Chapter Nine
Cooper
I don’t give anyone a chance to say a word.
The moment we step inside the hockey house, I guide Brinley straight toward the stairs, my hand firm on her lower back.
It’s still loud. Music pounds through the walls, laughter spilling out from every room. Except for the bedrooms upstairs, anyway. I can feel every set of eyes on us too.
Kade glances up from the couch, his brows lifting, concern flickering across his face. Talon goes still near the kitchen, and I notice Owen’s voice cuts off mid-sentence.
I ignore all of it.
“Let’s head up to my room,” I murmur to Brinley, keeping my voice low.
She falls into step beside me without question, and that alone does something to me.
I keep my focus locked on her the whole time, on getting her away from the noise and stares. My room’s at the end. I dig my keys out of my pocket, unlock the door, and shut it behind us, twisting the lock again without thinking.
“Bathroom’s there,” I say, nodding to the door on the right. “Take your time. Clean towels and washcloths are under the sink.”
“Thanks,” she murmurs.
Her voice sounds steadier now. Almost worn down in a way that feels more honest than calm. Or maybe she’s just learned how to fake it better than most.
She slips into the bathroom, and the door clicks shut.
I drag my hand through my hair and exhale slowly, then lean against my dresser like my legs need support. Adrenaline still pulses under my skin, refusing to settle, every instinct buzzing like I just stepped off the ice after a bad hit.
This isn’t how I imagined my night ending.
Hell, I hadn’t imagined any of this when I woke up this morning.
When the bathroom door opens again, I look up and—
Everything in me goes still.
Brinley steps out wearing oversized sweatpants and a hoodie that clearly aren’t hers. The sleeves swallow her hands, and I can barely see her feet, if it weren’t for her pink painted toenails.
Her hair falls loose around her shoulders now, her face bare of makeup. She looks younger somehow. It feels like I’m seeing her stripped down to something real.
My breath catches, just for a second.
I don’t feel like I’ve earned the right to see this version of her.
“You okay?” she asks, glancing at me like she has no idea that she’s just unraveled something inside me.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice coming out rougher than I meant for it to be. “Yeah. Just, uh, the bed’s all yours.”
I nod toward it, even though every instinct in my body screams to keep my distance.
She hesitates, shifting her weight. “I don’t want to—”
“I have no problem taking the floor,” I say quickly. “It’s fine. I’ve slept in worse places.”
That gets a small smile out of her.
She nods and moves toward the bed, perching on the edge like she’s not quite sure what to do. I grab an extra blanket from the closet and spread it out on the floor, keeping my back to her to avoid staring.
I fail anyway.
It’s not about her body. It’s the way she moves when she thinks I’m not looking. The way her shoulders relax. I notice she looks around my room, like she’s taking it all in.
I can’t ignore this urge to get to know her too.
Not the version she shows to the world, but the one I’ve only caught glimpses of underneath. The one who watches our practices from the stands. Who flinches when someone gets too close. The one who doesn’t trust easily.
I want to understand where all that comes from.
I want to break down every wall and see what’s left.
That thought should scare me because nothing about how I’m feeling is casual. And it’s already too much for knowing her for only two nights.
I nod toward the bathroom. “Get comfortable. I’m gonna take a quick shower.”
She murmurs, “Okay,” and adjusts the pillows, settling into the bed. I grab a pair of clean sweats and head into the bathroom before I can get caught up at the sight of her on my bed.
The water helps.
It burns my skin and helps ground me, washing off the earlier adrenaline and images I don’t want to replay. Him shoving her against the siding, the fear I saw in her eyes I can’t quite shake.
The thought of what could’ve happened if I hadn’t been there to step in.
When I step back into the room, I’m wearing black sweatpants and nothing else.
She looks up and immediately darts her gaze away.
For a half second, I wonder if it’s this—our proximity and the tension I feel burning between us—or if it’s the fact that I’m standing here shirtless like an idiot. Either way, I cross to my dresser and grab a Rixton U shirt, then pull it on without comment.
Her shoulders ease, and I don’t say anything about it.
“Movie?” I nod toward the TV.
“Sure.” Her gaze drifts past me, lingering on my Xbox console beneath the screen. “You game?”
I pause. “Yeah.”
She shrugs like it’s nothing. “I do too. Or, well… I did. It’s been a while. Haven’t really had a chance since I moved.”
I grab the remote and open the movie app, shuffling through them.
“Cooper?”
I glance up. “Yeah?”
Her gaze flicks between me and the hardwood floors. “You sleeping on the floor is not much better than the loveseat at my place.”
“I’m fine,” I insist.
“I’d feel better taking the floor,” she says quietly.
I freeze. “Over my dead body.”
Her brows lift, and she laughs softly, like she hadn’t expected that response.
“I’m serious,” I add. “You’re not sleeping on my floor.”
She studies me for a long second, weighing something in her mind, then she exhales.
“Okay,” she says. “Then we can share the bed. But just sleeping.”
“Of course,” I say. “As long as you’re okay with it, though. I promise to give you space.”
She nods. “I trust you.”
The words land heavier than anything else tonight.
I swallow hard. “I won’t ever give you a reason not to.”
We settle into the bed, both of us hyperaware of the distance between us. I stay on my side, closest to the door. I hand her the remote, and she rolls to her side, adjusting her arm underneath her head as she scrolls through the movies before landing on 10 Things I Hate About You.
The movie starts, the familiar music filling the room. She relaxes into the bed, her shoulders dropping until eventually her breathing evens out.
I keep my distance like I promised, staying still even when she shifts closer to me without realizing it. She shifts to curl her body inwards, tucking her knees to her chest, and her forehead drifts closer to me.
She’s out, and I don’t move.
My attention shifts from the movie to watching her instead. Her lashes rest against her cheeks, the faint furrow between her brows finally smoothing out. I imagine her sleeping alone in the cold loft on that pathetic excuse of an air mattress, and it doesn’t sit right with me.
She can’t go back there.
As the movie plays quietly, my mind starts working in ways it always does when I can’t turn it off. Lining up options and ways to make it make sense without her feeling trapped.
I already know she won’t like any idea I come up with.
She’s stubborn, this much I’ve learned. I think she’d rather go back to that loft than ever ask for help.
I glance down at her again, at the way she’s curled into herself. I tell myself I’ll figure out a plan. But first, I need to talk to my father.
I shift just enough to pull the blanket higher around her shoulders, careful not to wake her. She burrows herself into her pillow, her arm sliding across my chest. Her hand tightens briefly in my shirt, then she relaxes again, her breath steady.
I lean my head back against my pillow, eyes on the ceiling.
She’s safe now.
And in the stillness of my room, I make a promise to myself that I won’t admit out loud.
I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep it that way.
Whether she likes my plan or not.