off and landing that get to me. The pressure during take-off, how it pushes you back into your seat, scares the crap out of me. Once I get over that, the flight is fine until we get close to landing. Somehow, it always feels like we are going to crash. I know we aren't, or at least, I suspect we aren't going to, but it always feels that way.

  Gripping the armrest, I squeeze my eyes closed. The plane’s wheels touch down on the tarmac, and my body flies forward slightly as the brakes are engaged. Once I feel the airplane take a turn toward the terminal, I open my eyes, a small smile slowly spreading across my face. I'm back in New York. I'm away from my father until the holidays. Even though I have an unwelcome addition to my living space, at least I don't have my father hovering over me every minute like he did this summer. Well, not directly hovering, anyway.

  Departing the plane as quickly as possible, I make my way to the baggage claim area. I look around at all the families that are welcoming each other home. You can see the sincerity in each embrace as tears are shed. It makes we want that someday, someone to come home to that loves me for who I am and not who I'm expected to be. That's probably too much to ask for these days. I'll happily take the middle ground between that fantasy and the current reality I'm living in because, right now, I'm standing in the middle of the baggage claim, looking for a little sign with my name on it.

  Found it.

  Daaaaamn!

  Even from fifteen feet away, I can tell that this guy is sexy as hell. He's looking toward the ground, so I take advantage of the situation and check him out. As I slowly approach, he doesn't make a move to look up, so I walk right past him. His backside is just as delicious as the front. He's all muscle, head to toe. His hair is cut short, almost to the scalp. If you look close enough you can see that it's black or dark brown. He's tall, even slouched forward like he is right now, at least a foot taller than my tiny five-foot-three frame.

  I circle back around and stop in front of him, waiting for him to notice me. He doesn't. I move closer, only inches from him, and see the moment he realizes I'm in front of him. When he looks up and our eyes meet, his baby blues tell me exactly what he thinks of me and what he's thinking about at that moment. I'm thinking the exact same thing, but I can't let on to that. We're in public, after all. Daddy would tan my hide if someone caught me making out in the airport.

  I do the only thing I can think of to distract myself from my body's reaction to him. I put on my best "bitch" front. Everyone seems to think that I'm a spoiled little princess, so that's how I'm going to act, at least until I can get away from him for a minute and attempt to compose myself.

  Pursing my lips, I watch as he takes them in. His eyes find my breasts and then make their way to the floor. I’m liking the effect I have on him. What girl doesn't want a guy to notice her? Especially a guy as hot as this one.

  I'm going to have to try and distract myself. I tap my foot to get his attention again, doing my best impression of my mother as we awkwardly move from introductions to the baggage carousel. Escaping his proximity, I find a seat. I have to text Avery this very minute and tell her about Owen. She's going to be jealous. I told her about how Daddy had hired me a bodyguard before the plane took off. She found it hilarious. I still don't.

  It's not looking like a punishment at the moment, though, as I stare at Owen's backside. Living with him is going to be interesting. I’ll have to practice self-restraint if he decides to walk
around without his shirt on. Or maybe I won’t. Maybe if I flirt with him, get him to like me, I’ll still be able to have a little freedom this year. I need to get him to trust me first. After that, there’s no telling what might happen.

  Five bags, twelve text message, and two pictures of his cute butt later, Owen is attempting to fit all of my luggage in his Jeep. I'm standing on the curb watching him struggle, wanting to give in and offer to help him, but I know better. No man wants to be shown up by a woman, and my willpower has weakened since leaving the safety of the terminal, even more so after I got a whiff of whatever aftershave Owen uses.

  2

  Owen

  The ride to our apartment is anything but normal. There's an awkward tension in the car. The silence is compounding it mile by mile. I want to speak up, slice it with a knife, but I have no idea what to say to this girl. We're not friends. I don't know her, but I want to. The problem is, I want to know her in ways I'm not supposed to want to.

  She practically jumps out of my Jeep the moment I put it in park, making a B-line for the elevator bank. The elevator dings, announcing its arrival, the sound echoing through the parking garage just as I'm pulling her first bag out. I've got four more before I can even think about heading up to the apartment. I'm not sure how I'm going to manage five bags by myself, but it doesn't seem to be an option. I contemplate asking Bliss for help, but when I look over my shoulder, the elevator doors are closed, and she's gone. Looks like it's up to me. When did I become her chauffeur?

  Two trips and thirty minutes later, I close the door to the apartment behind me. Bliss is in the kitchen, making coffee and furiously texting on her phone. She doesn't even notice that I've come into the room until I clear my throat. Startled, she drops her phone on the counter as she whips around, pursing those beautiful, soft lips at me.

  "Can I help you?" Her attitude astounds me. You would think she would be grateful to have me here, protecting her from whatever danger her father thinks she might be in, but she's anything but.

  "You could have helped me twenty minutes ago when I was attempting to carry all of your bags up here. Now, you can move out of my way so I can get some coffee if you don't mind."

  I can give attitude if this is the game we are going to play. If she wants to be a bitch, then I will treat her as such. I'm not going to play these games forever, though. We are going to have to find a way to get along or life is going to be miserable for both of us until my assignment ends.

  Bliss rolls her eyes, picks her phone up off the counter, and brushes past me. The sensations that course through my body as her shoulder grazes my arm cause me to inhale sharply and audibly. Bliss pauses behind me for a moment before continuing on. As soon as I hear her bedroom door close, I exhale and close my eyes, attempting to slow my erratic heartbeat. The simple touch, the brush of her soft skin against mine, caused my body to have more of a reaction than I was prepared for.

  Pouring myself a cup of coffee, I proceed to chug it down, scalding my mouth and throat in the process. I need to feel something, anything, other than what I am feeling for Bliss. I need to get my body under control. I should be thinking of her as a client, treating her like a client, and not thinking of her as a conquest I would like to take to bed with me. The problem with that logic is that nothing about her screams client.

  In need of a cold shower, I retreat to my bedroom, slowing my pace as I pass Bliss' room, listening intently for any sound. Nothing. I don't hear her moving around. I don't hear her unpacking. I hear nothing. I know she's not asleep; it's too early. I know she didn't leave; I would have heard the front door.

  I lock my door behind me and head directly into my bathroom. Stripping down and turning the water on, I jump in before it has a chance to warm up. I hiss under my breath the second the water hits my skin and cools the burning sensation. It's cold, but I can take it. I've been in worse situations. A little cold water isn't going to break me. I stick my head under the water just as I feel it start to warm and close my eyes, trying to push away the memories that want to break the surface.

  "Will the defendant please rise."

  I stand, knowing the judge is going to throw the book at me. Why didn't I take the plea bargain they offered me? It would have been the best outcome. My lawyer even tried to talk me into it, and I'm not paying him, the state is.

  Looking over my shoulder to where Jay sits alone, I can see he's trembling in anger from here. I want to tell him that no matter what, everything is going to be okay. That I will be fine. I will take whatever sentence the judge hands down and serve my time. If there is one thing I was taught us as a child, it was to always own our mistakes. I want to be strong for Chelsea. I need to be.

  "Is there anything you would like to say before I continue?"

  I face forward and look directly into the judge's eyes. I should say something. I should apologize, beg for forgiveness, something, but I don't. I shake my head and straighten my back. I'm not sorry, and I won't lie as a feeble attempt to get the judge to pity me. Besides, he's already decided my fate.

  "Alright, then. Owen Hudson, you have been tried on one count of involuntary manslaughter. During this trial, I heard from everyone but you. You in no way defended your actions, but there were a number of people who spoke up on your behalf. After carefully weighing the facts obtained during your trail, I have reached a verdict."

  He pauses. I'm not sure if it's for dramatic effect or if he's just not sure what to say next. Either way, I'm trying my best not to squirm. I want this to be over. I want him to read his little piece of paper so I can get out of this room. I know they are going to take me to a much smaller room, probably one that already has an occupant named Snake or something.

  The judge removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. He looks lost. Finally, he speaks.

  "Son, I understand what happened. I even understand why you never got up on this stand and attempted to defend yourself. I was you a long time ago. I made mistakes, and I always felt it would make me a better man if I paid for those mistakes. I was wrong, and so are you, and I can't in good conscience convict and sentence you for something that I honestly feel you had little to no control over even if it could have been prevented or handled differently."

  What did he say? What's going on right now?

  I watch as the judge lifts his gavel, swiftly pounding it on the wood block. His lips are moving, but I can't hear what he's saying.

  "Owen!"

  My eyes pop open when I hear Bliss pound on my bedroom door. The water is cold and beating down my back. I turn it off and grab my towel, wrapping it around my waist. I shake my head forcefully to try and erase the memories, but it's no use. They'll come back to haunt me again, probably soon. Bliss pounds on the door again just as I reach it. Her fist stops midair as I forcefully pull the door open.

  "Sorry. I was in the shower. What's up?" Out of breath, I do my best to sound normal, like I wasn't just reliving a nightmare, but my heart is still pounding in my chest, and it feels like it's going to break through my sternum any minute.

  "Uh, yeah. You've been in there for a long time."

  She averts her eyes to the wall behind my head. If there was something interesting behind me, I probably wouldn't have noticed her aversion, but my room is vacant for the most part. I take notice of Bliss in this moment. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly. She's twisting and wringing her hands together. The fact that she's not making eye contact is the icing on the cake.

  "So once you're dressed, I was wondering if you could possibly, if you're not busy, you know, help me, maybe move some stuff into my room, if you're not busy or anything. No rush, whenever you have a moment, later, you know."

  I see the slightest hint of pink in her cheeks before she turns and disappears into her room down the hall. I can't help but smile at the fact I make her nervous. It shouldn't make me happy. I really need to get my dirty mind under control because, right now, I'm thinking of about ten different ways that I could really make her
sweat.

  My manhood comes alive just thinking about it. That's when I realize what was causing Bliss to blush. Why she wouldn't make eye contact with me. Why she was stuttering and rushed off so fast. I wrapped a towel around me when I got out of the shower, but apparently, I lost it somewhere between here and there. Now, I'm standing in the doorway, naked as the day I was born.

  Closing my door, I pick up my forgotten towel and flop backward on my bed. I know I need to get dressed and go apologize to Bliss. I've only known her for a few hours, and I've already embarrassed her. I, on the other hand, have nothing to be embarrassed about. I am perfectly comfortable in my skin, not that I plan on walking around the apartment in the buff anytime soon.

  When I finally emerge, I find Bliss struggling to move a bag into her room. She catches sight of me and instantly blushes. It's cute, actually. It reminds me that she's a real person, and under normal circumstances, I would probably be begging her to go out with me. Unfortunately for me, these are not normal circumstances. In fact, there is nothing normal about the situation we are in.

  "Want some help?" I ask as I take the handle out of her hand and lift the suitcase with ease, walking into her room.

  "And if I had said no?" I don't have to turn around to know that her lips are pursed at me. She seems to do that a lot. I wonder if she even realizes it.

  Turning around, my suspicions are confirmed. Lips pursed. Hand on hip. Hip popped out. Head tilted to the side. Evil stare in my direction. She's still avoiding eye contact, however. It's the exact same look I got at the airport, and I think I like her just a little bit more in this moment.

  "I would have helped anyway. I'm a gentleman. It wouldn't be right to stand back and watch you struggle."

  "Sure you are. Do all gentlemen answer their doors naked or are you one of a kind?"

  Her eyes flick to mine as she emphasizes her final few words. The chocolate-brown beauties stare me down, challenging me to defend myself. I want to give in and say something sarcastic, but I don't. Instead, I give her a little grin and lift my eyebrow, challenging her right back. She remains silent.