The Psychopath Next Door

8: Daddy Issues

"Sweetheart, it's for you," Cooper's mom called, peeking her head around the corner of the living room. She gestured toward the front door.

A jolt of fear went through his body. His first and most irrational thought was that Calla had come for him. She'd finally realized he was a liability. A loose end to be tied and then violently cut.

My secrets are far more dangerous than yours.

He shook his head at his mom, who stared back at him quizzically.

Maybe she's like a vampire, he thought, trying not to hyperventilate. She can't cross the threshold unless we let her in.

"It's Vincent," his mom clarified, her pretty green eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Who did you think it was?"

Relief took the place of his growing panic. He let out a heavy sigh and stood, hurrying past her. "No one. Nothing. I don't know."

He couldn't seem to string more than three coherent words together. His headache felt like it was splitting his skull in two. Courtesy of Jacob Stein, resident asshole.

His mom's incessant questions didn't help. But he wouldn't dare tell her that. Cooper was already on thin ice with her after refusing to say who had left him with a black eye, a split lip, and bruises the size of Texas along his ribcage.

Cooper grimaced when he saw who stood outside their front door. Vincent glared at him, his gym bag in one hand and a stack of DVDs in the other.

The sight of the DVDs gave Cooper hope—a hope that was quickly dashed when Vincent opened his mouth.

"You get your ass kicked by Jacob Stein and I'm the last person in school to hear about it?"

"Language!"

The voice from the kitchen made both boys cringe. Vincent's anger vaporized. "Sorry, Mrs. A."

Cooper's mom gave them the side eye from where she stood in the pantry door, her blonde hair tied back in a low ponytail. She kept any additional commentary to herself.

Cooper looked back at Vincent and shrugged. The movement made a bruise on the side of his arm throb. "You've got a big game coming up next Friday. I'm not about to get you benched."

Vincent frowned at the mention of the rivalry game. "Do you seriously think I care about that? Oh, you just wait 'til I get a hold of that..." His eyes drifted over Cooper's shoulder and into the kitchen. "That...turd. Jacob's a dead man walking."

Cooper had to fight back laughter. Well over six feet tall, and Vincent had been cowed by a woman whose head barely brushed his chest. "It's really not that serious."

"Really? Have you even bothered to look in the mirror lately?"

Cooper resisted the urge to catch his reflection in the array of entryway mirrors his mom had plastered by the front door. "Are you going to come in or not?"

Vincent ambled inside, still unhappy. "I should really kick his butt, you know."

"Yes." Cooper sighed, closing the door. "But if you swoop in and do the whole prince charming riding in on his white horse act, I'll never recover. Social suicide, man."

"You're already wanted for murder. Could it really get worse?"

My secrets are far more dangerous than yours. Don't threaten me, Daniels.

Yes. As a matter of fact, it could get worse. Cooper opened his mouth to say so, but he couldn't find the words.

His mom, on the other hand, had plenty to say on the subject. "We don't use the M word in this household, young man," she chided Vincent, putting a pot of water on the stove.