Chapter Twelve
Brinley
I was hoping work would give me a distraction. I could paste on a smile and keep my hands busy. I fall into the routine and keep my thoughts out of reach.
It didn’t work, though.
Ever since Cooper showed up in my life, something has changed. I keep circling back to thoughts of him, even when I don’t mean to. Everything feels heavier now, especially when we’re near each other, like every look holds something I don’t have the words for yet.
The unread message on Dead Zone weighs on me too.
I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that Cooper is Rowdy87—the same person I’ve been gaming with for years.
I keep wondering if that’s where some of this connection comes from.
The unexplainable trust I feel with him, almost as if I knew him before I ever knew who he was.
And maybe that’s what’s throwing me off the most. That version of him online—the one who jokes, who doesn’t take anything too seriously, is different. And I hate that I’m starting to wish I saw more of that side of him in real life.
I attempt to log in from my phone to see if I can check my messages. Standing in the back room of Broken Saddle, I quickly type out a response.
For the rest of my shift, I keep sneaking glances at my phone whenever I get a second—between orders, while no one’s looking—refreshing the screen like I’m expecting something new every time.
Every time his name lights up my screen, a smile pulls at my mouth before I can stop it.
So when I look up after he told me he had somewhere to be and find him stepping into the bar, his eyes already locked on mine, my pulse trips. I start to wonder if he’s connected the dots too. If he realizes the girl he’s been playing with, the person behind CerealKilla, is me.
He finds a seat toward the end of the bar. I stay focused on taking orders, but I’m aware of him the entire time. When I finally look over, I catch him watching me—like he’s trying to figure me out and is paying attention to more than he should.
It sends heat curling low in my stomach, a reaction I absolutely have no time for right now.
I’m still supposed to be upset with him, but the way his gaze lingers has warmth spreading through me, making it harder to hold on to it.
That’s dangerous.
Because he isn’t just some guy sitting at the bar. He’s a player on my father’s team.
Even thinking about it makes my chest tighten, the reminder hitting harder than I like. There are lines there—ones I’ve learned to keep in place after moving around my whole life. Don’t get too attached. Don’t let things go further than I can walk away from.
I wipe down the bar slower than necessary, trying to keep my focus there. It’s already clean, but I keep going anyway, as if the movement might keep me from overthinking.
My thoughts keep drifting back to the night before. The quiet of his room, the softness of his bed, and the way I fell asleep next to him without bracing for the sounds I’m used to hearing through the walls.
The way I felt safe.
And that’s the part I can’t seem to shake.
I don’t let myself think too hard about it, and I definitely don’t say anything to Cooper. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to see something in him change. Or because putting it into words might make it real in a way I’m not ready for yet.
When I climbed into my car this morning, my mind went straight back to the alley. To the way he approached me like he’d been waiting for me. I tried to brush it off, telling myself he had to have mistaken me for someone else.
Something about it, though, doesn’t feel random.
And no matter how many times I try to connect it back to my father, it doesn’t make sense. My mom said he left before I was even born, and she hasn’t spoken to him since that day.
We moved so much that I doubt he would’ve kept tabs on us, if he ever had known about me. I already spent my life as a ghost, from one town to the next, so I wasn’t trying to force myself to be seen.
So whoever it is… it’s not him.
I glance toward Cooper again.
He’s leaning against the far wall now, arms crossed, jaw set. He isn’t drinking. He isn’t laughing with the guys around him. He doesn’t look bored or even distracted.
He just looks… focused, as though he’s waiting for me or for something to happen.
My pulse flutters, heat rushing my cheeks. I drop my gaze quickly. Whatever this is between us, it isn’t smart. He doesn’t deserve or need me dragging him into my problems either. And it definitely isn’t safe to let myself fall for someone temporary, so close to everything I’m supposed to avoid.
But the truth still presses in anyway, making it impossible to ignore.
He’s the only person I feel like I know well enough to trust. Until I figure out who’s behind what happened in the alley and I find another place to stay. Maybe he’s right.
Maybe staying in the apartment above his family’s barn wouldn’t be giving up control. Maybe it’s taking it back. Like I’m choosing safety on my own terms and not running away when it’s what they want from me.
I swallow hard and focus on closing out tabs, stacking glasses, and wiping down the counter one last time as my shift winds down. My hands move on autopilot while my thoughts tangle tighter with every second.
Because wanting him and letting my guard down around him will complicate things. But pretending I don’t feel safer and more at ease when he’s near is the biggest lie of all.
I slide my apron off and hang it on my hook, where I store my purse during my shift, then call a quick good night to Sasha before I take off.
The back room is dim. I step inside, letting the door close behind me, as I punch in my employee number on the time clock.
I don’t even get a chance to turn around fully, and Cooper’s there.
Leaning against the wall across from me, he stands with his arms crossed once more, eyes on me as if he knew exactly where I’d go when my shift ended. The sight of him steals the air from my lungs.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
The tightness in my chest gives. I don’t ask any questions about what he’s doing back here. I just take a step closer to him.
“I was gonna come find you,” I admit.
His jaw clenches, as though that matters more than he’s willing to say. “Really?”
I nod. I don’t move right away. I just stand there, looking at him, the air between us charged.
All I can think about is what it would be like to kiss him.
My gaze flicks to his mouth, then back to his eyes, and something there catches me. It’s not hesitation, but a flicker of uncertainty—like he wants to kiss me too, but doesn’t want to misread it and have me pull away.
So I close the distance between us, keeping my gaze locked on his lips so he knows exactly what’s coming.
The kiss knocks the air out of me.
Not because it’s rushed or frantic, but because it isn’t. Because the second our mouths meet, everything settles into place. Like he’s been holding himself back since the moment we first met, and now we’ve stopped pretending.
Like he’s done forcing himself to stay behind that line too.
His hand slides across my jaw, commanding and warm, grounding me as the world around us fades away. His other hand grips my waist, holding me against him instead of caging me.
I can feel the heat radiating off him.
I lean into him without hesitation. My hands find the front of his shirt, and I let my fingers trace the firm muscle beneath the material. The low growl he makes in his throat when the kiss deepens steals my breath.
Nothing else at this moment exists.
He pulls away, just enough to look me in the eye. His forehead rests against mine, his eyes dark and searching, as if he needs to make sure I’m still here with him.
“You don’t make things easy, ya know that?” he murmurs.
I huff out a breathless laugh. “Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you.”
His thumb brushes across my jaw.
“We should probably talk,” I say, even though my body argues against the idea.
His mouth quirks. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
I hesitate, then hook my fingers into the front of his shirt, tugging lightly. “Come upstairs with me. I don’t want to do this here.”
He studies my face for hesitation. Whatever he’s looking for, he doesn’t find. He nods once. “Okay.”
We quietly walk outside and up the stairs. I unlock the door and flick on the light, realizing at the last minute I should’ve done a better job of picking up over the past few days. It’s kind of hard, though, when your entire place is one large room.
I set my purse down and turn to face him, forcing myself to exhale. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About me staying somewhere else.”
His shoulders instantly tense. “Brin—”
“I know,” I cut in gently. “I know you didn’t want to push it.”
“I didn’t,” he admits. “I just… I don’t like the idea of you being here alone. But I also don’t want you to feel like I’m pressuring you either.”
My body relaxes, and I nod.
“I don’t want to rely on you,” I say quietly. “Or for you to feel like I’m taking advantage of you or your family.”
His brows furrow. “You wouldn’t be. I’m the one offering.”
“It would feel like it, though,” I counter. “I just got here. I’m still figuring things out. I don’t want to be someone who needs saving.”
He steps closer, not trying to crowd me, but enough so I can feel his presence. “This isn’t about me saving you,” he says. “It’s about knowing you’re safe while we figure this out. I understand you want to do things on your own, but I’m not going to let you go through this alone either.”
I hesitate, and he sees it.
“You’re not a burden, Brinley,” he adds. “And you don’t owe me or anyone anything. Stay a week or two. However long you need, or until you find somewhere else if you want.”
I fold my arms, more out of habit than defensiveness.
“When I moved here, everything was already full. Students were moving back on campus, so all the places were taken before I got a chance. I just got lucky finding this place. It was cheap and available, so I took it.”
“And now you’re realizing that cheap doesn’t necessarily mean safe,” he points out.
I nod. “I was thinking about finding another place. Somewhere that might have more security, so this just speeds things along.”
His jaw tightens, exposing he doesn’t love the idea, but he isn’t going to say it either.
“Okay,” I say finally. “I’ll stay there. For now.”
Relief flashes over his face so fast, he doesn’t even have a chance to hide it.
“It’s temporary, though.”
“Temporary,” he agrees without hesitation. “We can look together, if you want. Or not, whatever you decide. I know the area, though, so maybe I can help.”
I exhale, and the weight I hadn’t realized was pressing down on my chest loosens a bit.
“Alright, then I guess I should probably pack.”
He lingers near the door while I gather my things. It doesn’t take long, considering I don’t have much. I still hadn’t brought in some of the clothes packed up in the back seat.
I grab the groceries I bought yesterday and shove them into one of my cloth bags, tossing my toiletries into another. Cooper takes them from my hands, and I adjust my backpack and purse on my shoulder. “Is this everything?” he asks.
I nod.
As we step outside into the night together, I remind myself again that this is temporary.
But when he stays close, adjusting the bags in his grip before settling his free hand at the small of my back, it tells me something else entirely.
This isn’t me being rescued.
It’s me choosing, for the first time, not to do this alone.