Chapter 33 – Beau
Chapter Thirty-Three
Beau
The locker room feels different today, hushed in a way that makes you strain for what isn’t there. Tape rips. Steel kisses stone. A whistle chirps in the hall. Ordinary sounds, yet they skim over a silence heavier than the gear hanging on the racks.
Cooper’s last game as a player is a few hours away.
Every time I glance at him, I see all the years he wore this room like a second skin and all the weight he’s shouldering to set it down.
He’ll lace up once more, then trade his jersey for a whistle and an office with a door that sticks in humidity.
I should probably make some brotherly speech about how proud I am of him and all that, but the words stick like tape in my throat.
Instead, my stomach twists with something else entirely.
It’s been days since I’ve seen Alise. Days since I’ve touched her, heard her laugh in my ear, felt her body melt against mine.
The last time we were together, she gave me everything.
Her body, her trust, and the fragile pieces of herself she’s kept locked away for years.
I should feel steady after that, anchored in what it means.
Instead, my chest knots tighter every time I imagine her second-guessing it.
What if she wakes up one morning and decides it was too much? That I’m too much?
The thought haunts me. I keep telling myself I’ll call her, just to hear her voice and remind her that nothing’s changed.
But between practices, appointments, and the chaos of Cooper’s final game, I keep promising myself tomorrow will be better.
Tomorrow, I’ll make time. Tomorrow, I’ll fix the distance before it becomes too much.
But the silence already has a weight to it, sitting in my chest like a puck I can’t clear. I feel split in two. Part of me is here, trying to hold it together for my brother, and the other part of me is still with her, terrified she’ll shut the door before I can prove I’m not going anywhere.
“You’re pacing holes in the floor,” Cooper mutters, glancing up from where he’s re-checking his laces for the third time.
“You’re one to talk,” I shoot back. “You look like you’re about to give a eulogy for your kneecaps.”
“Better than looking like somebody stole your puppy.” He slaps my shoulder and jerks his chin toward the corridor. “Come on. Janine and Alycia are meeting us in the office in five minutes.”
Cooper’s new office still smells like furniture polish and fresh printouts.
The leather chairs gleam under fluorescent lights; the desk looks like it was made for someone who doesn’t eat their meals over film.
He leans against the desk like it already knows his name.
I pluck a roll of tape off a shelf and lob it.
He snags it one-handed, smirk quick and familiar.
“Still sharp.”
“Sharp enough to know you’re stalling,” I mutter, dropping into the nearest chair. “You’ve got that look, Coop. Like you know something I don’t.”
Before he can answer, the door creaks open, and two women step inside.
Janine, the team’s PR lead, tall and composed, wears a blazer that could cut glass.
Beside her is Alycia Torres, the team’s PR intern.
I’ve seen her at press conferences, usually behind a camera or with a legal pad, eyes everywhere.
Today, her hair’s in a sleek braid, her suit simple, and her attention razor-clean.
They both have don’t mess with me written across their faces, and for a second, even Cooper straightens a little taller behind the desk.
“Wow,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “The cavalry has arrived.”
Alycia quirks a brow. “More like the babysitters.”
“Babysitters? Please. I fed myself breakfast this morning and everything.”
The slip of amusement escapes before she can smother it, and Janine shoots her a look, though the corner of her own mouth betrays her, too.
“Glad to see you’re in such good spirits,” Janine says dryly, setting her folder down on the table. “Here’s what you need to know: The public line is that this was an amicable separation. Coach Mercer is pursuing new opportunities.”
“And the truth?” Cooper asks, his voice flat as steel.
“We terminated his contract for cause. His remaining salary is being forfeited to the NHL Foundation. He doesn’t see it as his fault, and he’s not happy about how this was handled. He’ll be here to collect his things, and security is on standby to make sure things don’t escalate.”
“Civilized,” I mutter, drumming my fingers against the arm of the chair. “Love that for us.”
Janine cuts me a look over the rim of her glasses. “Try. Just once. No sarcasm.”
“That’s a medical impossibility,” I say, and Alycia coughs to cover another laugh.
“Rule one: No contact. Do not engage emotionally, physically, or verbally.” Janine makes eye contact with me for a moment before continuing to flip through her checklist. “Rule two: If he attempts to bait you, you will not take it. Rule three: This is just a formality, and then we’re finished with him. ”
“Finished,” Cooper repeats, like he’s tasting the word.
The air shifts before the door opens, like static before a storm. Then the handle slams back, and Mercer storms in, a banker’s box tucked under one arm. His eyes sweep the room, sharp and hungry, looking for the weakest throat to sink his teeth into.
“Well, isn’t this rich?” he sneers. “The Hendrix boys and their entourage.”
“You’re here to collect your things,” Cooper says, calm and even, though his jaw ticks.
“Collect my things.” Mercer snorts, tossing a box onto the desk.
“That’s cute. You let the league suspend me, drag my name through the mud, and then want me to slink back in here like some washed-up criminal.
Meanwhile, you get to stay the golden untouchable Cooper Hendrix.
The man who does no wrong. Did you even let my chair get cold before you slid into it? ”
Cooper doesn’t take the bait, his face remaining as calm and steady as stone. He stands to his full height as Mercer’s eyes cut to me. “And look who’s still standing, at least for now. The mask isn’t just for the ice, is it?”
Heat climbs my throat, my fists curling tight. The words scrape against my ribs because he doesn’t know, but he’s close enough to make it burn.
“Everyone can see the cracks. It’s only a matter of time. You’re one slip away from falling apart, and when you do, they’ll call you a fraud.”
Before I can speak, a sharp clatter breaks the tension, and Alycia jumps to her feet. Her chin is high, her voice cutting through the air. “You don’t get to talk to him like that.”
Mercer turns, amused. “Oh? The intern has claws?”
“He’s not a liability. He’s the reason this team still stands. He shows up. Every time.” Her voice is sharp and steady, and it slices through Mercer’s venom. “That’s more than I can say for someone who can’t even leave with dignity.”
Mercer falters, just for a second, and then his grin twists. “Cute. You’ve got them all drinking the Kool-Aid. Just like Michele.”
The name detonates in the air. It slams into me like a stick to the ribs, knocking the breath clean out of my lungs.
My gut knots so hard I double down on the armrest of the chair, nails biting into the leather.
Across from me, Cooper goes statue-still.
Shoulders locked, jaw set, and his eyes have gone flat and cold in a way I’ve only ever seen once before.
His silence is louder than Mercer’s voice, a barricade built out of rage he refuses to unleash.
Even Alycia flinches, though she doesn’t know the story behind his comment, but she knows a live wire when she hears one. Her pen hand trembles once, then steadies on the table, knuckles white.
Janine’s eyes cut sharply over the rim of her glasses.
For a heartbeat, she’s not the composed head of the Timberwolves PR department; she’s furious, like a mother watching someone spit on her kid.
Then she blinks, and the mask resets, but the steel lingers in her voice when she says, “Watch yourself.”
“She was supposed to be my daughter,” Mercer hisses, leaning forward, voice cracking with the rawness of it. “My blood. But no, she chose you people. She chose Cole. She chose your family over me. You took her from me, and now you’ll pay. Every last one of you.”
The venom drips off every word, but Cooper doesn’t flinch as he steps forward, tone sharp as steel. “You’ll be lucky if you can get a job coaching peewee hockey after the way you’ve acted. You should be grateful we framed it as amicable, not that you were fired for being a child.”
Mercer lifts his chin, but Janine is already on her feet and shoves a document into his chest.
“Per the termination letter you received yesterday at 3:07 p.m.,” she says, “your access has been revoked. Your keycard has been deactivated. You’ve signed a mutual non-disparagement and a facility no-trespass agreement.
You are here for your personal items only.
If you deviate, two building security officers will escort you to the nearest exit.
” She tips her head toward the door, where two very large men in polo shirts have materialized like summoned golems. “This is not a negotiation.”
Mercer flicks his gaze from her to the guards, to Cooper, to me, and back again.
For the first time, he hesitates, looking small.
He shoves papers into his box, grabs a photo frame, a whistle, and some other things from his desk before slamming the lid closed.
On his way out, he can’t resist one last swipe.
“Enjoy the chair, Hendrix. It comes with knives.”
“Good,” Cooper says. “I brought a sharpening stone.”
Mercer’s face twists, but he doesn’t have a comeback. He slams the box lid shut and storms out, the door rattling behind him like a sulking child.
No one moves.
Janine is muttering something about drafting a statement just in case, before she spins around and points at Cooper. “If anyone asks, none of this happened. Got any questions?”
“No.” Cooper shakes his head before remembering his manners. “Thank you.”
“All in a day’s work.” Janine smiles before slipping out the door.
It’s only then that I realize my fists are still curled. Splinters of Mercer’s words are still lodged under my skin, but they don’t poison like they did a minute ago.
“Hey,” I say to Alycia as she heads for the door. “Thanks,”
“It’s my job to keep the room clear,” she responds, rolling one shoulder as if shrugging off the adrenaline. “Sometimes, that means moving a camera. Sometimes it means telling a man to shut up.”
“I liked that second one,” I say. “Five stars. Would subscribe.”
There’s the hint of a grin as she sets a slim folder on the edge of the desk with a cover sheet that reads ROOKIE MEDIA PROGRAM. She taps it once, almost absently, and then looks up.
“Janine just put me in charge of our rookie media sessions for next season. We’re… pivoting on some messaging.” Her eyes flick toward the closed door, the meaning clear. “If you hear any chatter that needs correcting, send it my way. I don’t care how small. Small is how rumors get big.”
“Got it.” I tilt my head. “You always carry a fire extinguisher, or just on Tuesdays?”
“Depends on how flammable the room is.” The grin peeking out is real this time.
“Hope you’ve got extra tabs in there. Word is, my pain-in-the-ass little brother might be part of that rookie bunch.”
“Kyle Hendrix?” Alycia blinks, a flush creeps up her cheeks as she pulls her braid over her shoulder. “If he does, well… he’ll definitely keep things interesting.”
She winces lightly, like she might have said too much, and tucks the folder tighter under her arm. “I mean, from a PR standpoint. It’ll be… good experience.”
“That’s one word for it.” The corner of my mouth lifts as I try not to laugh.
She starts to turn, then hesitates as she glances back at me, something unspoken flickering in her eyes. “For what it’s worth, fans cheer for people who show up when it’s hard. And you’ve always shown up, Beau.”
For a moment, my chest loosens. Not completely, because Alise’s silence still pulls at me like a hook lodged deep, but enough that air moves more easily. Enough that the room feels wider than it did a heartbeat ago.
Cooper clears his throat, his voice steadier now and his eyes clearer. He nudges the chair with his knee like it’s an old friend he is finally ready to let go of.
“It’s go time. We’ve got a game to play.”
We step into the corridor, and sound rushes to meet us, sharper for the silence we just left behind.
The controlled chaos of a team winding itself to the perfect pitch.
Behind us, the office sits neat and quiet.
A desk with no ghost in the chair, and a door that hopefully no longer sticks.
It feels clearer now, stripped clean of Mercer’s shadow, like the air had been fumigated the second he walked out.
I thumb open my phone, not to scroll but to find her name, just her name, to anchor my fingers with something steadier than the churn in my chest. After the game, I am done with tomorrows. No more waiting for the right moment. No more silence growing teeth. I am calling Alise tonight.
Cooper glances down, catching the glow of the screen before I slide it back into my pocket.
He doesn’t say anything, just lifts a brow and gives the smallest nod, like he knows exactly who I was looking at and why.
No lecture, no teasing, only quiet understanding, and it lands heavier than words ever could.