Recover ~ 2

COOK

He woke slowly, the way you do when your body doesn't want to give up the warmth — and then, with an awful jolt of clarity, he realised where he was.

Shit.

Shit.

His eyes snapped open, adjusting to the muted blue of the early morning. The room was still and soft around them.

Tess was curled against the other side of the mattress, face soft in sleep, one arm draped across her stomach, her breathing steady. She looked peaceful. Beautiful. Like nothing had ever hurt her. Like last night hadn't even happened. Like he hadn't just broken every one of his own rules by staying.

And god, he wanted to. He wanted to wake her up slow, kiss her shoulder, tell her something that might ruin everything and fix nothing. But that wasn't what she wanted. That wasn't what this was.

She was tired. That's all. She didn't mean anything by it. Just knackered, and soft, and maybe feeling sorry for him — Yeah that's why she let him sit there. Let him stay. Nothing more. Right?

Just tired.

Jesus, why did she let him in?

His heart thudded like it was trying to climb up his throat. He hadn't meant to fall asleep. He'd told himself he'd leave, just for a minute, just until she drifted off — and now it was morning and he was still here.

His throat went dry.

And then it got worse.

A small voice broke through the fog of his thoughts:"Dad?"

He froze.

Lewis stood in the doorway in his pyjamas, holding his half-eaten bunny toy by one ear, barefoot on the carpet, eyes wide with utter disbelief. Like he was staring at the Easter Bunny and Father Christmas at once. Like he'd walked into someone else's dream.

Cook sat bolt upright.

"Shit," he hissed under his breath, heart now going fucking mental.

Tess didn't stir.

Lewis just stood there, staring. Like he couldn't quite process what he was seeing — like it was too strange to compute. His mum in bed. And Cook. Together.

Cook moved fast but careful, slipping from the covers like he was defusing a bomb. His sock caught on the edge of the duvet but he didn't even breathe, terrified she'd wake up to this and everything would implode.

"Hey, mate. You alright?" He whispered.

Lewis nodded slowly, still watching the bed like it might disappear.

"Just hungry," he said, a little confused. "But... were you—"

He crouched down to Lewis's level in the hallway, rubbing the back of his neck, "Right, uh... This—this ain't what it looks like."

Lewis's brow furrowed deeper. He was still staring at the bed, like waiting to see if it disappeared

"Let's not wake your mum, yeah? She's knackered."

Lewis looked at him, puzzled."Were you... sleeping in there?"

Cook hesitated, then said, "Nah, not really. Just... lay down for a sec. Long night."

Lewis squinted like he didn't buy it. Cook offered a half-smile and tapped the side of his nose.

Cook leaned in, dropping his voice lower. "Maybe... maybe don't mention this to your mum, alright? Nothin' bad. Just... bit of a grown-up mess. Your mum don't need the extra noise."

Lewis nodded, still a bit dazed. Cook straightened up, ruffling the boy's hair and whispering, "C'mon. Let's get you some breakfast."

As they quietly made their way down the hallway, Cook cast one last glance over his shoulder.

Tess hadn't moved.

Thank God.

She looked so peaceful.

And he felt like a mess.

But still, his chest ached. With guilt. With confusion. With something worse than either — hope.

Because for a second, it had felt like it could be real.

And now he knew how badly he wanted it to be.

TESS

The morning light was soft, yellow, warming the corners of Tess's room like a slow exhale. She stirred beneath the duvet, arms stretching above her head, the cotton sheets bunching at her waist. For once, she didn't wake with a racing mind or clenched jaw.

She blinked up at the ceiling, brow furrowing. For a moment, she couldn't quite place what had happened the night before. She remembered Lewis finally settling. The chaos of the house. Dishes. Laundry. Cook offering to help while she'd practically folded in on herself.

And then — later. Cook had come upstairs.

They'd talked about a lot, sure — about Lewis, and guilt, and how far they'd both come — but it hadn't felt heavy at the time. Just honest. Necessary.

It was good to talk to him again. She hated to admit how much she'd missed it — especially after weeks of avoiding each other, dancing around that messy, half-drunken thing he'd said that night.

He must've left after that. She didn't remember hearing him go, but she'd probably just drifted off. It was late and she'd been emotionally wrecked from everything.

She turned to the side, rubbing her eyes—and paused.

On the bedside table, where her usual clutter of hairbands and half-empty water glasses lived, was a photo. One she hadn't seen in ages.

It was of her and Cook.

It was from Naomi's garden. On her 18th birthday. That night under the lights. She looked younger. Softer. He had his arm around her like it was second nature.

Had she taken that out?

She could've sworn it had been tucked away in a drawer somewhere, probably gathering dust with other things too painful to look at.

It was probably Lewis. Must've been him. Digging around again, probably bored. She made a mental note to remind him not to go rifling through everything... but she didn't move the photo. Instead, she gave it a small glance, smiled once to herself, then tossed the duvet off and headed toward the door.

As she descended the stairs, the smell hit her—eggs. Toast. Cooking oil. Someone humming something off-key.

For once, she wasn't the one rushing around with a pan and a wooden spoon. A strange little luxury.

She entered the kitchen to find Lewis sitting cross-legged on a chair, hair a mess, face full of egg. Happily chewing away, far more settled than he'd been yesterday. His cheeks had some colour again. He looked... okay.

And Cook was at the stove.

Still in his jeans from last night, hair ruffled to hell, cooking eggs up like he belonged there. Like this was normal. Except his shoulders looked a bit too tense, his eyes flicking toward her and then sharply away as she walked in.

"Morning," she said lightly.

Cook didn't look at her right away. "Hey."

He cleared his throat, turned back to the pan, and started poking at a piece of toast.

"Smells good," Tess said, leaning on the bench beside Lewis. "Didn't realise you still knew how to Cook."

He huffed a short breath through his nose, not quite a laugh. "They're just eggs. Hard to mess up."

Tess raised her brows. That was...uncharacteristically modest.

She looked at Lewis, who was now shovelling the last of his toast into his mouth like he hadn't eaten in days. She felt a pang of relief seeing him like this. "You alright, Lou?"

Lewis nodded, cheeks full. "Mmhmm."

"You slept okay?"

Another nod. He glanced at Cook, then back at his plate. Then back at Cook again.

Tess narrowed her eyes just a little. "What?"

"Nothing," Lewis said too fast.

Cook turned sharply from the stove, shooting Lewis a look Tess couldn't quite read. A little warning in his brow. His mouth twitched—something between 'don't you dare' and 'please shut the hell up.'

Lewis blinked at him, wide-eyed. Then sniffed loudly and went back to his plate.

Tess looked between them. "Are you two alright?"

Cook quickly set down a plate in front of her, avoiding her gaze. "You want some?"

"...Sure."

He busied himself at the fridge while she slowly took a bite, watching him over the rim of her fork.

"You're being weird," she said eventually.

"Am I?"

"Very."

Lewis giggled through a mouthful of egg.

Cook set a plate down next to Lewis, without meeting her eyes. "Maybe you're just not used to mornings with me bein' functional."

"Maybe."

They both smiled—hers amused, his nervous.

The air between them hung heavy for a beat. There was something unsaid crackling quietly under the surface. Something she couldn't quite place, but could feel.

COOK

It was meant to be a normal day.

Just normal stuff — pick Lewis up from school, argue about what counted as a "vegetable," fix the bloody broken shelf in the hallway that had been tilted like a drunk since December.

Nothing big. Nothing mad.

Cook crouched under the half-loosened shelf, screwdriver in one hand, chewing his cheek. He hadn't even started properly and already it felt like the whole thing might detach and take the wall with it. A loose bracket stared back at him with evil intent.

He'd always been shit at this kind of thing — boring domestic tasks — but Lewis had asked him, and Tess had mumbled something about how she hadn't had time, and that was enough to make him try.

Not because he was trying to impress her.Not because he wanted her to think he was useful.Not because he still thought about waking up in her bed every night since.No.

Just helping out. Being good. Being normal.

He was so focused on forcing the screw in that he didn't hear her come down the stairs.

"Thanks for this," Tess said, pulling on her coat behind him. "It's been hanging like that for weeks."

"Yeah, noticed." He muttered.

"Try not to take the whole wall down, yeah?"

"No promises."

He stayed crouched, head buried in the shelf. She paused behind him, keys jingling.

"You sure it's okay if you put him down? I should be home before ten, but—"

"Yeah, s'all good," Cook mumbled. "Got it."

She hovered another second. "Alright. Thanks, Cook!"

He watched her go, caught in that strange place where everything looked normal, felt normal — except it wasn't. Not for him. Not since that night upstairs. Not since the weight of her head on his shoulder made his chest ache in ways he hadn't felt in years.

Cook exhaled through his nose and glanced up at the shelf, eyeing the way it tilted just slightly. He adjusted the bracket with one hand. Looked at the screws. Tried to picture how long it would take Lewis to attempt swinging off it like a jungle gym.

Just then, the kid himself appeared in the hallway, dragging a stuffed toy behind him, socks half-off.

"You fixing it?"

"Course I'm fixing it."

Lewis flopped onto the hallway rug, rolling side to side like a sea otter. "Mum says it's haunted."

Cook blinked. "The shelf?"

Lewis nodded with perfect seriousness. "She says it makes that noise every time she walks past. The squeaky one."

Cook glanced at it. "Think that's just physics, mate."

Lewis shrugged and started tracing patterns into the hallway rug.

"Careful Lou," Cook said, swatting gently at the air. "Floor's probably gross. Don't want you coughin' again."

"I'm better now," Lewis said proudly. "See?"

He held his arms up like a bodybuilder.

Cook smirked. "Alright, Hulk. Just don't go stickin' your nose in the carpet or anything."

Lewis giggled and dropped his arms dramatically.

"Im going to Finlay's party tomorrow." he announced suddenly, flopping onto his side.

"Finlay?" Cook squinted. "Who's that?"

"He's in 2B. He has a Nintendo and two dogs!" Lewis said, eyes lighting up, "But don't worry, Dion's still my best mate."

"Good to know." Cook tapped the screwdriver against the floor thoughtfully. "Wouldn't want Dion losin' his title."

"He won't," Lewis said, flipping onto his back. "I told him already."

Cook shook his head, quietly amused, then reached for another screw—Three sharp knocks interrupted him.

He glanced toward the door, confused. Tess wasn't due back for a few hours.

"Hang on—" he said, wiping his hands on his jeans.

But Lewis was already racing toward the door with absolutely no fear of axe murderers.

"Oi, wait—let me—"

Too late.

Lewis threw open the door, and there she was.

Standing on the porch, looking like she'd just stepped off the set of a suburban mafia drama, was Anna Richardson. Sunglasses perched on top of her head despite the sun setting two hours ago, plastic takeaway bags dangling from one arm. Still in her trench coat. Still with that perfectly arched brow that could cut through metal.

She beamed. "Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

"Nanna!" Lewis yelled and launched into her side with a thud.

"Hello, darling," she said, dropping one hand to ruffle his hair. "I brought food!"

Cook stood frozen in the hallway, half-expecting her to burst into flames the moment their eyes met.

Instead, she looked up — and blinked.

"Cook?" Her voice was clipped. Sharp. Confused.

He offered the world's most awkward smile. "Hi, Anna."

"What on earth are you doing here?"

He straightened a little. "Just um... fixing the shelf."

"She roped you into that, did she?"

"Volunteer job," he chuckled.

Lewis piped up proudly. "Dads lookin' after me 'til Mum gets home."

Anna blinked. "She's not home?"

"She had a thing," Cook offered. "Work friend's birthday or somethin'."

"Brilliant." Anna let out a dry, theatrical sigh and lifted the takeaway bags."I told her I was bringing dinner. Honestly, that girl needs a wall calendar and a brain to match."

Lewis giggled. "She always forgets stuff."

"She'd forget her head if it wasn't attached." Anna rolled her eyes, then glanced back at Cook, brow still raised.

She turned to Lewis. ""Run these into the kitchen, would you love?"

"Okay!" Lewis trotted off.

Leaving Cook alone in the hallway with her.

Great.

He cleared his throat.

Anna didn't move. Just stood there, arms crossed, sunglasses still perched like she might interrogate him under a spotlight.

Cook had always been a little terrified of Anna. Even as a teen, she'd had this energy — like she knew things you didn't and wasn't afraid to tell you exactly where you'd messed up. Time hadn't softened her. If anything, she was more laser-focused now, like a retired MI5 agent who still dabbled in intimidation for fun.

He braced himself.

Instead, she stepped forward, slapped him (hard) on the back, and said cheerfully, "Well, since Tess is out, you'll have to do."

And then she walked past him into the kitchen.

Cook just stood there, bewildered.

In the kitchen, Anna was already unpacking containers with the efficiency of someone who didn't believe in wasting time. Steam curled out of each plastic lid as she lined up enough takeaway for a small army.

They sat around the small table, Lewis on one side swinging his legs and narrating every detail of his hospital stay that had nothing to do with medical charts.

"My favourite nurse was called Jodie," he announced through a mouthful of noodles. "She gave me two stickers. One was a dinosaur and the other said 'superstar' — but I gave that one to Mum."

Anna smiled. "How was the food?"

"Gross. Except the jelly. The jelly was good." Lewis declared. "Oh — and I got a gift from Auntie Chelle."

He paused, lowering his voice. "I don't think Mum liked it."

"God Michelle," Anna muttered under her breath, "That's my job to spoil you!"

"They all said I was really brave," Lewis added with a proud nod. "Even the fancy doctors."

Cook glanced at him fondly. "You were. Proper tough little man."

Lewis beamed, clearly pleased.

Anna turned her attention to Cook now, more thoughtful. "So. Aside from heroic babysitting duties and structural repairs... what is it you're doing these days?"

He scratched the back of his neck. "Trades stuff. Labouring mostly. Bit of carpentry here and there. Pays alright. It's steady."

Her brow rose a little, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "Didn't expect that."

"Neither did I," he admitted with a dry smirk. "Turns out I'm marginally less useless than predicted."

"You're still here," Anna said, stabbing a piece of chicken with her fork. "That counts for something."

They finished dinner like that — surprisingly civil. Easy, even. Cook helped clear the table while Lewis slumped against Anna's side, blinking slowly like a kid slipping into food coma territory.

"Alright, you," Anna said, nudging him gently. "Time for pyjamas and brushing those teeth. Go on, chop chop."

Lewis yawned but obeyed, dragging his feet toward the stairs.

Cook followed him with his eyes for a second, then turned to Anna as she gathered her things.

"Thanks for the food," he said.

"Least I could do," she replied. "He's been through a lot the last couple weeks."

"Yeah he has." He stepped aside as she moved to the doorway — but instead of leaving immediately, she lingered.

Her voice lowered. "Can I ask you something?"

Cook tensed slightly. "Course."

Anna studied him for a beat. "What exactly is going on between you and Tess?"

He blinked, caught off guard.

"I'm not judging, Cook," she said quickly. "I'm just... trying to understand."

"Think I fucked it up again." Cook rubbed his jaw. "Dunno what to tell you. S'complicated."

Anna gave a dry chuckle. "It always is with the people we care about."

She tucked her sunglasses into her bag, then looked up again — this time, her voice softer.

"Tess — She'd rather convince herself something won't last than admit she wants it to," Anna said gently. "That way, she doesn't have to feel let down if it doesn't work again."

A pause.

"But it also means she misses things that are right in front of her."

'Yeah...I've noticed." He said, more to himself.

"She tells herself she's fine. That she's better off alone. And maybe part of her believes that," Anna said,

"But the thing is, James — she looks at you like she already knows you're the one. She's just scared of what it means to say it out loud."

He ran a hand over his mouth. "Yeah, well. Ain't exactly easy hearing it from everyone but her."

Anna reached for the door handle."I know you probably don't need it," she added lightly, "but I've seen you with him. With her. And for what it's worth...I'm glad it's you."

Cook's eyebrows lifted, more instinct than surprise.

She caught it.

"Don't look so shocked — I don't always think the worst of you."

He huffed a small laugh. "Could've fooled me."

Anna smiled faintly. "I didn't know if I could trust you. But I do now."

A beat.

"And I know she does too."

She opened the door, letting the cool air rush in."Goodnight, Cook."

He nodded once.

"Thanks again."

She walked off into the night with the quiet confidence of someone who'd always known the ending three pages before it came.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Cook stood frozen for a second, hand still hovering near the handle.

He hadn't expected that. Not from her. Not tonight.

For so long, Anna Richardson had been the embodiment of every reminder that he'd messed things up one too many times. That he wasn't the kind of bloke mothers wanted hovering around their daughters — let alone raising their grandkids. And now she was saying she trusted him?

That Tess did.

His chest tightened.

He wasn't stupid. He knew Tess had her walls. Knew she'd built them for a reason — partly because of him. And every time he got close, every time it started to feel like something, she either pulled away or shoved him first. And he let her.

But Anna had seen it. She'd said it out loud — the way Tess looked at him. Like she'd already chosen.

And fuck if that didn't knock the wind out of him.

He wasn't sure if Anna's words made him feel better or worse.

But they definitely made him feel.

And that always seemed to be the problem.

TESS

The bathroom was foggy with leftover steam from her shower, the mirror doing that thing where it refused to fully clear no matter how many times she wiped at it. Tess leaned in close anyway, balancing on the edge of the sink, carefully lining her lashes with the kind of focus she reserved for rare nights out.

It was Katie's birthday party.

Twenty-five wasn't a big milestone, not really. But Katie was throwing a proper party. It felt more like a housewarming in disguise. Her and Thomas's new place was beautiful, of course.

She liked them together. As strange and unexpected as it was at first, Katie and Thomas made sense now — soft in the places the other wasn't. It had started as friendship, Tess knew that. Somewhere along the line, it shifted into something steadier. Something real. And despite everything else going on in her life, Tess was glad for her.

She was just finishing lining her lips when Lewis called out from the hallway, voice full of indignation.

"Why can't I come?" Lewis's voice echoed. "It's not fair."

She glanced at him through the cracked door. "Because it's a grown-ups party, Lou. You'd be bored out of your mind."

He groaned. "But it's Auntie Katie's party."

Tess stepped out of the bathroom into Lewis's room, heels already on, hair still slightly damp at the ends. "There's gonna be boring conversations and wine and people talking about mortgages."

Lewis, sprawled on his bed, pulled a face. "Sounds boring."

"Exactly."

He crossed his arms. "Where am I going again?"

"To Michelle's," Tess replied,

"Why can't I go to Dad's?"

Tess's heart twisted for a second. "He's going to Katie's too."

Lewis tilted his head, blinking at her. "So he's not coming back here after?"

"Nope."

He hummed, distractedly playing with the string on his hoodie. "Okay... I just thought maybe he would. Like, like last time."

Tess paused.

Lewis was still fiddling with the drawstring on his hoodie, eyes following the motion like it held secrets. "I like when he makes me breakfast," he said. "And sleeps on the couch."

Her stomach dropped, gently but unmistakably. "Mm?"

"Well not like last time," Lewis added casually. "He wasn't on the couch then."

"What do you mean?" she asked, brow furrowing slightly.

Lewis shrugged, totally unbothered. "I woke up and I was hungry, so I went to find him." He said simply "He was in your room. I think he was still asleep. On your bed."

A beat passed.

Tess blinked. "Wait... what?"

"He told me not to tell—" He stopped mid-sentence, then blinked and said, far too cheerfully, "Oh. Whoops."

Her chest tightened — not in anger, but something far more complicated.

"I... yeah," she said slowly. "Right."

She turned back to the bathroom, heart thudding, suddenly aware of every breath. Of how quiet the house had been that morning. Of how she hadn't even noticed him leave.

He hadn't left.

He'd stayed.

And Cook hadn't said anything.

Her mind spun. That night — it hadn't felt like much at the time. Comforting. Simple. She'd thought maybe they'd just drifted apart again afterwards like always. But it meant something. At least, it must have to him.

And now it all made a bit more sense. Why he'd been strange lately. Off. Still showing up, still helping — but different.

She stared at herself in the mirror again. Mascara done. Lipstick perfect. Heart climbing up her throat like it didn't know where else to go.

She didn't feel ready for this party at all.