Chapter 2 – Cooper
Chapter Two
Cooper
W hen I agreed to go to the store for my mother, I assumed it would be simple. I could get in, grab what she needed, and get out. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. But damn, I was wrong. The moment I pulled around the corner and saw the full parking lot, I almost turned the truck right around. If it weren’t for the pain in my stomach at the thought of not getting my soup, I would have, but alas, here I am.
“Cooper Hendrix, as I live and breathe. When did you get back into town?” A nasally voice I would know anywhere comes in through my open window.
Shit. I didn’t even get to park before the wolves descended on me. I take a deep breath and plaster a fake smile on my face before turning toward the owner of the voice: Annamarie Sutton.
We kissed one time, under the bleachers at homecoming, but she has been after me ever since. Her bright red hair hangs loosely over her shoulder in some type of braid, on top of a very form-fitting white sweater. She has on a black vest, zippered up to just beneath her chest, and black leggings tucked into a pair of tan boots.
“Hey, Annamarie. How have you been?”
“Better since the divorce,” she responds, leaning into my window and pushing her chest out.
“I’m sorry to hear about your divorce.” My eyes remain locked on her face as I shut my truck off, waiting for her to step away from the door.
“No need to be sorry.” She licks her lips, her eyes running down my body. “I’m not.”
“It was nice seeing you again, Annamarie, but my momma asked me to pick up a few things for dinner.”
“Of course.” She bats her eyelashes. “Maybe we can catch up and grab a beer at The Pit Stop later.”
The Pit Stop has been a staple in Redwood Falls for centuries. Located directly in the center of town, the old brick building with The Pit Stop painted in black block lettering across the right side is a bar, restaurant, and even a convenience store with a gas station. It’s an odd combination of businesses to have in one building, but it works. The Pit Stop is our small town’s version of Buc-ee’s. I literally thought places like this existed in every city until I joined the Timberwolves and started traveling with the team. Also, just like Buc-ee’s, we get numerous tourists stopping through here on their way to and from Portland.
“Not tonight.” I don’t bother to offer an alternative option as I gently open my door. I really would like to end this conversation and get what I need from the store, but I can’t be rude. My momma would hear about it before I even got home. “It was great seeing you.”
“I’m sure I’ll see you around. Redwood Falls isn’t that big of a town.”
“Yeah. Sure.” I don’t look back at her as I stroll into the store, only stopping to grab a cart before heading right for the produce section. I scan the colorful wall of fruits and vegetables, searching for the items Momma requested, when a brown bag of honey crisp apples catches my attention. I reach for them, grabbing one from the top of the bushel. The apple feels firm in my hands, the perfect treat for a horse. It also gives me an excuse to see the beauty from this morning, which is just a bonus.
No. No, this isn’t what I need to be focusing on right now. I need to figure out how to get back on the ice with my team this season. There is no room for anything romantic in my life. I need to put this woman and her horse out of my mind. No distractions.
“Momma makes a mean apple pie,” I muse before grabbing the bag and dropping it into the cart. They’re for apple pie. And if there are a few leftover apples to drop off at Matthison Farms later, then so be it. This has nothing to do with wanting to see her again. I just want some of Momma’s apple pie. Right. That’s the only reason.
I snag the carrots and celery from nearby and head toward the back of the store to grab the eggs and butter for the snickerdoodles. I continue perusing the refrigerated section and notice the premade pie crusts and grab a box. Momma usually makes her own crust, but with me springing these apples on her, who knows what she is going to want to do? Just as I’m throwing the box of crust into the basket, I spot Annamarie turning the corner. I swear softly under my breath before ducking into the nearest aisle. I barely made it out of my earlier meeting with her without promising a date; no telling what she’d be able to talk me into without another excuse.
“Who you hiding from, Coop?” I spin around and come face to face with Alise Moore, a knowing smirk plastered on her face.
Alise’s once shoulder-length hair is now cut short. Dense curls surround her face, shaped into the perfect afro. Her usual pair of black Beats headphones that she uses to block out the world cover her ears, but I know she can hear me. The rest of her compact form is engulfed in an oversized Portland Timberwolves sweatshirt that comes down to her knees. I glimpse the copper brown skin of her legs that disappear into a pair of brown boots with grayish-colored fur surrounding her calf.
I say the first thing that comes to mind instead of answering her question, “Where the hell are your pants?”
“Are you serious right now?” She shakes her head, lifting her shirt to show me a pair of barely there black biker shorts covering her curvy form. “Now that you’re done ogling me, answer the question, or I’m gonna call Aunt Mel and tell her you were acting a fool in the store.”
“Ogling you? I’m pretty sure incest is illegal.”
Alise Moore is the sister I never had. Her momma, Peggy, has been Aunt Peggy to me since I was old enough to talk. Although Momma has no siblings by blood, Aunt Peggy is her chosen family. Beau, Alise, and I were raised more like siblings than anything else. Bile pools in my mouth as my stomach rolls at the thought of anything happening between Alise and me. I love her to death and would do anything for her—except sleep with her. That’s just too much to ask of one human being.
“Actually, it isn’t in New Jersey, Rhode Island, and Ohio if it’s between two consenting individuals over the age of eighteen. Sixteen if you live in Rhode Island.”
“How in the hell do you even know these things?”
“Google.” She threads her arm through mine, gripping the handle of my cart tightly.
“Why would you use Google to search for something like that?”
“I was bored.” Alise shrugs her shoulders before narrowing her eyes. “Now stop avoiding the question. Who are you hiding from?”
“No one.” I lean around the end cap to check if the coast is clear, which it isn’t. Annamarie spots me with a wave and starts heading right for us. Damn Alise for making me stop here for some chit-chat. I could have grabbed the few remaining things I needed and been on my way back to Momma’s. Instead, I’m stuck in this aisle, waiting to be accosted by Annamarie again.
“Tell that to someone you didn’t grow up with. Who. Are. You. Hiding. From?” She enunciates each word of her question, daring me to ignore it for a second time.
I could lie again and say no one, but when Alise asks a question a second time, there’s a strong possibility she already knows the answer. However, she wants you to tell her. Telling the truth is a big deal to Alise. Choosing to lie to her on purpose, especially if she already knows the truth, is a death wish for everyone involved.
“If it's Annamarie, then you better plaster on a smile because here she comes.” She motions over my shoulder, an amused smile on her face.
“You’re loving this, aren’t you?”
“I’m going to enjoy every minute,” she whispers before addressing our new companion. “As I live and breathe, Annamarie Sutton.”
“Alise,” Annamarie sneers. “How’s your disease?”
Not this again. I don’t know why she is so bothered by Alise wearing headphones. She's been wearing them ever since grade school. Her brain sometimes has a hard time processing everything that's going on around her—sounds, smells, and even some textures. Something that is fine today could be a trigger tomorrow. It was hard to wrap my head around when we were younger, but now it's stranger for me to see her without her headphones than not.
“I don’t have a disease, and you know it. I have ADHD and sensory processing disorder; you knew that already, but we both know that. You used my headphones as an excuse to get away with murder in high school because everyone was afraid of your daddy taking his huge donations away for making his princess mad.”
“We all have rules to follow, Alise. You ignored them for your made-up disease.”
I open my mouth to put her in her place, but Alise squeezes my arm gently. She’s always fought her own battles, and now isn’t any different. Besides, trying to explain anything to Annamarie is pointless. She’s decided Alise is wrong, but in her opinion, she’s right. There’s nothing you can do to change people's minds. Alise and Annamarie won’t ever get along. They’ve been on the outs since they met in kindergarten when Annamarie threw yellow paint all over Alise’s favorite sundress. Growing up, I never understood how anyone could be so mean to someone they didn’t even know, but as I got older, it made sense. Alise has something that every girl in Redwood Falls wants, a chance to be around the Hendrix brothers.
“Cooper, I knew we were going to run into each other again with Redwood Falls being such a small town, but I didn’t expect it to be this soon.” She giggles, caressing my forearm.
“It’s a small store, and we practically came in together. It was bound to happen.”
“It sure is. Especially after she put her groceries in the car and came back inside,” Alise responds sarcastically, motioning toward Annamarie’s empty cart. “What a coincidence that you also forgot your purse.”
I bark out a laugh but quickly cover it with a cough just as my phone rings. Alise lets go of my cart and takes a step back. “Saved by the bell.”
“I’ll let you answer your call in peace, unlike some people.” Annamarie gives my arm a squeeze before leaning forward and planting a kiss on my cheek. “Let me know when you want to get that drink, Cooper.”
“Sure thing.” I pull my phone out and check the caller ID, then groan loudly.
“It’s Scott, isn’t it?” Once I nod the affirmative, Alise continues speaking. “You can ignore him. He’s only calling to talk you into coming to practice tonight.”
I turn and look at her, my eyebrows pulled down in confusion. After all these years, the information Alise Moore just magically knows shouldn’t surprise me, but it always does. Before I can even ask how she possibly knew why he was calling me, she continues speaking.
“I work for the hockey club. How the heck else do you think Auntie knew you were going to be spending the next few months in town? You can thank me later.” She winks at me before patting my cheek softly. “I’ll see you at the rink later.”
Scott Kyle is the last person I want to talk to right now. He’s one of my former teammates from high school and the head of the hockey club here in town. His crowning achievement is his assist that helped our team win the state championship my sophomore year, and he lets no one forget it.
I swipe to accept the call.
“How’s my favorite hockey player?” Scott says, not even waiting for me to say hello.
“Hey, Scott. How are you?” I deadpan as I push my cart down the aisle, searching for anything else I might need. Running into Annamarie a second time in less than twenty minutes wasn’t part of the plan. I need to get the rest of the items on Momma’s list and get out of Dodge.
“Good. Good. Even better now that Cooper Hendrix is coming to coach for us.” He chuckles, and I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes.
“Yeah. I’m sure the club will love all the money I bring in with ticket sales.” Fuck. That’s not what I should’ve said, but ?would it really matter? Scott needs me just as much as I need him. “But I’m excited to get started.”
I’m lying through my teeth, and we both know it. The last thing I want to be doing is coaching peewee hockey here in Redwood Falls. I’d much rather be on the ice with my brothers and teammates this season, but we can’t always get what we want. I just need to suck it up and make the best of the situation until Remy can find a loophole or a miracle.
I continue pushing my cart through the store, grabbing the rest of the items on my list before stopping at the freezer section to grab a container of my favorite ice cream. Memories from my childhood course through my mind. Visits to Scoops, the ice cream parlor in the center of town, after hockey games. Win or lose, my dad always got Beau and me two scoops of our favorite ice cream. We’d sit on the benches around the fountain in silence. It was nice, something I’d thought we’d be doing for years. Something I imagined my dad would do with my kids someday, but that’s never going to happen.
“Cooper?” Scott’s voice brings me back to the present. “Are you still there? If you’re busy, I can call back later or stop by your mom’s place on my way home from the office.”
“No,” I snap back before taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly. “It’s all right. Just thinking about getting back to the house for dinner.”
“Man, just thinking about your momma’s cooking is making my mouth water.” He chuckles softly. “I won’t keep you much longer. Your team is having their first practice tonight, and I was hoping you could drop by to meet them.”
My team. I know that the entire point of me being back in town is to coach one of the club teams, but my own team seems a little far-fetched, even for Scott. I don’t know the first thing about coaching hockey. Yes, I’ve been playing practically since I was old enough to walk, but players don’t always make good coaches. Besides, me and kids don’t mix well. I don’t hate children or anything. I don’t have any experience with them other than helping Momma out with my brother, Kyle, when I was a kid. Not something I want to repeat if I can help it. Kyle was always crying about something stupid and covered in goo, not something I wanted to deal with. I wouldn’t know the first thing about coaching a team of kids that age, but I wouldn’t put anything past Scott. This is all just a money grab, and we both know it.
“I’m not the best with kids,” I reply cautiously. “Are you sure having my own team is what’s best?”
“Of course, it is! Who better to coach future hockey stars than you?” I open my mouth to respond, but Scott just keeps talking.“You’ll have the 12U team this season. Their coach from last season took a job out-of-state over the summer.”
Thank fuck. I will at least have a team of kids who at least know how to skate. Maybe this whole head coach thing won’t be so bad after all. If they are anything like I was at that age, I’m going to have my work cut out for me. Teenagers think they know everything about everything when, in reality, they don’t know a damn thing. I foresee a lot of laps and sprints in their futures.
“What time is practice?”
I hear papers shuffling through the line before Scotts responds, “Practice begins at 6:30 and runs until eight tonight, but you can set your own schedule. They’ll be practicing with Coach James’s team. He coaches the age group above theirs and offered to hold practices until you set a schedule.”
“Coach James. You mean Noah James?”
“One and the same.”
This banishment back to Redwood Falls just got a lot better. Noah James is one of the best hockey players of all time. He transformed the Timberwolves NHL team into one of the most dominating teams, solidifying Portland as a hockey town. He was my hero growing up, and then he became my coach in high school. I worked hard playing club and in high school, but Coach James pushed me in a way no one had before. It’s because of him that I got drafted right out of high school.
“I’ll be there.” I quickly glance at my watch, checking the time. “I have dinner plans with my mom, but I’ll be there as soon as we are done. Can you let Coach James know I’m coming?”
“Already taken care of,” Scott answers smugly. “I’ll have everything you need waiting for you at the office. We’re excited to have you on our team.”
“Thanks.” I end the call and make my way toward the front of the store and pay for the groceries with no further run-ins with Annamarie.
As I load my bags into the truck, I notice the bushel of apples peeking out from the top of one bag. Thoughts of the beauty from earlier once again fill my mind, but I shake them free. I’m here to do one thing: coach the team and figure out how to get team management to give me one more year on the ice. There’s no way a beautiful rancher is going to wrangle my attention. No way. No how. Maybe if I repeat that to myself enough, I’ll believe it.