Chapter 7 – Cooper
Chapter Seven
Cooper
I drove back to my childhood home on autopilot. Yes, I said what I said. The last thing I remember is climbing into my truck and pulling out of The Chill Zone parking lot, pointing my truck toward home. Then the next thing I know, I’m sitting in the driveway, staring out the window. That’s not a good sign. I can disassociate with the best of them, but I’ve never done it while I was driving before. I could have killed someone or even myself. One more check in the column for Cooper Hendrix being an absolute shit human.
I climb out of my truck, slamming the door shut behind me. Anger is boiling inside me like it used to when I was younger, right after Dad passed. I didn’t have anyone to talk to or to listen to everything I was dealing with. The last thing Dad said to me was that he trusted me to take care of our family, and that’s what I needed to do. I need to be there to support my mother and help her with my brothers. When my mom got a second job, it was on me to make sure I helped them do their homework, have dinner, and go to bed on time. I was the man of the house, the center of the family, and I needed to make sure everyone thrived, even if it was at my expense.
“Cooper, is that you?” Momma asks from her favorite spot on the couch. “I thought there was practice tonight.”
I’m not about to tell her what happened. She’d want to talk about it like she always does, and I don’t have the patience for it. I need to calm down and center myself again or our conversation won’t end well. I’ve said so many things to her, horrible things, when I was lashing out, wanting to make everyone hurt as badly as I did. But each time I did, the pain and anger got worse.
“Coach James cut practice short since it was the first one, and there was a parents' meeting,” I grumble, heading right past her and moving toward the back of the house. “He had me demonstrate a lot of the drills today, so I stink. Gonna hop in the shower.”
I don’t wait for her response before I slam the door shut and reach into the shower to turn the water all the way up. Steam fills the small bathroom as I shuck my clothes and climb in.
It's all my fault. Everything is always my fault.
Why did everything have to turn out like this? Why does everything I touch get destroyed? Hell, I didn’t really have Ramona, but I dared to think that there could be something between us. Something more than just some light flirting at The Chill Zone when she brings her son to practice. But what the hell was I thinking?
Resting my head against the cold tile wall of the shower, I let the water roll over my skin. I should feel something as it burns my skin, but I feel nothing. Everything has gone numb as I try to bring myself back from the edge. It shouldn’t be this hard. Momma made Beau, Cole, and me go to therapy for months. They taught us breathing and how to center ourselves and get control of our feelings before they got out of control.
My fault. My fault. My fault.
I’m so far past out of control. I’m drowning in my feelings. The anger, regret, and sorrow. I want to claw at my chest and find some way to let these emotions free. I feel like I’m suffocating, choking on them.
My fault. My fault. My fault.
“Motherfucker,” I growl, banging my head against the wall repeatedly, needing the pain. The punishment for everything. For hurting Beauty, for worrying Alise, for killing Dad. All of it. I wish I could make it better, to take away the pain from all of them, but I can’t, and I loathe it.
“Shut it away. I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. Shut it away. I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. Shut it away. I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.” My old mantra falls from my lips barely above a whisper. Like a prayer, begging for the numbness to take over again.
“Cooper,” Momma whispers as she opens the shower door, her eyes filled with unshed tears. “My sweet boy.”
“I’m sorry,” I croak, immediately turning into that fifteen-year-old boy who was terrified of letting his mother down. “I just need a few minutes, and I’ll be out.”
“No. Cooper, you need to tell me what happened at practice today. Why did you run away like that?”
“What?” I ask, trying to make sense of what she is saying. Run away? I didn’t run away. I was protecting everyone from me. From the uncontrollable emotions swirling inside me the minute Coach James mentioned my dad. “I didn’t.”
“You did.” Her eyes are hard as steel. The only sign of her emotions are the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Alise called. You better text her the minute we’re done talking or she’ll have both our heads.”
I chuckle softly. Leave it to Alise to always figure out a way to be there for her friends. “Did she tell you if Ramona was all right?”
Alise was vague about what was going on with Beauty, but I don’t doubt it was serious. Judging by the way she flew out of the locker room at the thought of leaving her alone in the stands, it was probably something she had to help her deal with regularly. Definitely not something she could talk her through with a simple phone call. Alise said something about people disappearing without saying goodbye, but what could have happened to make her react badly to something so simple as goodbye? Not like I’m one to talk. Just the mention of my dad’s name can send me into a spiral, evident from what happened today.
“Ramona?” Momma wiggles her eyebrows for effect. “Who’s Ramona?”
“No one.”
That isn’t specifically a lie. She isn’t anything to me at the moment. Ramona is Alise’s best friend and the mother of one of my hockey players. She’s someone I know nothing about besides how beautiful she is and who was the only person in a rink full of people who noticed something wasn’t right with me. See? Not completely a lie, but Momma doesn’t need all of that information.
A chill runs through me as the water cools, reminding me of my situation. I’m standing in the shower, and the glass door that was originally keeping the warm air inside is flung open. Momma is standing right there, her eyes full of concern.
“Umm, Momma. Do you think I could finish my shower and get dressed before we have this conversation?”
Momma’s cheeks pink slightly as she waves away my concern. “Don’t be embarrassed. I used to wipe your ass. This is nothing I haven’t seen before.”
There’s no way that I’m going to stand here and continue to have any type of conversation with my mother while naked. I don’t want to have this conversation at all, with anyone. Ever. I spent years of my life talking to therapist after therapist, but I was still angry. It would fester inside me until I could get on the ice and channel it somewhere. Releasing it all into the first opponent that pissed me off. I was spending more time in the penalty box than I was playing. If it wasn’t for Coach James helping me channel all of that rage, I don’t know where I’d be.
“Momma. I’d like to think some things have changed.”
Really, brain? Really? That’s the first thing you could think to say to your mother? It must have worked, because she takes a step back, pushing the door shut behind her.
“Okay. Okay. I’ll leave, but if your adorable behind isn’t parked on the couch in twenty minutes, I’m coming back in here after you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I chuckle as she strides out of the bathroom, leaving the door wide open. Even as a grown-ass man, I don’t dare cross Momma. That woman is a force to be reckoned with, and I never want to be on the wrong side of her wrath.
I don’t waste any more time and quickly soap up and hop out of the shower. I didn’t think to grab clothes before climbing into the shower, so I wrap a towel around my waist before heading into my childhood bedroom.
Nothing has changed much since I moved out. A large queen-sized bed is pushed up against the wall, bedding in shades of gray covering the bed, with more pillows than I’d ever need artfully placed at the top. Hanging shelves mounted to the wall are full of books and my hockey trophies collected over all the years of playing. The shelves flank my high school jersey, number twenty-seven, framed and on display directly over my bed. I didn’t do that, Momma did. After the club retired my hockey number, she refused to leave it just lying around, claiming it was going to be a collector's item someday.
“Cooper.” The sound of Momma’s voice filters through the open door.
“Coming.” I quickly grab a pair of sweats, deciding to forgo boxers, and pull them on. The joys of living only an hour away, you never have to pack a bag when you come home for a visit.
“Hurry up, Cooper. I’m waiting,” she yells again, and I swear under my breath as I pull out drawers, searching for a shirt. She is going to start counting if I don’t get out there soon. Nothing good ever comes from making her start counting. Nothing embarrassing about a thirty-year-old man still being afraid of his mother’s counting.
“Two minutes. Max!” I shout, pulling a shirt over my head as I rush down the hall to the living room.
“Took you long enough,” Momma chortles as she pats the seat next to her on the couch.
I immediately take a seat, leaning over to press my lips to her cheek, trying to sweeten her up. “Sorry I didn’t say hello when I came into the house.”
“You’re forgiven. Now, tell me what the hell happened at practice today.”
I take a deep breath in, trying to figure out how to explain the overwhelming shame and anger I felt the minute Coach mentioned Dad, and then when Alise started panicking about leaving Ramona alone, it intensified tenfold.
“Spiralling.”
“Now we both know that’s not the answer I’m looking for. What happened?” Momma reaches her hand up to cup my face, her eyes begging me to tell her what’s wrong so she can fix it.
“Coach said that Dad would be proud of me, and I couldn’t process it. Everything came rushing back to me right at that moment. The shame. The guilt. The rage. And I couldn’t deal with it. I just needed a minute to get all of those emotions under control, but then Alise came in, and everything got worse.”
It wasn't Alise exactly, but the news that my inability to keep my shit together had hurt Ramona?. I was only thinking about what I needed, not about all the people who were depending on me. Who were expecting me to be there for them.
“My sweet boy. Your father would be unbelievably proud of you. You know that, right?”
Deep down, there’s a part of me that knows he’d be proud. That wherever he is, he can see everything I’ve done to make sure each member of this family never wants for anything. The way he would’ve done if he were here. But he isn’t here. He’s gone, and no matter how many times someone tells me it was a freak accident and there was nothing I could’ve done to stop it, I know they're lying. I knew my dad wasn’t feeling well and that something was off about him, but I was selfish and really wanted to go on that camping trip for my birthday.
“Yeah.”
Shame washes over me for lying to my mother, but what else can I do? This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation, but it's the first time in years. I avoid any conversations about my father as much as possible, whenever I can. It’s the only way I can guarantee that things like this don’t happen.
Momma stares at me for a few moments, her eyes searching mine for something. I don’t know what she’s looking for, but she won’t find anything. I rebuilt the wall around my emotions after she left the bathroom. Feelings are useless to me right now. I need to focus on getting ready to be back on the ice and figuring out a way to bring my family back together.
“I haven’t watched the season finale of Mormon Wives . I wanna know what’s going to happen between Taylor and Dakota.” Her hand drops from my cheek and reaches for the remote. “Someone hasn’t been home in a while, and I didn’t want to hear his mouth for watching it without him.”
“Momma, you know me so well.” I chuckle, throwing my arm around her and pulling her into my side. “I’ve been dying to know what happened.”
When Momma retired from teaching this year, Beau and I took turns spending extra time at home with her. She went from having a house full of boys and a set schedule every day to basically nothing. With all this free time on her hands, she started watching reality television. Mormon Wives are her favorite, much to my complete and utter enjoyment.
One day at home, I sat down beside her and started watching, and I’ve been hooked ever since. Now, every time I make it home, we binge-watch episodes because I wouldn’t be caught dead watching it in my apartment or anywhere else someone could see me. If Beau ever finds out about my recent guilty pleasure, I’ll never hear the end of it.
“Me, too,” she responds with a smile before pushing play on the DVR.
As the opening theme song plays, I lay my head against her, pulling a deep breath in. My lungs fill with the familiar smells of vanilla, White Diamond perfume, and something that’s just her.
My entire body relaxes for the first time since leaving The Chill Zone. Nothing else matters right now but Momma and Mormon Wives . Everything else is future Cooper’s problem.