Until Cobi (Until Her/Him #7)(11)
“Exactly how hard did you hit your head?”
“My head is fine.” I roll my eyes.
“Okay, so then tell me the truth about you and Cobi.”
“There is nothing to tell you.”
“Honey—” She sits forward in her chair, her voice dropping like she’s talking to a small child. “—a man does not sit guard over a woman he is not interested in, or make her breakfast.”
“He’s just being nice. He’s a cop.” I shrug. “It’s his job to look after people.”
“I’m sure.” She rolls her eyes. “Or you’re totally oblivious and not seeing the fact that he wants you in a bad way.”
“I’m not interested,” I lie. I totally am interested, but there is no way I’d go there—not with him. Him being a cop is just icing on the cake. If he knew my family’s history, he would… well, I don’t know what he would do. But there is no way I would subject him to my family or my past.
She shakes her head, her long hair bouncing across her shoulders. “I don’t think he cares if you are or if you aren’t interested. Really, I don’t think he’s the kind of man who understands the word no.”
“Can we stop talking about this? There is really nothing going on between him and me, and we need to work.”
“He wants you.”
“Brie,” I sigh.
She shakes her head again. “He’s Cobi Mayson, Hadley. Every girl in school crushed on him, and I saw him yesterday and this morning. I have no doubt that every woman who he crosses paths with crushes on him now. He’s gorgeous and you’re you. You’re beautiful, a little bit of a pain in the ass, but sweet. I’m sure he’s seeing all that is you and thinking he wants in there.”
“I think you’re overthinking this whole thing.” I grab my purse from the drawer in my desk and stand. “I have to go. I need to take a cab to pick up my car then I need to get to the Shelps’ for their home study.” I walk around my desk.
“Fine.” She gets up from her chair but stops me, wrapping her hand around my arm before I can make it to the door. “If he is interested, will you please give him a chance?”
Even though it’s never going to happen, I nod.
“You deserve good things in your life, Hadley.”
“I have good things in my life,” I respond instantly, and then continue quietly. “I have you and Kenyon, and a job I love doing. I’m happy, so please stop thinking I’m not.”
Her eyes search mine before going soft. “You could be happier.”
She might be right, but I learned at a very early age to never put my trust in a man, and to never expect a man to be the one to make me happy. I don’t want to be so cynical, but I gave up on the opposite sex a long time ago. I’m twenty-eight years old, and the only guy I have ever really trusted is Kenyon. It took me years to get to that point with him, because all the other men I know have been druggies, liars, and cheaters. My dad, the first man to ever be a fixture in my life, was all three of those things.
“I love you and totally understand that you want good things for me, but I really can’t talk about this right now. I need to go.”
“Tonight, dinner with me and Kenyon. We’ll talk about it then.”
“Brie—”
“Hadley, I’m worried about you,” she whispers, sliding her hand down my arm, taking my hand, and giving it a squeeze. “You just went through something traumatic, and like always, you’re pretending like nothing happened, like nothing has changed. As your best friend, I need to know you’re really okay. Please give me that.”
I swallow and bite my bottom lip before nodding. I know she worries about me; she always has. She just doesn’t understand that sometimes it’s easier to pretend like everything is perfect than to acknowledge how messed up things really are. I don’t like going into the past. I don’t want to relive everything I have been through, because at the end of the day it’s a waste of time to constantly look back. And I know firsthand that it takes more courage to keep moving forward.
“I’ll see you tonight,” she says, and I nod once more.
I hurry out of my office, out of the building, and call a cab. When I get my car, it’s just like Cobi said—dented up but still drivable. Thank God.
_______________
“You fucking bitch. You think you can fucking judge me? You think you can come in here and from a five-minute look around decide it’s the right thing to do to take my kids away from me?”
“Mr. Shelp, please calm down,” I urge softly, keeping my distance from the man who is standing a few feet away in the open door to his home. “If you clean things up, and—”
“Fuck you,” he cuts me off, pointing at me, my words doing nothing but pissing him off more. “You’re going to get what’s coming to you, bitch. Be prepared. You took something from me, so I’m going to take something from you.” He walks into his house, slamming the door. I close my eyes for a moment, pulling in a deep breath before getting into my car, which is parked on the street.
I sit, staring at the house, but not really seeing it at all, because tears fill my eyes, making it blurry. This is the part of my job I hate, the part I wish I didn’t have to do. I always knew from the time I was young that I wanted to be a social worker. I didn’t know exactly what the job entailed; I just knew I wanted to be a voice for the kids who were too young to speak up for themselves. Growing up the child of two people who were more concerned with getting drunk or high than me, I needed someone to step in for me, but no one ever did. No one ever cared that my parents spent all their money on drugs and booze. Not one person took a second to make sure I had food in my stomach or a safe place to rest my head at night.