Chapter Three
Declan
“Just put through a check for two vodka sodas, three beers, and a white wine spritzer for table seven, sweetie,” Sasha calls out, breezing past me with a tray of drinks held high in the air as she navigates around the bar.
The Lost Compass thrums with life. Christmas excitement crackles in the air as strings of colored lights twinkle around fogged windows, glinting off the scuffed floorboards worn smooth by years of weekend crowds.
“Declan, you got those lime wedges yet?” Simone asks from the other end of the bar, wiping her hand on a towel before tucking it back into the waistband of her jeans.
She doesn’t wait for me to answer as she squeezes in behind me and reaches for the prep trays.
“I swear, I love how busy the bar gets at Christmas, but I wish I’d get five minutes to breathe. ”
“Have you had a break yet?” I ask, the scent of citrus clinging to my skin.
She pins me with a stare before turning to Jerry, one of our regulars sliding onto the same stool as always, setting his drink down, the beer already poured as soon as he walked through the door.
“Honey, I haven’t had a break in the twenty-something years since I bought the place,” she teases.
I smother a grin and glance across the floor. Regulars nurse pints at the bar, a few guys from the garage trade jokes in the corner booth, couples lean close under the glow from the fairy lights. The place is buzzing, messy, perfect.
“I can manage if you want to go grab something to eat?”
“You sure? You’re a lifesaver.” Her entire body sags as I nod, giving my shoulder a quick squeeze as she darts past. “So glad to have you back here while you’re on break.”
“No problem. Take your time.”
Once she’s gone, I’m in the zone, falling into a rhythm as I work through the orders coming in quickly, trying to ignore the way my eyes keep snagging on the guy perched at the end of the bar.
Head bent, curls falling into his eyes, Cooper scribbles frantically, his lower lip caught between his teeth.
The same lower lip I was sucking on not that long ago. The same one that I can still taste on my tongue, wishing that I didn’t.
That’s the problem with our whole unspoken arrangement. No matter how many times I tell myself I can handle it, that the rules are easy, just a set of guidelines that I’m cool with, I’m just…not.
Cooper’s never afraid to show affection; he’s always been like that. He was the kid who’d lie all over you on the couch while watching a movie, who’d crawl into bed beside you and happily snuggle up close just to talk, the kind of person who hugged like he never wanted to let go.
And I slowly became a sucker for that boy. A lovesick, pathetic fool who let his best friend touch him and what started as an innocent kiss, slowly turned into all the other things that surpass the boundaries of friendship.
Until the day it changed.
Until the day I let one kiss turn into everything I spent years trying not to want.
So now I’m a coward who’d rather take crumbs than nothing at all. That was the deal, right? His music, my hockey. Two dreams too big for this town, and a promise not to hold each other back from chasing them.
Sliding a glass in front of him, he lifts his head, a crease etched between his eyebrows as he stares at the drink.
“Oooo, are you trying to get me drunk before I go on stage?”
“Okay, I’ll take it back,” I tease, reaching to lift it away when he slaps my hand, bringing the cocktail to his nose and inhaling the smoky aroma.
Grinning, he takes a slow sip, savoring every second it coats his tongue. “You spoil me.”
“Yeah? Well, you’re gonna get me in trouble with my boss.
” Nudging the small pile of napkins littering the bar top in front of him, each one covered with scribbles in his handwriting, I prod a few with my fingers.
“She’s already stressed, and you blowing through napkins like this will only piss her off. What is all this anyway?”
“Simone would never be pissed. She loves me.” Cooper leans back in his chair, twirling his straw with his tongue, his blueish-gray eyes shining in the bar lights.
“Besides, inspiration doesn’t wait for me to have a notebook, y’know.
When it strikes, I gotta get it out, or else I’ll forget.
And that line might just make my next track, the track, yet I had no paper, so…
poof”—he flares out his hands—“gone. No views, no streams, no record deal.”
“So dramatic,” I mutter, shaking my head and walking off, clapping Jamie’s arm as he flirts up a storm with a lady on the other side of the bar. “You okay to cover me for two?”
Ducking into the back, I scan the office for what I need, moving to where Simone keeps her paperwork. Under a stack of invoices, a pack of ledgers sits on her desk, and I tug one free, snagging a Sharpie and scrawling in huge capital letters before heading back out to the bar.
Cooper’s in his own world, his glass half full, with even more scrunched-up napkins around him. Dropping the notebook right in the middle of his mess, my hand lingers, my pinky close enough that if he moved, even a fraction, we’d be touching.
“There,” I say, pushing it forward and shoving my hands into my pockets before I can do anything stupid like actually touch him. “Now you can write all your amazing ideas on something that won’t bankrupt Simone on napkins.”
He looks up, then back down to the ledger, a slow smile tugging at his lips.
“Cooper Riddick, waste management,” he deadpans. “Really?”
“Consider it a business expense,” I tease, turning to check the levels of the house spirits in the rack. “Trust me, she won’t mind.”
Tapping the bar, I walk toward the middle, nodding to Jerry as he lifts his empty pint glass.
“That wrist shot last night…” he says as he lets out a low whistle. “Nearly took that poor goalie’s head off. That was a fast one, eh?”
“Fast enough.”
“Fast enough.” He chuckles as I slide him a fresh beer. Lifting it to his lips, his mustache lines with white foam as he sets it down. “You’re too modest. The whole town’s watching you, kid. One of the best players to ever make it out of Taunton Falls. Draft next year, I’d place money on it.”
Heat creeps up my neck, and I don’t risk glancing at Cooper, but I can feel him listening. This is where we differ. He lives on praise, whereas I don’t.
Grabbing a glass, I busy myself with a polishing cloth. “We’ll see.”
“Dude, stop being humble,” Cooper says from his side of the bar, not even lifting his head. “You’ve got more scouts keeping tabs on you than half the guys your age.”
Frowning, I shoot him a look, because there’s no way my best friend—the man who has an aversion to all sports, calling anything athletic playtime—knows that. Sticking out his lip, he shrugs like he can hear my unspoken question.
“Our dads are very loud about your stats whenever they watch your games together. For example, I know that last year you got 54 points finishing...thirrrd…?” he drags it out, the word a long question until I nod. “Third. Whatever that means.”
Jerry huffs and grumbles to himself in disbelief. “It means 30 goals and 24 assists. Pretty damn good for his rookie year. You’re making our small town proud, son.” He tilts his glass up.
Forcing a smile, I nod as the words wash over me.
Out of the corner of my eye, Cooper goes still—not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for me.
His shoulders dip a little, the tiny tell he gives when he’s trying to pretend something doesn’t sting.
Even if Jerry never meant it that way. It’s just, Cooper wants this just as badly as I want hockey, and seeing everyone celebrate me while he’s still waiting for his break… Yeah, it hits him.
Standing, Cooper stretches his arms above his head with a yawn. “I’m gonna head to the back and get changed for the show. You sticking around to listen, old man?”
“Who are you calling old man, you cheeky shit?”
Laughing, he scoops up his napkins, and slots them into the front page of the ledger before sliding it into his bag. Grabbing his cocktail, he tips back the rest, throwing me a wink as he walks past Jerry, leaning in to whisper loudly, “Just don’t fall asleep before my set, yeah?”
Jerry waves him off with a snort, grumbling to himself as Cooper shoots him finger guns as he walks backward, duffel bag thrown over one shoulder before he turns and weaves toward the manager’s office.
I watch as the crowd closes behind him before turning back to the taps, cleaning around them like they’re not already spotless.
The bar settles into its usual pattern of laughter, glasses clinking together, the sound of people who’ve known me my whole life in one place, but Jerry’s conversation loops in my head.
The town sees promise, while all I see is pressure.
I never asked to be the kid they all pinned their hopes on.
Hockey just came easy, but easy turned into expectation, and now the whole damn town’s watching, waiting.
Sometimes I think they want this more than I do.
Cooper’s afraid of never getting out of here. Me? I can’t shake the fear of letting them all down.