Chapter Twenty-One
Declan
“Reign Cooper?” a pretty girl with long black hair asks, clipboard in one hand, pink highlighter in another.
Reign Cooper. The name still lands weird in my chest, even though it’s been over a month. At first, I thought it was a joke, something he’d laugh off and drop. But then came the updated social media handles, the new branding, the night he announced it live at The Lost Compass.
And it fits him—God, it fits him—like he’s finally stepping into a version of himself the rest of the world has only ever gotten flashes of.
Still, every time I hear it, something twists low in my stomach; part-pride, part…something I’m not ready to dig at too hard.
“Ye— Yeah.” He clears his throat, rolling back his shoulders, guitar case held tight in his hand.
“Great. You’re eighth. Sound check in ten. Waiting area’s backstage. Any questions?”
He shakes his head, taking the lanyard from her outstretched hand. His fingers brush the plastic like it’s sacred, and when he turns to me, he’s wearing that wide-eyed, barely contained smile that says holy crap, can you believe this?!
Snagging the pass out of his trembling fingers, I loop it around his neck, straightening it down the front of his worn vintage tee.
A low thrum of bass vibrates through the floor beneath us, the scent of citrus and beer hanging in the air.
The Monarch is smaller than I pictured—still bigger than The Lost Compass—but more alive.
Blue stage lights pulse above scuffed wooden floors, old band posters layered inches thick on the walls, the buzz of early-night excitement already rising toward the ceiling.
Cooper doesn’t say a word as we walk deeper inside. Jaw set, shoulders squared, movements practiced as he tries damn hard to look like he belongs. And he does. Anyone else would think it’s confidence. But I see the pulse hammering hard at his throat.
“You’ve got this,” I tell him, stopping us near a tall table, just out of the main flow of people setting up for tonight.
He sets his guitar case against the leg, hand resting on top as he exhales like he’s forcing the nerves out of his body.
“I know.” His voice wobbles despite himself. “Just another performance.”
I laugh and brush a smudge of eyeliner from his cheek.
He leans into the touch on instinct, his lashes lowering for half a second, and warmth shoots straight through me as my eyes do a gentle sweep of him.
With chipped black polish, the bracelets, the darker edge he’s been embracing… he looks like a real goddamn rock star.
It’s moments like this that make self-preservation seem like a really fucking bad idea, because I don’t think I’ve wanted Cooper more than I do right now.
But being injured, fighting off the spiral of thoughts inside my head, hasn’t exactly put me in the mood.
And I hate that the playful spark that’s never dimmed in Cooper’s eyes before is darker after I kept telling him no.
But maybe it’s a blessing in disguise. The get-out-of-jail-free card I’ve been waiting for, allowing myself that space to try to get over him.
If only it was that simple.
“This place is sick,” a voice behind me says, cutting into the moment, and I drop my hand, turning so fast my knee twinges.
Levi stands there, hands in his pockets, grinning wide. My brain short-circuits, and I just stare at him. He moves first, throwing his arms around me and dragging me into a rib-crushing hug.
“Missed you, too, boo.”
“What— What are you doing here?” I manage, thawing enough to squeeze him back.
“Watching your boy play. You didn’t think I’d miss it, did you?” He claps Cooper’s hand and pulls him in too.
“I can’t believe you came,” Cooper says, bouncing on the balls of his feet, looking between us.
“I thought you were in Detroit?”
“What’s a few hours’ drive for this? And it’s summer—what else am I doing?” he teases. “Besides, someone told me tonight was gonna be big. Figured driving up was a no-brainer.”
I shoot Cooper a look, and his lips purse together like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
“In my defense,” he says, raising a hand. “He asked how you were since you were ignoring all his texts…and I might’ve mentioned how cool it would be if he could make it.”
“Anyone still needing to sound check, please make your way to the stage,” a male voice booms through the speakers, which makes Cooper jump, his face paling.
“I better…” He thumbs behind him but doesn’t move.
“You’ve got this,” I say again, squeezing his shoulder. “This is just like singing back home, okay? We’ll be right here.”
“Being obnoxiously loud,” Levi adds.
Cooper nods, offering a small, grateful smile before heading toward the stage, the rest of the acts playing tonight swallowing him up out of sight.
“Drink?” Levi asks with a shoulder bump.
We weave through the growing crowd, leaning over the bar top as Levi flags the bartender and orders two beers.
Sliding one my way, neither of us says anything, silence settling as we watch the sound check.
I turn the cold glass in my hand, watching the condensation trickle down my fingers.
Sitting here with Levi shouldn’t feel uncomfortable, but it does.
“I’m sorry,” I say eventually. “For not texting back. For…ghosting.”
Levi glances sideways at me, taking a sip of his drink. “Figured you needed space.”
I shrug, eyes on the amber liquid. “It’s been hard. Everything just…stopped.” I drag a hand over my face. “Didn’t know how to talk about it without sounding pathetic.”
Shaking his head, he licks his lips. “You’re not pathetic.”
“Feels like it.”
“You’re not,” he insists. “Look, I love hockey. But I’m not you. I wasn’t headed for the NHL. Hell, even a farm team wouldn’t want my slow ass. But you? You were the real deal.”
“You’re not that bad,” I tease.
He huffs a laugh, picking at the label. “I get why seeing the boys kill it this season messed with you. Anyone would struggle.”
I swallow the lump forming in my throat.
It hasn’t been a struggle. It’s been torture.
I’ve watched every game I said I didn’t care about, remembered every stat I pretended not to look up, every highlight, every win, every time they took to the ice without me there felt like swallowing broken glass.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “It’s like watching the life you were supposed to have happen to someone else.”
Levi nods slowly, tapping the side of his glass with his fingers. “That’s kinda why I’ve been thinking of switching paths. Maybe physio. Helping players get back on their feet.”
That surprises a small smile out of me. “You? The guy who faked cramps to skip suicides in practice?”
He chuckles, throwing his head back. “I never did that, asshole.”
We fall back into silence, softer this time, listening to some band tune up their instruments.
“How’s your rehab going?” he asks after a while, glancing down at my knee.
It twinges like it knows it’s being spoken about, and I reach down absently, fingers brushing where my scar is. “Better. Down to fewer sessions. Lynsay, my PT, has me doing strength work now.”
“That’s great, Dec,” he says, sounding sincere.
Picking the label, I nudge my shoulder into his. “I’m glad you came.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it.” He clinks his bottle with mine. “Your boy’s gonna go out there and steal that damn spotlight. I just know it.”
I wish I could match his easy grin as he stares out at the stage, waiting for Coop, to let it settle the ache that’s been creeping in under my ribs for a while now, but I can’t. Not fully.
Because he’s right. Cooper is going to steal the spotlight, steal the whole damn show. He’s going to walk out there and the entire room’s going to fall in love with him like they always do. And I’ll be here, watching him shine from the shadows, clapping and smiling and pretending it doesn’t sting.
“Yeah,” I murmur, finishing the rest of my beer as the house lights flicker. “He’ll kill it.”