Chapter Sixty-Three
Declan
Cooper being here every day is not news to me. The pages scattered across the table, ripped out, balled up, all abandoned, should annoy me. But it doesn’t. And that’s a problem. Because the more I see it, the more I find I like seeing it.
His hood’s pulled up, head bent over his notebook, the pen in his hand tapping a restless rhythm against the wood.
Something about him has shifted over the last couple of days. Whatever strained tension hung between us has dulled into…something else. Not easy or uncomfortable. More bearable now.
“What do you think he’s working on?” Vince asks, leaning against the bar.
I don’t answer, because admitting I’ve been wondering the same thing feels like a mistake. But Cooper’s frustration is impossible to miss. Jaw tight, shoulders bunched, he rips out another page, tossing it, the crumpled ball rolling off the side, joining the growing pile of failures on the floor.
For once, I don’t look away. I stay behind the bar, watching him, unsure if I should say anything or leave him alone.
“Declan!”
My head snaps toward the front door, just in time to see Grace running inside, sneakers hitting the floor like a stampede. Mom hurries in behind her, looking frazzled.
“Hey, Gracie.” I round the bar and pull her into a hug.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” Mom says, slightly breathless. “Last-minute work meeting, and your dad’s stuck in traffic. Can you take her for a couple hours?”
I nod, twirling her hair around my finger.
“Sweetie, finish your homework in Declan’s office until Dad gets here, okay?”
Grace nods, except she doesn’t go anywhere. Spinning around, her eyes lock on the booth, her entire face lighting up. “Reign! You’re here, too!”
Before I can stop her, she beelines for him, sliding into the booth beside him. Cooper startles enough that his pen nearly launches across the table, but the second he realizes it’s her, a slow grin spreads across his face.
“Hey, trouble. Score any more goals?”
“No.” She giggles. “I only have games on the weekends. Duh.”
“Grace, leave Cooper alone,” I say as I approach. “He’s working.”
“I am,” she counters, unzipping her backpack and pulling out her homework, slapping it onto the table. “We can work together.”
Mom gives Cooper an apologetic look. “I don’t think he wants to be distracted.”
“No, it’s okay,” Cooper says, stealing one of her glitter pens and testing it on his page. “I don’t mind.”
“See? He said it’s fine,” Grace chirps. “I promise I’ll be quiet.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
He smirks, twirling the sparkly pen between his fingers. “I’ll survive.”
Reaching under the table, he lifts his bag, pulling out a crumpled packet of Sour Patch Kids, and my heart lurches at the sight.
Grace’s eyes widen as she watches him pop one into his mouth, winking and nudging them toward her.
She grins, shoving her hand inside. The first two she pulls out are blue, and she pauses, setting them to the side before plucking out a red one and biting off its head.
“You saving them for last?” Cooper teases, nodding toward the blue Sour Patch Kids.
Grace winkles her nose. “No. Declan doesn’t eat the blue ones, so I don’t either.”
He goes still for half a second, gaze flicking up to me.
“Habit.” I shrug, scratching the back of my neck, before pushing the bag away from Grace.
“No more, okay? You’ll ruin your dinner.”
“I want pasta,” Grace announces, patting her small stomach.
“Ooh, that sounds good.” Cooper taps the menu by his side. “I won’t say no to free food.”
“Who said anything about it being free?” I shoot back automatically, too easily.
“Thank you, boys,” Mom cuts in and kisses the top of Grace’s head before slipping out.
My sister waves, barely noticing Mom leave, her gaze locked on Cooper like she’s conducting an interview. “Where’s Lockie?”
“Back at the hotel,” he says, pushing his notebook away and settling back in his chair.
“Do you come here a lot?”
Jesus Christ.
Cooper bites back a smile. “A bit.”
“Why?”
“Why not?” he fires back.
“But you’re famous. Shouldn’t you be in some big city or something?”
I choke on a laugh. Nope, she does not hold back.
“I’m gonna put your orders in,” I mutter, escaping before she asks how much money he makes.
I could go straight into the kitchen, telling my chefs what to make, but curiosity drags me toward the ordering station near their booth. Cloaked in the shadows, I stay out of sight, shamelessly listening to their every word, the chance to snoop winning out over my professionalism.
“So?” Grace prompts when he doesn’t answer.
To his credit, Cooper doesn’t sound annoyed. He actually chuckles. “You’re a bit nosy, aren’t you?”
“Yep. Now answer the question.”
I can practically see her sitting taller, proud of herself.
“I’m usually in LA when I’m not on tour.”
“In your apartment?”
He hesitates, and I watch him lift his phone, fingers flying across the screen. Turning it toward her, my sister’s eyes go wide.
“Is that your house?” she gasps, and I don’t need to see what she’s looking at to know it’s probably this massive, exuberant mansion in the hills where all the celebrities live.
“It’s…yeah,” he says, leaning back as she flicks through pictures. “One of them.”
“It’s huge,” she whispers, almost reverent. “Why are there so many walls?”
“Privacy.”
Handing back the phone, she tilts her head, studying him. “Do you live there by yourself?”
I hold my breath, waiting for his answer.
“Most of the time,” he admits, his smile faltering slightly. “Sometimes I convince Lockie to stay over.”
She hums, thinking. “Doesn’t that get lonely?”
My grip tightens on the counter as he exhales through his nose. “Sometimes. Yeah.”
“Is that why you’re back here?”
Cooper sighs. A tired, bone-deep sound that punches the air out of my chest. I shift just enough to catch his profile. His head’s dipped, shoulders curling inward. Then he lifts his gaze, dark circles still lining his eyes.
“I…got lost.”
The words hit me like cold water. I know that feeling, the hollow, frantic kind you can’t explain without sounding broken. The kind I drowned in after my injury, the one I thought he never understood.
But he does.
I stare at him, no longer annoyed or jealous or anything I was before. We’ve both wandered that same dark place. Just on different paths.
Grace frowns, and he fidgets with her pen again. “The kind of lost where you don’t know who you are anymore. Where everything that used to feel easy, and make you happy, suddenly doesn’t. Where you wonder if you’ve made the right decision. Or any at all.”
I had no idea he felt like that.
Of course you didn’t. You haven’t given him a chance since the second he came home.
Grace studies him carefully, piecing something together. Then, without warning, she switches gears completely and pulls out a crumpled worksheet from her schoolbag.
“We had to write a story today,” she announces, sliding it across the table. “It was really hard.”
“Oh yeah?” he asks, huffing a quiet laugh.
“Yeah. But my teacher said it was my best one.” She points proudly at the A at the top. “Declan says it’s easier to write when you write what you know.”
I close my eyes. Fuck. Of course she’d remember the one thing Cooper told me. The line he always said before he turned it into an entire career. The same line that punched me in the gut that night after Toronto.
Taking it from her, smoothing out the creased edges, he begins to read. His expression softens—really softens—with each word, not the show he puts on for strangers.
“This is really good,” he says, and Grace lights up with the praise.
“Do you get stuck writing too?” she asks, so casually it could knock a man flat.
His breath hitches. Mine does too.
“Yeah,” he says after a beat. “Lately…a lot. Writing used to be easy. I’d work on new tracks way into the morning.
But now, every time I try, nothing comes out the way I want.
It’s like there’s a wall in my head.” He taps his temple once.
“My manager thinks the solution is having someone else write my songs.”
A pulse of anger flickers hot in my veins.
Not because he didn’t tell me or because I used to be the one he bounced ideas off.
But because songwriting was the one place Cooper always came alive.
He built his whole damn world on melody and lyrics, and instead of helping him find his muse again, his manager slapped a big old Band-Aid over a gaping wound, stripping him of pieces just to keep the machine moving.
And he deserves better than that.
Grace makes a face I can’t see from where I’m standing. “Your manager sounds dumb.”
Cooper snorts. “Yeah. Maybe.”
Leaning forward, she taps her worksheet. “It will come back. You just have to write the stuff you know. Like Declan told me.”
I freeze as Cooper looks straight at me, like he knew I was standing here the whole time, and there’s no hiding the vulnerability in his eyes.
Grace pats him on his hand, grabbing his attention. “Or maybe you just need a break.”
His throat works as he swallows, and then, to my complete shock, he threads his fingers gently around hers. “You’re pretty smart, you know that?”
She grins and launches straight into talking about school, hockey, and gold stars, the tension breaking as their conversation shifts into much safer topics. I force myself back behind the bar, chest tight in a way I can’t shake.
I wish he’d told me.
I wish I hadn’t become someone he couldn’t.
The kitchen bell dings, and I grab their food, taking it over.
“Pasta for the kiddo,” I say, sliding her bowl in front of her. “And smoked brisket tacos for the rock star.”
Cooper groans, his eyes widening, pulling the plate closer. “Holy shi—smokes. These look incredible.”
Grace giggles, already shoveling noodles messily into her mouth.
“Share the fries,” I warn, putting them in the middle of the table.
“Rock stars can’t eat fries,” she insists as she pulls them out of Cooper’s reach.
“Yes, we can. I’m on a break. Breaks require carbs.”
“Enjoy,” I murmur, even though I’m drifting backward, not trusting myself to stay too close. Cooper doesn’t move, his gaze fixed on me, eyes full of something too heavy to name.
Thank you, he mouths. For everything.
I nod and retreat to the bar, the distance between us feeling bigger than the room should allow.
By the time Dad arrives to take Grace home, she’s buzzing with sugar and stories.
Cooper pushes up from his seat and rounds the table, lowering to his haunches so he’s eye level with her.
When she flings her arms around his neck, he holds on like he needs it.
And I stand there, helpless and aching, as his face cracks.
“If you’re lonely,” she whispers, quiet enough that I think it’s meant just for him, but I hear it anyway. “You could just stay here.”
“I wish I could, kiddo,” he says, my heart squeezing when he calls her that.
Sticking out her lower lip, Grace nods, considering this before she gasps again. “You should get a dog.”
He laughs, a real one. “A dog?”
“Yeah. Then it wouldn’t feel so empty when you’re home.”
“That’s…not a bad idea,” he says, watching as she waves goodbye and follows after my dad.
I don’t know what this moment means to him, but I know it’s something, maybe more than either of us want to admit.