I'm only here for work and don't have the time. I really appreciate you thinking of me. But I'm seeing someone, and he wouldn't like it if I hung around a suave, hot older guy.
It was a cringeworthy thing to text, but he couldn't think of another way to say what he needed to say.
This was awful. He should never have flirted with Swindon that night at the party.Was I flirting?I guess so.It had felt at the time like joking around.
Swindon didn't reply.
Maybe I shouldn't have said 'older.'But obviously he was older. There was no hiding that fact. Right?What should I have said instead?
After a bit, Cooper quietly left his hotel room and went out to buy someliquor. He didn't know why, but it still surprised him to get carded. He knew he was youthful-looking, but he still thought,Really?
It was nice that no one recognized him or wanted anything from him on the short trip, though. He made it back to his room alone and checked his messages again. Nothing. Maybe Swindon was stewing, angry.
I really need to call Jimmy. His boyfriend had clearlybeen worried about him all day, and he actually had the time now. If he could pull himself together enough to talk. He had the feeling that if he called now, he'd start crying and not be able to stop.
Maybe a drink would help.
And maybe it would be the worst thing he could possibly do.
Sometime later, Coop eyed the bottle of whiskey unsteadily. He knew he shouldn't have had any.
He hadnever wanted to turn out like his father. Even if he was a funny drunk, or a tearful one, instead of violent, he didn't want to be like that man. Or like Lincoln. What a slap in the face that interview had been, worse than the cruel words beforehand. They'd stung. This impacted his fucking career.
And got us both called on the carpet, even though I was trying my best. What am I, his fuckingwhipping boy?
He took another angry drink. If management thought blaming them both equally was going to fix the problem, if that was their tactful way of handling the situation, maybe he really should quit and run away with his boyfriend.
At least Jimmy still likes me.
Of course he wouldn't actually quit. The studio could sue him if he even tried. They owned his ass. Even more than that,he wouldn't leave his character or this chance while he had it. It was a wonderful job, most of the time. When he didn't have to be around Lincoln.
Fuck that guy. I hate him. Why waste another thought on him? I have a hot boyfriend, and he doesn't.
A text pinged on his alerts, and he jumped and swore, wound so tightly that he was startled out of proportion. Still. Even after drinking.
The text from Rorke read:Sorry to hear that.Best of luck with work.
And that was all. A few words of bland acceptance, none of the fury Cooper had been afraid of. No recriminations, nothing negative at all.Is he hiding it?Am I just an asshole for thinking he'd be like that when he isn't?
He wished he could get his head on straight. He was a shaky mess today, and everything seemedto be making it worse.
Jimmy. I really need to talk to Jimmy.
Shakily, he handled his phone, and on the second try, managed to call Jimmy. Finally.
Jimmy answered on the second ring. "Hello? Coop? You okay?"
Damn, he sounded so worried. Tears filled Coop's eyes. He was a horrible boyfriend, making Jimmy worry. "Yeah," he croaked, wiping at his eyes. "Sorry. I—I got some free timejust..." He looked at the blurry time on his phone. "An hour ago? I wanted to decompress before I called you."
"You don't sound like you're okay," Jimmy observed, obviously trying to keep his voice calm. "Do you need me to fly out there and look after you till you're feeling better? I don't want something to happen to you."
"What? No. Nothing's happening to me. I'm—I'm cool."
He reachedfor the bottle, and the world seemed to list sideways. Maybe he'd had enough—for the moment. Jimmy's voice on the phone was a cool balm, the still center of the awful storm that his life felt like at the moment. He knew these feelings would pass, and he'd be ashamed of himself in the morning for drinking, regret the headache, worry if he was becoming an alcoholic, and wince about gettingemotional. But that was then, and this was right now, facing the darkness alone, staring into an abyss of hopeless pain. It would go away in time—these things always did. But it was here now, breathing down his neck.
"I hate him," he said in a low, choked voice. "He's trying to take away the best job I've ever had." His grip on the phone tightened after he almost fumbled it, and his breathingsounded ragged and odd. He was going to start sobbing, wasn't he? On the phone. Like a kid. When Jimmy wasn't here to hold him.
"He can't take it from you. Hey, you're going to be okay. Nothing bad's going to come of this. They'll talk with Lincoln, you'll get a break from double interviews, and—Coop? You haven't taken something, have you? You don't sound right."
