Chapter Fifty-Three
Cooper
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
Mom barely gets the door open, blinking at me, half startled, before she yanks me into one of her full-bodied, rib-crushing, momma-bear hugs. The smell of laundry detergent and home floods my nose, the scent soothing that bone-deep exhausted part of me, and I sink into her touch.
I didn’t know how badly I needed this.
“Missed you,” I mutter, squeezing my eyes shut, burying my face into her shoulder.
She pulls back just far enough to cup my cheek, her thumb brushing under my eyes, and I already know she sees too much.
Her mouth tightens, just for a second, but she doesn’t say anything; instead, her gaze shifts to Lockie, who’s trying very hard to blend into the porch railing.
And because physical affection is something I learned from her, she hauls him into a hug too.
He goes stiff as a board for half a second before patting her back once, his gaze on me as I grin.
“Good to see you again, Mrs. Riddick,” he rumbles.
Mom giggles as her cheeks flush pink. “Honestly, I will never get over that accent. I could listen to you read the phone book.”
I groan. “Mom.”
“What? I’m married, not dead,” she chirps, already ushering us inside like she didn’t just admit she finds my bodyguard hot.
I shrug my coat off at the banister and trail after her toward the kitchen. Lockie gets absorbed instantly, the mountain of a man towering over her while she loops an arm through his. He’s awkward as hell, and I’m loving every second.
“So…what brings you home?”
“Can’t a guy just come to see his favorite mom?” I tease, heading to the fridge and pulling out two bottles of water, passing one to Lockie.
She snorts. “Other guys? Sure. You? My jet-setting, stadium-filling rock star? No, sweetheart.”
I know she’s only teasing, but it still makes me flinch. “Not my fault you and Dad would rather come to me,” I mumble petulantly.
“Hey, don’t look like that.” Her smile softens as she smooths a hand down my arm. “We know how busy you are, and we’re incredibly proud of that. Getting to come to you and watch you do what you love never felt like a hardship.”
“Especially with all those five-star hotels and first-class flights, right?” I tease.
“Perks of having a rock star for a son.” Her eyes crinkle at the sides. “But that was never the point.”
Mom fusses with the coffee machine, and I lean on the counter, watching Dad at the table, angled slightly away from us, glasses halfway down his nose, completely absorbed in what I know will be Sudoku on his tablet.
He’s tapping his stylus like it’s a race, so focused he didn’t even glance up when we came inside.
“You better not be hogging Cooper on FaceTime,” he mutters without looking up. “Tell him I want to say hello when you’re done.”
“Still beating that impossible level, old man?” I call out.
His head jerks up, confusion on his face. But the moment he realizes it’s me, his expression transforms. I barely manage to straighten before he’s rounding the table and pulling me against him, his hug warm, steady, just like Mom’s.
“Look at you,” he says, a grin splitting his face. “My boy’s home. Finally.”
“Missed you.” I hold him for a second longer, trying to ignore the unintended guilt trip, before stepping back.
“I missed you too, Son.” He throws a nod toward Lockie. “You both staying for dinner?”
“Of course they are,” Mom answers, already moving around the kitchen. “Good thing we have enough for everyone.”
“Seriously, Mom, we can eat back at the hotel—”
“Hotel?” She stops short, turning to stare at me, hands on her hips. “Absolutely not. You can stay here. We’ll make up the guest room, or the pull-out in the office. Whatever you need.”
“It just makes sense to stay there.”
“Nonsense, it’s fine.”
Lockie clears his throat, tucking his hands behind his back. “Security purposes, ma’am.”
She pauses, then exhales, tension leaving her shoulders as understanding settles in.
“Right. Sometimes I forget.” Her mouth quirks as she shakes her head. “Besides, you’ve probably been spoiled by Egyptian cotton sheets.”
“Are you talking about yourself or me?” I tease, jumping back as she flicks a towel toward me.
“At least you’re not too fancy for a home-cooked meal. Sit. Both of you.”
A cloud of steam blooms from the oven as she pulls out a roast chicken, the kitchen filling with the mouthwatering scent of herbs and garlic. She sets out bowls of potatoes and roasted veg on the table, along with a gravy boat. Lockie mutters a quiet, “smells incredible,” taking a seat.
I join him, sinking into my chair and watching Mom pile food onto my bodyguard’s plate. For the first time in a long time, the exhaustion I’ve carried shifts. Not gone, but it’s lighter. Like sitting here might actually let me reset, even if just for a moment.
Mom and Dad fill me in on the latest town gossip, who’s gotten married, the new yoga studio Abby and her go to every Saturday morning.
It all becomes background noise as I let their voices fill every tired space inside me, grateful for something so small and ordinary.
A welcome change from the constant motion and expectation I’ve been drowning in lately.
“You should see Grace play hockey.” Dad chuckles. “She’s so much like her brother on the ice it’s scary. And when the pair of them get on that rink—”
Mom makes a small sound, her hand brushing his arm.
“I mean—” Dad clears his throat, chasing a pea around on his plate like it’s the most interesting thing to do.
I jolt, a tiny, involuntary twitch that’s impossible to hide. Grace plays? I must’ve missed when they stopped telling me these things. Or maybe I stopped asking.
In my head, she’s still a baby, this bundle I’ve never even met. Yet somehow, she’s old enough to have a coach, a team, a whole damn life that I’ve never been a part of. It’s a strange kind of guilt, realizing someone grew up in the space where you disappeared.
“Declan’s…on the ice again?” I ask, grip tightening around my fork.
Dad blinks, frowning, gaze flicking briefly to Mom. “What? Oh— No, not playing competitively anyway. He refs sometimes, helps the younger kids run drills when he’s not working.”
She hums softly in agreement, reaching for her glass. Something in my chest drops. Hard. Fucking hell, even after everything, he still found his way back to the ice. And I didn’t even know.
“I had no idea he was doing any of that,” I say, setting my fork down, appetite suddenly lost.
Dad swallows slowly, looking at Mom again, their silent conversation speaking volumes, before his gaze is back on me.
“Coop…” he says carefully, “we didn’t know what you knew, and it never felt like the right time to drop Declan news on you over a two-minute phone call.”
Shame crawls up my spine, hot and prickling. “Right.”
Mom’s hand finds my wrist, her grip warm against my cold skin. “We didn’t want to spend the little time we had together making it harder for you.”
“I’ve been a shitty friend,” I murmur, barely above a whisper.
What else have I missed? The question’s lodged in the back of my throat, choking with the need to come out.
Mom frowns, the smallest of creases forming between her eyebrows before she smooths it away. Her thumb sweeps a soft arc across my wrist.
“He’s at The Lost Compass most nights,” she says. “If you wanted to…he’s there.”
“We already went,” I blurt, the word tumbling out before I can stop them, regretting it immediately.
Dad’s expression shifts, caution settling in his eyes. “Oh?”
“He wasn’t there,” I add quickly, stomach clenching with the lie.
Across the table, Lockie stills. He doesn’t even look up from his plate, fork pausing mid-air for a fraction of a second before he keeps eating. Mom hesitates, hand squeezing again before letting go to slide an ear of corn onto my bodyguard’s plate.
“He’s done such a wonderful job with the place,” she says. “The amount of work that boy put into it.”
“With what?” I ask, eyebrows pinching.
She exhales, the sideways glance my parents keep giving each other starting to grate.
“Would you guys stop doing that?” I snap.
“Cooper.” The gentle tone of my name makes my hair stand on edge. “You know he bought the bar...”
The glass in my hand falters an inch from my mouth, blood rushing in my ears. If I thought finding out about Declan being back on the ice hurt, this is agony.
“He…what?”
“We told you,” Mom insists, not defensive, just careful.
Dad nods. “A couple of years ago. Simone was looking to sell, and Declan put a down payment on it.”
I hear the words, but they refuse to land, sliding right off me the way everything else has these past few years.
I would’ve remembered. I should have. But life turned into this endless blur of schedules and airports and being Reign, and somewhere along the way, things stopped sticking unless they were part of the job.
And Declan…
Fuck. Declan got caught in the crossfire.
“Oh,” I say, voice hollow. “That’s… That’s great.”
Mom’s smile falters. “Cooper? Honey—”
My chair scrapes along the floor. “I-I think I need some air.”
Heading out into the hallway, I reach for my coat, fumbling with the zipper, clumsy, numb.
Stepping outside, the rapidly cooling night air rushes over me, making me shiver.
Trying to close the door behind me, I glance down as it jams in place.
Lockie’s already standing behind me, watching me with patience I don’t deserve.
“Could you give me a ride somewhere?” I manage, frowning the second the words leave my mouth, “No, wait— Shit, you were still eating. I can just—”
“No. Dinner can wait. You won’t.”
Dipping back inside, I hear the hushed sound of voices before he’s back, buttoning up his coat and pulling out the keys from his pocket. I swallow thickly, following him to the car, no further questions asked. And thank God. If he did, I might just fall apart right here on this porch.
“Just tell me where.”