Chapter 34 – Alise #2
“Unhand me, old man!” Kyle thrashes, cackling too hard to fight him off. “You’re ruining my hair.”
Cole tightens his hold just enough to make Kyle wheeze dramatically before shoving him back into his seat.
“Traitors,” Kyle mutters, grinning wider as laughter spills across the box.
He basks in it like it’s exactly the reaction he wanted, his grin only growing when Cole glares at him out of the corner of his eye.
Ramona is still snickering, but when she glances back at me, her smile softens. She leans closer, her voice dropping so it only carries to me. “You good?”
“Yeah. Big night, right?”
She studies me quietly, not in a pushy way, just giving me a look like she knows. Like she sees the hollowness I’m trying to mask behind fake excitement and mascara.
“You’ve got that face,” she says, leaning her head gently on my shoulder.
“What face?”
“The one that says you’re one strong word away from crying in a bathroom stall.”
“I’m just tired.”
“Alise…”
“Don’t,” I whisper, the plea barely audible over the music pulsing through the speakers. “I can’t… talk about it. I don’t even know what it is.”
She pulls back, expression unreadable, but she nods. “Okay. Not tonight.”
I blink fast, letting the cheering crowd fill the space between us. The roar of the Timberwolves’ faithful fans swells, echoing off the concrete, giving me just enough noise to cover the sound of my heart falling out of rhythm.
Not tonight. Not right now.
I swallow around the lump in my throat, forcing my shoulders straight.
I can do this. I can hold it together for Cooper and the team.
It’s only for a few hours, then I can ask Beau what the fuck is going on and have some peace of mind.
Ha, who am I kidding? I’m gonna avoid Beau like the plague because not knowing is so much easier than having an answer, especially if the answer is one that could potentially shatter my heart into a million pieces.
I manage to get my emotions under control moments before Cole appears at my side, tall and casually smug, like he’s got a spotlight trained on him no one else can see.
He has his arms crossed over his chest like he’s just finished narrating his own entrance in third-person, and the results please him very much.
“You’re wearing Cooper’s jersey?” he asks, mock horror dripping from every syllable.
“I mean… yeah?” I say, glancing down, having almost forgotten I have the thing on.
He gasps dramatically, like I’ve just betrayed the Hendrix family code or something. “I leave for a few years, and this is what I come back to? You’re siding with the enemy?”
“Coop’s not the enemy,” I say, trying for breezy in an attempt not to let it show that my stomach is still in knots from Beau’s voice, Beau’s eyes, Beau’s absence.
“Debatable,” Cole mutters, narrowing his eyes like he’s considering disowning me on the spot.
I laugh, a little too high-pitched, a little too desperate to sound normal.
“Okay, what’s going on?”
I knew it. Of course, he’d notice. Cole and I have always been partners in crime.
The quiet ones in the corner at every family event, whispering behind our hands, scheming, plotting, and judging everyone else with perfectly synchronized side-eyes.
We were the observers. The vaults. The ones who didn’t need to say much to say everything.
He was the first person to catch on that I was in love with Beau. I hadn’t even admitted it to myself yet, but Cole knew instantly. Instead of teasing me or making it weird, he’d done everything in his power to nudge us together. Subtle at first and then not so much.
When he left for Boise, I lost more than a friend.
I lost my buffer. My sounding board for anything and everything going on in my mind.
Everyone has always tried to understand the way my brain worked without me having to explain it, but everyone was waiting on pins and needles for me to freak out, ready to swoop in and fix it when that happened.
In short, they handled me with kid gloves growing up.
It’s gotten better as we’ve gotten older, but Cole has never been like that.
Ever. He would throw me into the deep end and wait for me to ask for help before lifting a finger.
At first, I thought it was because he hated me, but with time, I discovered he was making sure that I could handle it myself, and that meant more to me than anything.
Now he’s back, and I’m glad. I really am, but I can’t let him see me unravel. Not over Beau and especially not a second time. He’d take one look at my face and know something had happened, and he’d never let it go.
“I’m fine,” I say too quickly. “Just a long day.”
“You always were a terrible liar.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Then you’re just bad at hiding things.”
“Seriously. I’m fine.”
He studies me, the lines around his eyes softening, concern flickering behind his usual smirk. He doesn’t push—not yet—but I can tell he’s filing it away, making a note to circle back.
“You know,” he says after a beat, slinging an arm casually over my shoulders, “Beau’s gonna lose his mind when he sees you in the wrong Hendrix’s jersey.”
“Cole,” Ramona chastises, elbowing him hard.
“What?” he says, half-laughing. “I’m just saying. He gets that twitchy-eye thing going on when he gets territorial. I saw it once when a guy cut in front of Alise in line at a coffee shop and boom, death glare for days.”
Don’t show it. Don’t feel it.
“It’s not the wrong jersey.” I force a chuckle, but my mouth’s gone dry.
“Oh, it is,” he says, eyes twinkling.
“As long as you’re wearing someone’s jersey with the last name Hendrix on the back, that’s all that matters, if you want to make it out of here alive,” Kyle says, already grinning like the devil in his own Hendrix jersey.
“You see how tense Momma’s been all morning?
She’s one wrinkle away from an aneurysm. ”
“Don’t worry, I brought a spare of mine just in case. Momma made me because there was no way in hell I was letting Michele wear one of my brother’s jerseys.”
From behind us, Michele’s voice cuts in like a gleeful dagger. “Now who’s getting territorial?” She giggles, planting a sloppy kiss on Cole’s cheek. “He threw a fit like a toddler when Ms. Mel brought one of Cooper’s jerseys for both of us to wear.”
Cole scowls, his arms folded tight across his chest. “The only thing she required was for the jersey to say Hendrix on the back. The rest is inconsequential.”
“You don’t need to pout,” Michele says, all sugary sweet. “I’m wearing your jersey, even though you’re benched right now…”
“I’m still on the roster,” he mutters.
“In spirit, sweetheart.” She pats his chest like she’s consoling her particularly fussy cat, Imhotep.
I snort a little too loudly, but Michele flashes me a wink. I let the moment carry me, the sound of their voices and the comfort of shared inside jokes wrapping around me like a blanket.
“I hate all of you.” Cole groans dramatically, leaning his head back.
“You love me,” Michele says with a smug little grin.
“I’m re-evaluating.”
“I have evidence,” Michele announces with a wicked grin, scrolling on her phone before holding it up like a trophy. “Your face the first time I wore your jersey. That was full-on heart-eyes. Do not deny me my victory.”
Cole is clearly regretting his life choices, a look halfway between annoyance and resignation.
I’ve seen that face before, the “I love her, but please stop talking” expression that’s 90 percent affection and 10 percent sheer panic.
He used to only look like that when Auntie Mel was singing his praises, and he had no idea how to handle it, but it’s nice to see that there is another woman who owns a piece of his heart.
“Can we not talk about Cole’s heart-eyes?” Kyle pipes up dramatically, clutching his stomach. “I just ate.”
“Shut up. You’re just jealous.” Michele reaches out and smacks his arm with the familiarity of someone who’s done it a thousand times before.
“Damn right, I’m jealous,” Kyle fires back, pointing at her like he’s been waiting for this moment. “You picked the crusty old middle brother instead of me, your actual best friend. I’m the fun one, the charming one, the only Hendrix who could give you real star power.”
I try and fail to hide my smile, letting the scene play out like I’m watching a ‘90s romcom. Honestly, it’s hard not to wonder if Michele and Kyle ever dated.
They met in college, probably both too na?ve with hearts in their eyes, and as the story goes, became inseparable basically overnight.
I remember asking Michele offhandedly once if there had ever been anything between them, but they both shut it down so fast you’d think I accused them of being siblings.
But I have eyes, and there’s something about the way they move around each other.
It makes it hard to believe there was never a party hookup or a what-if moment between midterms and late-night Taco Bell.
The person who hates the idea most is Cole.
He inches closer to Michele now, just enough to slide between them with that signature Hendrix-brand casual intensity that screams “I’m fine” while absolutely not being fine.
His jaw ticks, eyes locked on Kyle like he’s debating whether socking his brother and getting on Auntie Mel’s bad side before the game even starts is worth it.
Kyle, of course, notices and leans in even closer.
He is living for this shit. If there is one thing a Hendrix loves more than hockey, it’s pushing their brothers’ buttons.
“You are not charming.” Michele bursts out laughing, nearly dropping her phone as she doubles over. The sound is loud and unfiltered, the kind that fills a room and makes you want to join in, even if you missed the joke.
“I’m delightful,” Kyle insists, puffing out his chest like he’s auditioning for a rom-com. “Ask literally anyone.”