Page 35 of We Drank the Dawn

He grunted in agreement.

I didn’t know much about Cooper outside of the vague stories Bea had shared with the family. Quickly, I took in his features. He looked good—his face had a healthy golden glow and his arms were tanned and trim. He didn’t wear a cowboy hat like Tag, but a ball cap, the bill turned backward over a low messy bun knotted against his neck. Wisps of ash brown curls had escaped around his temples and a five o’clock shadow obscured the details of his cheeks and chin. He had haunting grey eyes and black spandex sleeve over his left arm.

Honestly, now that I thought about it, he looked a lot like Wren. Strikingly so.

I wasn’t sure how the gene pool worked so that a baby girl could look like her uncle, but they couldn’t deny each other.

“So, how long have you been sober?”

His jaw feathered as he chewed on his words. “Not as long as you might think.”

“That’s tough. I’m sorry.” Then I blurted my next words without thinking. “My father is an alcoholic. So, I get the struggle.”

“Really?” His gaze turned toward my face.

“Yeah, he has been my entire life. I’m surprised the habit hasn’t killed him yet.”

“What was that like? Growing up with him?”

I sucked a breath through my teeth. “Tough. Everything pissed him off—the slightest inconvenience sent him into a rage. And he directed a lot of those feelings at my mom. She shielded me from it as much as she could, but she also tried to protect herself. Her strategy was to micromanage everything…I couldn’t even breathe too loud when I was in the house.” It crossed my mind that I was oversharing, but Cooper didn’t seem uncomfortable. “She has dedicated her life to keeping a bitter man happy, which is a mission doomed to fail.”

He gave a thoughtful hum. “Do you talk to them much now?”

I lifted a shoulder. “I try to, but it’s hard for me to see her. She’s so wrapped up in him that she doesn’t take care of herself. But Peter and I have been together since we were fifteen, and good friends longer than that, so the Thompsons feel like my real family.”

“At least you’ve got them.”

“They’re great. What about you? Do you and Tag talk to your people?”

He hesitated. “Not really. Tag doesn’t know his dad. Mine isn’t worth knowing, to be honest. He’s been a drunk my whole life, too. And my mom’s an addict. I try to check in every once in a while since she’s all by herself, but…she’s not easy to have a relationship with.”

“I’m sorry, Cooper.”

“It is what it is. Sounds like you know.”

“Not really. I had one sober parent, and that makes a huge difference.”

“Yeah, but addiction can take a thousand different shades, can’t it?”

Furrowing my brow, I asked, “What do you mean?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Maybe she was addicted. To him.”

I puffed a breath, amazed he picked up on that. “Yeah, you’re right. I guess she was.” I’d wondered so many times why my mom didn’t leave my dad. We could’ve been happy together. Dad drained every speck of joy and life from my mother but she still stayed, still fought for him. She became a puppet for his pleasure, sacrificing everything.

Even me.

I shifted in my seat, noting the dull ache in my tail bone. Turning the conversation back to something positive, I forced a smile. “You’ve got everyone at Meadowbrook. It always feels like a family here.”

“Yep.” He sounded unconvinced.

“And you look like Wren.”

At that, Cooper’s face lit with a genuine smile. “It’s weird, isn’t it?”

“You must look like your mom.”

He nodded. “Taggart genes are strong, I suppose.”