Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Sweat pooled at the ends of Cooper’s dirty blonde hair, dripping steadily. His body screamed for relief, quads and lungs burning, as a mechanical whir hummed from the Peloton beneath him. The closer he got to the five-mile mark, the faster—the harder—he pedaled.
As soon as he crossed the finish line, he stopped pedaling. The flywheel slowed and then a silence followed, where the only thing he could hear was his own futile attempts at catching his breath and the uncapping of a bottle of orange Gatorade that Ryan pumped into his mouth from above.
Cooper would’ve rather died than look his trainer in the eyes. A task which wasn’t too difficult of a chore when his eyes cinched at the corners to flush out the saltiness of the sweat washing down the side of his face.
His legs shook as he climbed off the side of the bike and grabbed a clean towel from Ryan. He whipped the towel into a roll and flossed it over the back of his neck, went to grab his phone, and brushed his arm against Ryan’s.
He came to a stop and made eye contact with the other man.
Fuck.
Ryan stood tall, appeared lean, and was clean-shaven with hair a little darker than Cooper’s, but cut much shorter. He pressed his back against the wall, his bottom lip rolling as if he were on the verge of saying something Cooper most definitely did not want to hear.
Cooper thought about running, but fuck, he was in his own gym in his own home. If anyone should’ve run, it should’ve been Ryan. Keeping him on the payroll after the last mistake was Cooper’s newest mistake in a long line of them.
Ryan’s eyes rolled to the side. “We don’t talk about what happened.”
“You’re being paid to train me, not to talk,” Cooper reminded him and snatched the bottle of Gatorade from Ryan’s hands.
“If I remember correctly, I was on the clock when you let me kiss you.”
That’s the most either had ever said about what Cooper considered a mistake.
“You’re talking too much.” Cooper shoved the bottle back into the trainer’s hands. “Say less.”
Ryan pointed to the blue foam mat on the floor. “A hundred crunches in two minutes and we’re done for the day.”
The polyester shirt Cooper wore clung to his slick chest as he assumed the position on the floor. Ryan dropped down to meet him where he lay, taking hold of a foot with each hand.
The first fifty crunches came easy enough, but every time Cooper brought the weight of his body upward, he met Ryan’s gaze. A gaze which intensified with every thrust.
“Look,” Cooper said, breath ragged. “I’m not—”
Ryan snorted with amusement. “Whisper me a new tune. I’ve heard this before.”
Cooper came to a rest, hands dangling between his thighs. “I was going to say not interested.”
Ryan looked to the clock on the wall to the right. “You’re still on the clock and you’re losing time.”
“It’s my clock, so I make the rules.”
No longer were both of Ryan’s hands held at Cooper’s feet. One snaked up the side of Cooper’s leg, fingers brushing over a dark forest of hair, and settling just at the base of Cooper’s black shorts.
Cooper didn’t fight him. Didn’t argue.
Ryan circled his palm over Cooper’s thigh, massaging gently at first and then harder.
Felt a little right. Felt a little more wrong, like it was a betrayal. And yet Cooper couldn’t shake himself free from the spell the other man had on him. Couldn’t even bring himself to look away. Cooper didn’t let people close. Not anymore.
He missed human touch, no matter how much that pained him to admit.
The trainer crawled forward, his fingers dancing underneath the hem of Cooper’s boxer briefs.
And then, Ryan’s mouth hovered against Cooper’s, his breath like hot fire.
Another mistake.
And yet, he let it happen.
Let Ryan kiss him, softly. The precursor to something more.
And then Cooper was saved by the ringing of his phone. He jerked to the side, reached for the phone, and answered it before he could set straight back up. He looked Ryan dead in the eyes as he spoke into the phone. “What do you want, Tommy?”
“I’m at your front door.”
Cooper scowled. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Cooper hurried Ryan to the front door with a not-so-gentle reminder of the NDA the trainer had signed when he first started training him. He was glad to see Ryan go before a bigger mistake could happen, but not so happy that he was being replaced with Tommy fucking Parker.
“You look like shit,” Tommy said as he stepped foot into the house.
Tommy, for his part, did not look like shit. He was dressed to the nines in a designer suit with a black leather briefcase clutched in one hand. Inside though, he was most definitely a piece of shit. Most agents were.
Cooper closed the door behind Tommy and followed him as he made his way into the kitchen. The fucker acted like he owned the place.
Tommy slid the briefcase onto the counter, circled the marble island, and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. He turned to Cooper with a smile as he tried to twist the cap off, to no avail.
Cooper reached into the drawer, grabbed a bottle opener and gave Tommy an assist. “Why are you here?”
Tommy took a long swig of beer, delaying answering Cooper’s question. “Can I not come and see a friend?”
“We’re not friends,” Cooper pointed out. “You’re my agent, and as far as I’m aware, I have no deals, endorsements, or lucrative business opportunities on the horizon. So, again, why are you here?”
Tommy dragged the briefcase across the counter, clicked a button, and opened it up.
Pulled out a tablet.
Cooper peeked into the briefcase. Nothing else was there. “You’re seriously toting around that monstrous thing to hold a fucking tablet?”
“You know I’m keen on the dramatics.” He shrugged as he swiped across the screen and slid the tablet over to Cooper. “It’s the modern era. You either get with the program or get lost in the shuffle.”
You’re an idiot, is what Cooper wanted to say, but he’d only be wasting his breath. He picked up the tablet and immediately noticed it was a contract with the Columbus Cobras letterhead. He tossed the tablet back into Tommy’s briefcase and scoffed. “White wastes no time, does he?”
“He’s enthusiastic about you rejoining the team.”
Tommy reached for the bottle of beer, but Cooper beat him to the punch. Grabbed it and took a sip.
“You represent the rookie too, don’t you?” Cooper asked with a sideways glance.
“And he’s an absolute pleasure to work with like the rest of them. Like you.”
Cooper contemplated how much of a conflict of interest it would be for Tommy to represent himself and the rookie, but there was no possible way Tommy would know this. There was no way Tommy had been made aware of every facet of the deal.
Cooper slid the beer back to Tommy, like it was a game of give and take.
A negotiation of sorts. You take a sip. I take a sip.
See who finishes the last drop. He leaned forward on the counter and pondered out loud, “How long do you realistically think this Nico kid is going to make it in the league?”
“That’s why I’m trying to get as much money out of him as soon as possible.”
The agent appeared to have as much faith in the rookie as Coach White had earlier in the day.
“The kid is begging for an early retirement with the way he plays,” Tommy continued. “Which is why I need you to sign these papers and come on board in an official capacity.”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“What the fuck else do you have going on? I know you miss football.”
“I miss playing football. Teaching that kid not to run into brick walls isn’t playing football. It’s playing babysitter, and If I wanted a child of my own, I’d already have one.”
Tommy inched closer, lowering his voice. “We’re talking a million dollars for two-thirds of a season. Most quarterback coaches are lucky to get a third of that.”
“It’s not about the money,” Cooper said flatly, a fact Tommy was well aware of.
Cooper had never wanted for anything in his life.
The first thing he ever tasted was something metallic from the silver spoon he was born with in his mouth.
The kind of old-school money that whispered instead of screamed.
Everyone in that fucking city knew his mother and most were afraid of her.
Everyone knew his father and idolized him—the late, great Rich Callahan, two-time Super Bowl champion.
“You used to love the thrill of winning, remember that?” Tommy questioned.
“If you can’t be on that field, isn’t this the closest thing to that?
Nico Fallon was tapped at a young age to be the next greatest thing in the history of football.
” He palmed a hand on Cooper’s shoulder and squeezed.
“I think he’s a lost cause, personally, but if anyone can turn him around, it’s you.
Don’t you want to be the one responsible for that? ”
“I don’t know if I’m ready, Tommy.”
Of course he was ready.
Now or never, right?
That’s what Luke always said.
But it was never now, always later. Not today, but tomorrow.
And then it was never.
Forever.
Cooper signed on the dotted line.
Cooper slumped on the couch and watched hours of tape on the big screen. Watched the rookie make the same mistakes over and over again. Watched the rookie give up after his second read, and go straight for the run. Open receivers in the slot? Run. Easy slant pass? Run.
Always running.
A shadow grew over Cooper from behind the couch.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” he said.
“That’s because the Ring is turned off,” Stassi said, dropping her purse off onto the side table parked against the wall. She unhooked the diamond studs from her earlobes and placed them onto the porcelain dish she had gotten from a trip to Thailand. “Why are you watching tape?”
Cooper sat up straight on the couch and shuffled a blanket over the arm. “Coach White wants me to coach the rookie.”
She raised a brow. “You said yes?”
Cooper nodded. “Have you seen this guy play?”
“You know I can’t stomach watching the games.”
“Yeah,” Cooper mumbled.
He’d catch bits and pieces here and there, but was never zoned in on gameday. Not anymore. Not since the accident. He found more joy in watching divisional opponents than the team he led to a Superbowl.
A championship he never got the chance to play in.
Instead, he watched it from a hospital bed as he faded in and out of consciousness. But in his memories, he saw himself and Luke on that TV. Watched himself throw a game-losing interception, letting the team down one last time.
Stassi sat down on the opposite end of the couch, spun her legs around, and positioned them over Cooper’s lap. He massaged her leg through the thick fabric of designer sweats as he continued to watch the rookie make mistake after mistake.
He hit the pause button and turned to her, taken aback by her beauty. A beauty he only seemed to notice when she was gone for a little too long. She looked just like her brother, but with sleek, long black hair. Same nose. Same emerald eyes.
“How was L.A.?” he asked.
“The same it always is.” She smiled, forced as it may be. “Which is to say it’s always better than here. Especially this time of year.”
“Remind me why we never left?”
“Because the football Gods decided this was where you were meant to stay, forever.”
She could have left at any time. The only thing tying her down in Columbus was Cooper, and up until signing the contract to coach the rookie, there was nothing tying him down either.
But in that hospital room, he made himself a vow.
That he would finish what he started.
That he’d win a Superbowl someday. Not for his family who wanted him to earn his stripes like his father had decades prior. Not for himself or his team, but for Luke. His best friend. His teammate. The one who didn’t make it out of the hospital alive.
A quiet fell over the both of them as he pressed play, just in time to watch throw an interception. And as he watched, he continued to massage Stassi’s leg.
To the world, she was Cooper’s beautiful girlfriend.
To him,
in that quiet home,
she was the only person who knew what he lost.
Because they both lost the same person.