Chapter Twenty
Cooper
All afternoon, I’ve been trying not to sprint back here and tell him. That’s the problem with good news. Sometimes, it feels too loaded to say out loud. Especially when the person you want to tell is still putting themselves back together.
“There you are,” I say, stepping into the back office with two coffees in hand, my backpack slipping off one shoulder.
“Hey.” He doesn’t look up from the laptop, the screen lighting half his face. “I’ll be done in a sec. Simone’s got me doing next week’s staffing schedule.”
“That’s cool. Wait— She’s already got you handling schedules?”
He shrugs, fingers resting on the keyboard. “She might have offered me the assistant manager role today.”
I blink. “Holy shit, Dec, that’s awesome.”
“It’s not that big of a deal,” he mutters, typing again. “Think she did it out of pity.”
“Nope, none of that.” Crossing the room, I set his coffee cup down. “It is a big deal. You’ll be running this place in no time.”
“Not quite.” The deadpan tone softens with his smirk. He starts stacking paperwork, eyeing the cup I brought him. “Trying to get on my good side?”
“Already there,” I tease, trying to keep my voice light, even as the thing I’ve been dying to tell him presses hot against my ribs.
There’s a lot I haven’t told him lately. The jump in followers. The comments on my reels. The two bars in the next town over, asking if I’d play a live set. Opportunities I used to fantasize about. All of it great—amazing, even. And happening so damn fast. Too fast.
And that’s the problem. Because every time something goes right for me, it’s highlighting how uneven things are between us still.
I know Declan would be happy for me, know he’d smile and say all the right things, but it doesn’t stop that tightness in my chest when I imagine telling him everything.
My world’s getting bigger while he’s still rebuilding his.
Rubbing salt in a wound that’s barely started to close is the last thing I want to do.
This is stupid. Just tell him.
He watches me hover, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “You okay there? You look like you know something you shouldn’t, and you’re deciding whether to tell me, but you’re about point-five seconds from spilling.”
“Hey, I’m an excellent secret keeper,” I say, offended.
“So you do have a secret?”
My laugh’s nervous and a little too quick. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“Coop…”
“Okay, fine,” I blurt, dropping into the chair opposite him. The cup in my hand shakes as I set it on the desk, though I’m not sure he notices. “You remember that video I posted? The one that went viral, like, the second I hit upload?”
“Yeah…”
“Well, I think I’ve done something right because, since then, I’ve been getting DMs, collab offers, even a request to play at that coffee shop—” Gesturing wildly, Declan nudges my cup out of spill range.
“But then today—” I break off, ducking my head to hide my idiotic grin.
“Today, I got an email from The Monarch.”
His eyebrows jump up, his lips parting. “The Monarch? The Monarch?”
“Yep.” I can’t help my laugh, the disbelief bubbling up again. “They’re doing one of those showcase nights, and someone there saw my stuff and passed it along to their booker, and…they want me to perform.”
For a second, there’s nothing but silence as he stares at me, jaw working once, his eyes flicking away like he needs a second to sort out whatever he’s thinking. Then, he breathes out, long and slow. “Coop…that’s— That’s massive.”
“I know.” The words come out in a half-breath, half-laugh. “I thought it was a scam. Checked the address twice. Hell, I even searched the guy’s name. But it’s real. It’s actually happening.”
“I’m proud of you,” he says quietly. And because Declan doesn’t do performative excitement or half-hearted praise, never says things he doesn’t mean, it hits harder than anything.
“Thanks,” I manage.
He gives me a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but the pride shining from them is real. It settles somewhere warm inside me, and that jittery energy crawls right back under my skin.
“I, uh…actually wanted your opinion on something,” I say, chewing on the edge of my lip.
“On what?”
“The gig. It’s kind of a big deal, right?” My gaze lowers to my hands, embarrassment burning the back of my neck. “I was thinking I probably need a stage name. Something…cool. Something that sounds like someone who belongs there.”
He snorts before inhaling deep and leaning his elbows on the desk. “Stage name? What’s wrong with Cooper Riddick?”
“It feels…bleh, like bland and shit. Like I write commercial jingles for a living.”
“You’re ridiculous,” he chuckles, rolling his eyes. “I assume you’ve got some ideas?”
Grinning, I dig into my bag and pull out the notebook he gave me ages ago.
The cover’s creased, there are coffee stains on the majority of the pages, but it feels like a lucky charm now.
Flipping through it, I slowly turn it to face him.
His eyes skim across it, his lips pressing together like he’s trying not to laugh as he lunges forward and steals it from my hands.
“Okay, maybe you weren’t the right person to ask,” I groan, trying to snatch it back from his grasp, only for him to slide back in his chair, lifting it out of reach.
“Prince Taurus? King Scorpio?” he reads, voice catching. “What even are those?”
I bury my face in my hands. “See? This is why I need help.”
“I still don’t see what’s wrong with your actual name.”
“I want to stand out, Dec. I want people to hear my name and know who I am.”
“Ahhh, okay, I get it.” Nodding, he tosses back my notebook. “You want something special so you’re the king of the stage, ready to reign over us peasants? All hail King Cooper.”
My head snaps up so fast, I swear I should’ve gotten whiplash. A grin breaks onto my face as he looks at me in confusion.
“That’s…kinda perfect.”
“What? King Cooper?”
“No.” My heart lurches. “Reign… Reign Cooper.”
He goes quiet, his eyes never leaving mine, each second enough for panic to start curling in my stomach. Until he nods.
“It suits you.”
The panic dissolves as quickly as it came. I scribble the name in huge letters, underlining it twice like it’s already on a marquee.
“Well, that settles it.”
Declan watches me, steady, grounding, and I swear I feel like the version of myself I’m trying so damn hard to become.
“Settles what?” he asks, pushing up from the desk.
“I need to write a song and dedicate it to you,” I say, stuffing the notebook back into my bag. “Since you named me and all.”
He laughs as he tugs on his coat. “Do I get royalties?”
“You can get backstage passes to all my shows.”
Humming to himself, he heads toward the door. “Not sure that’s much of a payment.”
“Guess I’ll just have to think of something better then,” I say playfully, following behind him.
But before he can touch the handle, I gasp, jolting back to the desk and snatching up the nearest piece of paper. Reign Cooper flows out of the pen in a dramatic flourish, the thick black ink taking up the whole space.
“Here,” I say, holding it out to him.
Declan frowns, confused, until he looks down at the note. His expression cracks into something soft, almost startled.
“My first official signature,” I beam. “You should keep it safe. Might be worth something one day.”
He stares at it for a beat, like he’s committing every smudge to memory, before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet. Folding the tiny scrap with ridiculous care, he slots it inside before slipping it away.
Stepping closer, his hand lifts, slow and hesitant, brushing a curl off my forehead. His fingers linger there, resting lightly against my temple. His eyes sweep over my face like he’s working up to something, but the words are stuck deep inside.
“Coop…” His voice is low, rough around the edges. “I know I haven’t exactly been easy lately.”
He swallows audibly, thumb tracing the edge of my cheekbone, gentler this time. I wait, leaning into him, letting him take his time.
“I’m sorry. For being…off. For being a grump and not really showing up like I should’ve. I’m trying.”
Melting more into his touch, the warmth of his palm makes my ribs ache. God, how I’ve missed this.
“I know,” I whisper, turning my head and pressing a soft kiss to the center of his palm.
His expression eases, and for a second, something unspoken flickers behind his eyes, before he lets out a slow breath. His hand’s still on my cheek, and when I look up at him, the space between us feels impossibly small.
I lean in and press my lips to his, gentle and unhurried, the type of kiss we’ve shared a thousand times before. But this one lasts longer, sweeter than it should be. He exhales against my lips, the faintest huff of a sigh.
“C’mon,” he says, giving my shoulder a light squeeze. “You can buy me tacos as a thank you.”
He opens the door and slips out, leaving me alone, excitement and hope trickling into my veins.
“Reign Cooper,” I whisper, unable to stop my smile when the name hits my ears just right.
For the first time in a long time, I’m starting to believe this dream might actually happen.