Claiming Cooper Read online

  Table of Contents

  Claiming Cooper

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek of Adoring Ashton

  About the Author

  Other Works by A.F. Crowell

  Claiming Cooper

  Copyright © 2017 by A.F. Crowell

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Editing by:

  Virginia Tesi Carey & Chelsea Camaron

  Cover Design by:

  A.F. Crowell

  Interior Design & Formatting by:

  Christine Borgford, Type A Formatting

  This is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Claiming Cooper

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek of Adoring Ashton

  About the Author

  Other Works by A.F. Crowell

  To Lois, the AF wrangler.

  You are my best friend, sounding board, road trip buddy and partner-in-crime.

  True friendship is you still loving me even after I dumped an entire glass of wine on the bed we were sleeping in during our first book signing trip. Love you oodles!

  My husband, thank you for encouraging me to follow my dreams. Thank you for all of your love, support, hard work, and understanding. I hope one day to give you the kind of life you’ve given me. My two handsome sons, thank you for supporting and encouraging me. And for threatening to disconnect the modem when I get busted scrolling social media instead of writing. I love y’all more than words can say. 555

  My ride or die girls, you know who you are. Y’all have become an essential part of my writing process. I love you guys and all of your support. Thank you for all of the feedback (good and bad), screaming voice messages, and text messages. Thank you to my new editor, Virginia, for keeping me on point. I know it’s a difficult task, but you do it so well. MUAH!

  Jenn, Natalie and Rosa, thank you for keeping me organized and sane. I love y’all.

  Thank you to all the amazing readers out there who took a chance and read my books. I am beyond grateful and love all the messages and emails. I hope you love this book, too.

  Last, but certainly not least, Chelsea Camaron, there aren’t enough words of gratitude or thanks to ever convey how much I appreciate your friendship, guidance, support, mentoring, and love. Thank you for believing in me and pushing me to be better. Your encouragement has changed my life. I hope I can make you proud. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  GOING BACK TO THAT TOWN felt like I had completely failed at life. With each mile my BMW inched closer to my parents’ house, the tighter the fear gripped my chest. I had made the right decision when I left Charlotte in the middle of the night. When I woke my parents at almost one in the morning and sobbingly replayed the night’s events, they made the decision easy. They wanted me home as much as I wanted to be out of there. I went back into that room, covered the emergent bruises as best I could, then packed as much as I was able to carry into a few bags and fled.

  My skin recoiled when I thought about it for too long. The sound of glass shattering echoed in my memory. No, too much had happened to be able to stay there. I tried to shake off the dread that had buried itself deep in the center of my chest. Instead, I focused on the humid late spring air blowing through my hair in the hope of settling my nerves.

  It had all been too much and not enough time for my mind to process what happened.

  Last night my roommates decided to throw an impromptu graduation party, even though graduation wasn’t until the end of next week. Every Thursday they found some ridiculous excuse to party. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t a stick in the mud; I loved a good time and could hang with the best of them, but not like these girls. They partied for all the wrong reasons and they always felt the need to invite the frat boys. Like a pack of wild hyenas looking to pick off the weakest in the herd, they always waited for the first poor, unsuspecting freshman to drink too much. I wasn’t the weakest in the herd and last night was no exception.

  Stephanie, Nicole, and Jillian were good girls that wanted the attention of the rich, frat-brats, as I called them. I allowed myself to be closer to Nicole than any of the others, but she was still just an acquaintance. You can’t get hurt if you don’t put yourself out there. Sure, I had real friends back at home and I had made one true friend at college, but trust didn’t come easily after my best friend’s betrayal. With the exception of a short list, I only kept acquaintances. It was easier that way. However, Anna, my now best friend, wasn’t having any part of it. She basically claimed me like an orphaned kitten. I was resistant in the beginning, but she dragged me around everywhere. I couldn’t help but love her.

  Steph, Nicole and Jillian were there to get degrees in business, but in reality, were looking for what they saw as an easy life being a trophy wife. Where better to look than the boys whose parents had their names on the buildings at the University of North Carolina in Charlotte and were already accepted to a law or med school. Cushy.

  My fuel gauge dinged, indicating I needed to find a gas station. My tank wasn’t the only thing empty. I released the steering wheel, rubbing my stomach as it growled its discord but in doing so I aggravated my aching ribs. Once the next exit came into sight, I glanced at my mirrors, tapped the blinker and changed lanes. I pulled off Interstate Eighty-five just past the North Carolina-Virginia border in South Hills.

  Rays of sunlight peeked through on the horizon as my BMW coasted off the exit, slowing to a halt at the nearest gas station. It might have been smaller than most, but
it looked clean. Making the drive back and forth between my hometown and Charlotte, I had come to appreciate a clean restroom.

  The exceptionally warm May weather happened to be perfect for a drive up to Maryland with the top down on my silver, two-door convertible. Shifting into park and releasing the seat belt, I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror before getting out. My makeup still camouflaged the bruises and scrapes. I reached over to the passenger seat, careful of my ribs and grasped the top of my purse, slipping it up my forearm. My fingers lingered on the door handle as I stopped to look around. I took notice of my surroundings before I opened the door and climbed out, groaning a little as my muscles had stiffened during the drive. I had been careless with my safety once; it was not an experience I ever wanted to repeat.

  The white, fluorescent lights above buzzed as I walked around the back of the car, the broken concrete crunching under my flip-flops. It was relatively warm for six in the morning, so when I hit the road, I left the top down. I had to turn the heated seats on, but I needed the feel of the wind on my face to help settle my frazzled nerves. My entire life had been upended and scattered on the floor in shards of broken glass. I wasn’t sure I would ever be the same after last night.

  Once I started to fill the tank, I slowly leaned back on the side of the car and got lost in my own head. I kept seeing him. Not moving. The events replayed like an old movie reel. My skin tingled and the hairs on my arms stood on end. I reached up and ran the tips of my fingers across the skillfully covered bruise. I pushed away the threatening tears and told myself to lock it down. I did not have time to fall apart. I was strong, I could get through this. I would get through this.

  The pump’s auto-shutoff banged, startling me, and yanked me from my thoughts. I returned the pump handle to the cradle, glanced around, then put the gas cap back on. I was exhausted and hungry. I pressed the button for a receipt then headed inside to find some snacks to hold me over. There wasn’t anything decent to eat that early in the morning on the desolate exit.

  Ten minutes later, I pulled back onto the interstate and continued my journey home with a cold soda, a Krispy Kreme donut, and a bag of trail mix.

  Sure, it had always been my dream to have my parents watch me walk across the stage at a big fancy college graduation, but dreams change. Sometimes life was more important.

  In that instance, it was.

  * * *

  Almost nine hours after leaving Charlotte, I pulled off the exit, my nerves almost shot. My normal eight-hour journey had an hour added to it when I hit Washington, D.C. at rush hour traffic. North East was a relatively small town situated at the top of the Chesapeake Bay. Less than four thousand folks made up the population, mostly farmers or fisherman. The one lane Main Street ran through the middle of town, only backing up for a parade, a fishing tournament, or boating season.

  My parents lived on the outskirts in a two-story contemporary home. Their house was the perfect getaway, hidden from neighbors by four wooded acres. Edged with wrought iron fencing, my father spared no expense when my mother dreamed of a home she could live in forever.

  Driving through town just before noon, I passed the ice cream shop that we used to go to every Friday night after the high school football games and then passed the first bar I drank in. All of the good times flooded my memories and made me smile. I hadn’t realized how much I missed that little sleepy town.

  Another five miles, I turned onto the long winding road my parents lived down. Cruising down the oak-tree-lined road, I found a reprieve from the scorching sun that had beat down on me as I crawled through town at twenty-five. As I came around the bend, right before my parents’ driveway, I passed by the O’Loughlin farm. Toward the back hayfield, near the woodline, I could see a horse cantering.

  My heart fluttered at the thought. I grew up riding on that farm. Nothing made me feel more at peace than the feel of leather in my hands and being in the saddle. The O’Loughlin brothers, Storm, Cooper, and Ashton, also grew up there. Ashton and I were the same age and before I left for college, he was my closest friend. Storm was the big brother I always wanted, constantly teasing me but fiercely protective at seven years older than me. Strong and ruggedly handsome, Storm was the smallest of the three and yet somehow the biggest pain in my butt.

  Then there was the middle brother, Cooper.

  The first boy I had a crush on; the first boy’s name I doodled in a notebook. He was my every fantasy in high school, but he never noticed me. As a senior, to my freshman year, and captain of both the football and baseball teams, he had all the girls in school fawning over him. My heart still fluttered at the thought of him. He could have had anyone he wanted, but he chose her.

  The biggest bitch in school.

  The fakest person in this town.

  And the sluttiest girl in the county.

  Maggie Smith.

  Releasing my angry death grip on the wheel, I pressed down on the center, honking as I drove past. If Ashton was out there, he’d be in my driveway within the hour.

  Sure, I knew he had a crush on me, but he happened to be my best friend. While I had given thought to being with him once upon a time, I knew in my heart it would never work. He was just Ashton and would always be my rock, but not someone I could be with, in the way he wanted. Don’t get me wrong, he was handsome with his toned arms, slightly crooked smile, and adorable dimples, but he was Ash. We grew up playing in the same mud puddles and falling off the same horses. We were like twins, only a few weeks apart in age.

  Flicking the turn signal up, I turned the car into the driveway. The gates were open, as they normally were during the day if someone were home. Home. Behind the safety of the gates, all my fraying nerves, I had tried to keep under control, relaxed a little more.

  Once through the barrier of dense foliage, the house came into view. Stacked fieldstone clung to the exterior and was offset by pewter concrete and natural timber wrapping the garage. Set behind the house was a matching two-car detached garage with a large loft above. With the clean lines of the painted steel beams and transparent walls of floor to ceiling glass, my parents’ home should have been in a magazine or on display, not hidden away.

  Pulling up in front of one of three garage bays, I put the car in park and pushed the off button, killing the engine. Reaching up, I flipped the visor down and took a second to check myself once more. My make-up remained in place, despite the long hot drive. My hair was another story. Even in a ponytail, high upon my head, it looked like a rat’s nest. As long as the bruises didn’t shine through, I was good.

  I didn’t need to see remnants from last night’s . . . incident, the memories were enough. My mind fought to push away the trauma, but my sore muscles and bruised skin kept it in the forefront. The emotional assault might have been as bad as the physical. The angry, sadistic eyes that bore into me as he stalked toward me across the room were all I could see when I closed my eyes.

  My disturbing recollection was disrupted by the lush greenery swaying in the gentle breeze. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply. The hint of honeysuckles calmed my thoughts as I listened to the sound of dry, crunchy leaves rustled along the ground in the nearby woods. I forced myself to think about all the things I did right. I would not be his victim, nor anyone else’s. I fought, I kept reminding myself.

  My fingers found the handle and pulled while my barefoot simultaneously pushed the door open. Sliding out from behind the steering wheel, my feet hit the paved drive and I stood. Immediately I danced, squealing.

  “Shit! That’s hot!” Bouncing from the ball of one foot to the other, I quickly snatched the flip-flops from the floorboard where I had kicked them off a hundred or so miles ago. I hadn’t expected the ground to be so blistering.

  Dropping them to the pavement, I slid my slightly scorched feet into my flip-flops, sighing in relief. Stretching my arms above my head, twisting my torso, I bent in half and stretched my stiff muscles. Kneeling on my right knee on the driver’s seat, I reached across to the
passenger side floor and picked up my purse. Digging in the bottom, I found my phone and powered it on. I’d turned it off when I stopped in South Hills. The incessant chirping of alerts and notifications were enough to drive me insane.

  “Oh, baby girl, I thought you’d never get here,” my mom’s voice echoed, startling me.

  “Geez, Mom!” I huffed as my cell flew out my hand and landed on the leather seat. My head spun to face my mom as my hand flew to my chest, my heart racing beneath my fingers. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

  “Oh, stop. You’re not gonna have a heart attack. Now, stand up and give me a hug. I’ve missed my favorite daughter,” Mom said, waving her hands as she waltzed up to the driver’s door while I picked the phone back up.

  “Har-har, Mom. I’m your only daughter,” I replied, stepping back out of the car and into her open arms. “Easy . . . my ribs.” Feeling her warmth close in around me, I felt safe and the flood gates opened. My mom, only slightly taller than me at five and a half feet, had the same dark blonde hair, only she wore hers shorter. For as long as I could remember, it had always dusted her shoulders. Other than her pale, fair skin, I was the spitting image of my mother. I was blessed to have my father’s Cherokee complexion.

  “Don’t you think you should go to the ER to get checked out?”

  “No. I’m just sore. I took some ibuprofen before I left,” I told her, sniffling back tears. “I don’t think it’s as bad as I thought earlier when we talked. The pain’s eased up, but I definitely need more ibuprofen.”

  “I got you, honey. You’re okay now,” my mom whispered into my hair as I held onto her and cried. “Everything’s gonna be okay. I promise. Daddy will make sure of it.” Mom rubbed her soothing hand over my back, letting me get it all out.

  “What if,” I started to say, pulling away from her. I had all these fears that I had yet to even acknowledge. He could have died. I was terrified he’d get better and come after me for exposing what kind of man he was. Or worse, he would die as result of what happened in that room.