Chapter Seven
Declan
This entire break has been nothing but sweet torture.
Coming home should’ve been a relief after months of long-ass classes, studying, and grueling practice.
I had a plan. Come home, help at the bar, follow the workout program the coaches gave us with some ice time added in for fun, and try not to fall back into the same old patterns since this whole. ..thing started.
Cooper’s with me at every morning skate, bundled up like he’s in Antarctica.
Or, if he’s spent all night writing, he’s waiting with coffees when I’m done.
Either way, we’re always together; tucked away in bedrooms, half-watching movies or listening to him play, pretending the outside world of Taunton Falls doesn’t exist.
It should be easy. It was easy. But every time he laughs, every time he lays his head on my shoulder, or draws patterns on my arm, something in me flips and I can’t shut it off. I’m coming apart, and he has no idea.
And it doesn’t help that he’s grinding harder than I’ve ever seen him. Posting, refreshing, expectant blue-gray eyes watching the view count climb or stall. He says it’s all part of the job—being your own hype man, manager, and PR team all in one—but the slump in his shoulders tell the truth.
He never complains. Just shrugs and smiles that tired Cooper smile, muttering, “next time.”
And God, watching him work like that—focused, driven, refusing to quit—it pulls me in when I should be stepping back. His ambition takes all the bright, chaotic Cooper energy and turns it magnetic. I shouldn’t notice it, and I definitely shouldn’t want him more because of it. But I do.
I don’t let it show, don’t flinch when his hand lingers or his eyes soften. I don’t let him see how much it costs me to play along. Because the second I do, he’ll know.
And I can’t risk that, not when music will always take first place in Cooper’s heart.
Telling him how I feel and not having those feelings reciprocated?
That thought’s bad enough. Loving him freely, in the open, only to wake up one day resenting the thing that made him who he is? That would be worse.
So, what we have works, somewhat, and I won’t ask for more. Getting that small piece of him hurts less than the thought of never having it at all.
The Lost Compass doors open with a rush of cold air, a burst of familiar chatter following in after it. Mom laughs so loud, it can still be heard over Cooper’s singing. Snow dusts the shoulders of all four winter coats, Mom and Holly’s matching bobble hats taking the brunt of it.
“Speak of the devils,” Simone says, waving as they step farther into the bar, already pulling out a bottle of prosecco and two glasses.
“There’s our favorite son,” Dad calls out as he makes his way through the crowd, shrugging off his coat and tucking his scarf in the sleeve.
“And favorite bartender,” Mom chimes in, leaning across and patting my arm. “How are you doing, honey?”
Our parents line the bar, Dad and Seth scanning the beer names on the top of the taps, the four of them looking like they’ve just stepped out of a Christmas card, all rosy cheeks and smiles, the kind of friendship that’s lasted decades.
“How was dinner?” I ask as I pour what I know Dad will like without having to ask.
“Amazing, ate far too much,” Holly gushes.
“And we were passing this place on the way home and thought we’d stop in and see how our boys were doing,” Mom adds, nodding toward the stage. “He’s really killing it tonight, isn’t he? We could hear him before we even got through the door.”
“Yet somehow you were still louder than him when you came in,” I tease, sliding the pint glasses across the bar.
“I was just adding to the atmosphere,” she gasps mockingly, and just when I think she’s about to reach for me again, she bypasses my arm, snagging the wine bucket instead and holding it to her chest as Holly clutches the two flutes.
“We’ll find a seat and let you get back to it. Don’t work too hard tonight.”
“Yeah, let’s go sit near the stage,” Holly says, then shoots me a wink before adding, “That way, Cooper can’t pretend he didn’t see us.”
I laugh, her teasing reminding me so much of her son. Leaning on the bar, I watch as they weave through tables toward their usual spot near the corner, laughing again as they slide into the booth.
“Hey, Declan?” Simone calls out as soon as they’re gone, adding the finishing touches to a cocktail. “Can you run to the back and grab another box of straws and napkins? We’re running low again.”
“On it,” I say, grateful for the excuse to leave and get a second without the usual chaos of the Friday night crowd, exacerbated by everyone who ventures out on Christmas Eve swarming the bar.
“You’re the best.” She hands me the key as I step past her, glancing at the stage once more. Cooper laughs at something someone up front says between songs, his curls catching the light as he runs his hand through them.
Ducking out from behind the bar, I disappear down the hallway to the storeroom. Unlocking the door and flicking on the light, the bulb stutters before casting a low glow over stacked boxes. Napkins, straws, new glassware, everything we need to keep the bar running.
Moving farther inside, I look around, choosing one shelf at random and prying open a lid, searching for what I need.
I’d convinced myself that college helped, distance helped.
Being away meant clarity and finally being able to breathe without thinking about Cooper every five minutes.
But being home reset everything. One week back in his orbit, and I’m dragged back in.
And I can feel it, wearing me down, hope scraping at me, hollowing me out from the inside.
This isn’t healthy, but fuck…when he’s close…
A faint buzzing lines the storeroom, the smell of cardboard and cleaning supplies oddly grounding as I shut my eyes.
My fingers curl over the metal edge of the shelf, shoulders sagging as I brace my weight against it.
Just a second. I just need a damn second.
One breath. Two. Anything to get my head on straight before I go back out there and pretend I’m not unraveling every time he looks at me.
“What are you doing?”
I jolt at the sound of Cooper’s voice, slamming my head on the shelf above. “Jesus, fuck.”
“Shit—” He’s beside me in a second, one hand catching the side of my face, the other tangled in my hair, pressing into the lump already forming. Grimacing, he looks at his palm, then shows me. “No blood.”
“Thank god,” I mutter, rubbing at the tender spot, slowing when he keeps staring, that sharp, ridiculously pretty gaze dragging over my face.
I know that look; I’ve seen it a thousand times before, the one where he’s deciding if he wants to move or pounce, and I’m not sure which I’d rather he choose.
His foot scuffs on the cement, the light overhead flickering again and making our shadows dance along the floor, the air in the cramped storage room feeling thicker than before. Clearing my throat, I step back, or at least try to, the shelf biting into my back.
“Aren’t you meant to be singing?” I tease with a quirked eyebrow, aiming for casual, but the crack in my voice mid-sentence isn’t exactly chill.
“You left in the middle of my set.”
“We were out of napkins,” I deadpan, gesturing around the storeroom.
“Still.”
Sweat prickles at the back of my neck, neither of us saying anything, simply staring, tension coiling in the space between us. He reaches out, and his fingers catch the hem of my shirt, tugging lightly, playing, testing, like he’s waiting for me to stop him.
Like he knows I won’t.
“There’s something oddly sexy about watching you in your uniform, slinging beers. I always knew you had big arms, but in this…” He tugs on my sleeve, words slipping out lazily. But the scrape in his voice is anything but, all gravel and desire and everything I shouldn’t want this badly.
“Right, I forgot polo shirts were hot.” I snort.
“Are to me.”
“Cooper,” I warn, but his hands have already moved to my hips, thumbs sliding just underneath my t-shirt, sending goosebumps up my sides.
“We’re all alone,” he whispers as his nose brushes the underside of my jaw. “And I locked the door, so no one will interrupt us this time.”
I swallow, wanting to push him back, but knowing I’m not strong enough to. Besides, how can I be when I’m holding him too, my grip punishing, like I’m afraid he’ll move.
“I’m still working.” I try to sound assertive, when we both know, when it comes to Coop, I’ll never say no.
“Tell me to stop, then.”
I don’t. My head tips back against the shelf with a soft thud, his mouth finding my throat, ghosting kisses that feel more like exhales than contact.
But featherlight turns firmer, wetter, hungrier as his lips part, tongue flicking over the thrumming pulse in my neck like he’s tasting every beat.
Teeth sink into my flesh, nipping enough to make me groan, my cock straining behind my zipper as Cooper’s fingers tighten in my belt loops, tugging me flush against him.
“Tell me you haven’t thought about this.
Pictured me sinking to my knees for you in here, choking on you, so fucking desperate for it, how wrecked I’d look when you’re done.
” His teeth catch on my earlobe, the bite of pain sending delicious shock waves to my balls.
“Tell me you’ve never imagined bending me over one of those boxes and fucking me so hard I forget my name, while everyone out in that bar has no idea that their golden boy is making their future rock star scream. ”
My throat works on a hard swallow, gaze dropping, because the pictures in my head are far too vivid to meet his eyes. He grinds against me, cock thick and hot behind his tight, skinny jeans. His mouth dips lower, voice a husk of what it was before.
“I knew it.”
My heart slams against my ribs. Of course he’d be able to see right through me.
“Let me give you an early Christmas present, Dec,” he purrs, dragging his nose along my jaw.
Every reason I shouldn’t do this flickers like the busted light above us. I know what this is, and I know what it’ll cost me later. But in this moment, with his hands on me, mouth whispering the dirty fantasy I’ve had more times than I can count, that’s all it takes.
My jaw clenches, the muscle in my cheek ticking as I grip his chin, staring down at him, breathing ragged.
“You’re right,” I grit out, fingers squeezing hard. “So get on your fucking knees and choke.”