Chapter 8 – Alise #2
“It’s not just his vitals, Coop. It’s the silence. The collapse. His last name,” Parker answers a beat later, his tone stripped of its usual ease. “You think Coach is gonna roll the dice again after Cole?”
The muscle in Cooper’s cheek twitches as he grinds his jaw.
His fists are clenched so tightly at his sides, his entire body looks like it is vibrating.
He isn’t angry, at least I don’t think he is.
It’s harder to tell with the other Hendrix boys than with Beau.
Maybe because I don’t want them as close, but Cooper has felt the sting of what was going on with Cole more than anyone.
No matter how much we, including Cole, tell him there was nothing he could do to stop what happened, he still wants to shoulder the blame.
It’s as if the sheer weight of everything he’s trying desperately not to feel is weighing down on him.
“He’s not Cole.” His words sound harsh, as if they clawed their way out of his mouth, but he doesn’t believe them.
We both know that although Cole and Beau are not the same person and the circumstances are completely different, both of them had to hit rock bottom to understand that they needed to take time to heal their bodies and their souls.
Cole has had the courage to take a step back and do just that, but with Beau, there wasn’t a choice.
He’s being forced to make changes and admit things to himself before he is ready.
That in itself has the potential to end in disaster.
“No, he’s not. But he’s drowning, Coop. If we don’t make space for him to come up for air…” Parker shakes his head, swallowing hard. “He’s gonna stop trying.”
I stop just short of them, heart kicking up like it’s trying to escape my chest because I know Parker is right.
I just saw what it looks like when Beau stops trying.
The spark in his eyes dims, and he literally loses his will to fight for himself.
But I can’t let that happen. Not now. Not ever.
If Beau isn’t able to fight, to believe that he can get through whatever this is, then I’ll do it for him.
I step forward, the soles of my shoes squeaking softly against the tile, but loud enough to draw Cooper’s gaze. His brows knit together the moment he sees me, like he’s bracing for another blow.
“Did you call your mom?” My voice comes out hoarse, thin from holding back all my emotions. The last thing anyone needs right now is for me to lose my shit. I need to keep it together for Cooper and Beau. I can fall apart later. Right now, my two pseudo-brothers need me to be their anchor.
“Yeah, and Ramona, too.” He nods, each movement deliberate, like anything more might break him.
My breath hitches in my chest at the mention of my best friend.
What I wouldn’t give for one of her famous hugs right now.
She and Beau have always been the ones to help me keep it together.
To help me weather the storm when things in the outside world were too chaotic to handle, but now, Beau needs an anchor, and I have a feeling that Cooper needs Ramona more now than I ever could.
For the first time that I can remember, I don’t have the two of them to fall back on, and that fucking terrifies me.
“How is she?”
“She’s probably losing her mind with worry, but she’s holding it together for me and Darius.”
Not only is Ramona my sister from another mister, but she’s Darius’s guardian.
She has been ever since a car crash killed her sister when he was five years old.
She’s strong and stubborn as hell, but I know how deeply she feels things.
Especially when it comes to the people she loves.
There is no way she isn’t feeling this with her entire being.
Beau isn’t just Cooper’s brother to her.
He’s just as much a part of her family as Darius and I are.
“What did she end up telling Darius?”
Cooper glances away, down the hall, like he can dodge the question if he doesn’t meet my eyes. “Nothing.”
“You didn’t tell Darius anything?” I ask, voice sharp, but I can’t help it.
“You just let him think Beau stayed late for practice or something else inconsequential?”
Cooper turns toward me like a cornered animal, shoulders tense and eyes bloodshot.
“Exactly. He’s thirteen, Alise.”
“And your point?”
“What the fuck was I supposed to say?” Cooper snaps, his voice raw. “Was I supposed to tell him that his uncle Beau dropped like a dead weight onto the ice, and we had to drag him off in front of the entire team? That nobody knows what’s wrong yet?”
The words land like a punch in the gut, but it’s not just what he’s saying; it’s how he’s saying it.
Cooper pulls his entire body taut, like he’s seconds away from shattering.
He clenches his fists hard, turning his knuckles bone-white, and his chest rises and falls too fast. It’s like the memory of what happened on the ice is suffocating him all over again.
But this isn’t just fear for his brother; it’s the fear of letting one of his brothers down a second time, and it’s eating him alive from the inside out.
He turns away for a second, swiping a hand down his face like he’s trying to wipe the moment off his skin, but the tension stays locked in his shoulders.
And suddenly, I realize he isn’t angry at me, but at the universe and his own helplessness.
Yet again, Cooper Hendrix can’t fix the thing that’s broken, and it’s tearing him apart.
Parker doesn’t speak, but he shifts like he can’t bear to stay still anymore. His fingers twitch at his sides, his jaw tight with unsaid words. Cooper presses on, pacing now, his movements jerky and raw.
“You think I wanted to lie?” He stops and looks at me, eyes wild.
“You think I don’t feel like shit doing it?
But what the hell do you tell a kid who’s already lost his mom, almost lost his aunt, and probably worries daily about his other uncle going off the deep end?
That his uncle—his hero—might not make it either? ”
I try to speak, but my voice sticks. I force it out anyway. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push. But Darius is going to notice. He watches everything. He’s going to read into the silence and figure out pretty quickly that Ramona is pretending to be okay when she’s not.”
Cooper rakes a hand through his hair like he’s trying to dig his way out of his own skull. “I just wanted to give him a little longer of bliss, a time where it doesn’t seem like his world is crumbling around him.”
I inhale slowly, trying to speak around the knot in my throat. “Okay, I get it.”
He scrubs both hands over his face, voice unraveling. “No. I know. I just… I can’t lose him, Alise. I can’t.”
“You won’t,” I say, because if I don’t believe it, I’ll fall apart right here.
Parker clears his throat, voice frayed and quiet. “Do you know if Coach is going to say something to the team?”
Cooper barks out a hollow laugh. “Coach is too busy pretending this is about safety and discipline or whatever bullshit narrative helps him sleep at night.”
“Because of Cole,” Parker says flatly.
“Because of Cole and whatever fucked-up vendetta he has against our family. He is gunning for our entire family whether we like it or not. It’s why he refused to take the payout for the last year of his contract so I could take over as head coach this year.”
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, their hum too loud in the silence that follows.
Somewhere down the hall, a machine beeps steadily, like it’s mocking the chaos raging inside all three of us.
I press a hand over my chest, where Beau’s name keeps pounding like a war drum against my ribs as Cooper’s voice breaks the silence like a confession.
“Now, Beau is an easy target. The higher-ups can’t really argue when it comes to health issues. Coach can easily claim that he looked the other way for too long, but warning signs don’t look like warning signs until it’s too damn late.”
“Do they know anything about what is really going on with Cole?”
Cooper exhales through his nose. “No, but it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with Coach. He wanted to scream it from the rooftops, but it would’ve hurt Michele just as much as Cole’s career. He might be a complete asshole, but he wouldn’t have done that to his daughter.”
“Nah, he just discarded her like a piece of garbage because she wouldn’t do what he wanted,” Parker growls. “Besides, Cole is doing better now, right?”
Cooper’s voice softens, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a small smile. “Rehab and Michele are helping. They’re… figuring it out.”
Parker crosses his arms tight over his chest, like he’s holding himself together. “You think Coach is punishing Beau for it?”
“I know he is.” Cooper’s voice is gravel-thick and venom-soft. “He wants to punish Cole, but he can’t. He has no control over Michele or her career. She cut him off completely and stopped playing the perfect daughter. She chose Cole, and Coach hasn’t forgiven any of us for it.”
The silence that follows is dense with everything none of us know how to fix, but Parker is the one to break it. “I’ll talk to the team and let them know what happened.”
“You’re going to tell them about Coach Mercer being a colossal asshole with a grudge because he lost his favorite toy?” I huff, causing both men to chuckle softly.
“No, I’m going to tell them about Beau being out until the playoffs at the very least.”
Cooper shakes his head immediately. “No. I’m the captain. I have to.”
“You sure?”
He meets Parker’s eyes, and for the first time tonight, his voice steadies. “Yeah. I need them to hear it from me.”
Parker nods, then sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “All right. I should go before Stacey sends a search party.”
“Want me to forge you a doctor’s note?” Cooper snorts.
“Only if it comes with a fake lab coat.”
“Ew, we do not need to know what games you two like to play in the bedroom.” I make an exaggerated gagging noise before pulling him in for a quick hug and stepping back. I’m not much of a hugger, but in this case, I think we all might need one.
“Who said we’d make it all the way to the bedroom?” Parker winks, clapping Cooper on the shoulder before heading down the hallway toward the exit.
Cooper stands there, shoulders slightly hunched, like the weight pressing down on him has finally sunk into his bones.
His arms hang loose at his sides now, fists no longer clenched, but a kind of soul-deep ache hollows out his face.
It carves you out from the inside and leaves nothing behind but the outline of the person you used to be.
“He’s scared,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper.
“I know.” I nod, throat tight with emotion.
“So am I.”
My breath catches as I look up at him, and for a second, I don’t see the captain.
Don’t see the man who always has an answer or a plan.
I see a big brother with shaking hands and no playbook.
A boy who’s already lost too much and doesn’t know how to keep this from being the next name carved into the grief he carries.
“Me, too,” I respond, the words hanging between us like a fragile thread ready to snap.
We don’t speak again. We just stand there, shoulder to shoulder, in a hallway that smells like bleach and dread, under lights that hum too loudly and never seem to dim.
No one cries. No one falls apart. Just the two of us fraying quietly around the edges, locked in this moment, trying to brace against a tide that’s already licking at our heels.
Maybe we don’t know what comes next. Maybe we’re terrified. But we’re not alone in it, and for now, that has to be enough.