3
RORY
It took Cooper way too long to open the door to his hotel room. I had to seek him out when he never showed up for breakfast and when he opened the door, I saw why. “You look like shit.”
Cooper grimaced and winced at the light coming from the hallway. He headed back into the room, leaving me to follow, rubbing the back of his neck as he went.
“Did you get any sleep last night?” s**t. I hated when my tone took on that mother hen sound. It wasn’t me. Or at least it hadn’t been until nearly a year ago when Cooper stopped eating and sleeping unless someone forced him to. PTSD was a b***h. A ruthless b***h. He’d gotten better at day-to-day survival these past few months, therapy had helped, but I still found myself checking up on him, making sure he was getting by.
Not that my forcin
