Chapter Fifteen
Cooper
I’m slow to wake up the next morning.
Beside me, Brinley shifts closer to me. Her knee presses lightly into my thigh, her fingers curling around my side. I smile when I realize she’s lying on my pillow. She might try to fight it, but even in her sleep, she finds herself pulled toward me.
It’s like neither of us can control what we both know is inevitable.
For a few minutes, I just lie there and soak in the warmth from her body.
This closeness between us is happening so quickly, and it’s starting to feel dangerous. Not in a bad way, but it makes me picture things I shouldn’t want. Not when I don’t know how much time I’ll have with her.
Not when I don’t know if what she sees between us could last beyond the next few weeks.
With her hair down, it fans across the pillow around her. I can’t help but brush my thumb across her cheek at the softness that takes over her face. I don’t pull away quickly because I don’t want to wake her.
Or maybe I just don’t want to leave yet.
When I glance at the nightstand on her side of the bed and see the time flashing on the alarm clock, reality takes over, and I slide my arm out from under her carefully.
I pull on my workout clothes and grab my keys, then stop long enough to leave a note on the counter for her.
Outside, the cool air hits in a way that makes my lungs burn. The drive to the rink is quiet, my mind still stuck back in that room with Brinley.
By the time I get inside, I don’t even bother with the locker room. I head straight for the training area, where a few guys are already getting worked on or stretching out from last night’s game.
“You look like you got banged up,” one of the trainers says, glancing up as I walk in. “How’s the shoulder?”
“I’m good,” I tell him automatically.
He gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he gestures toward an open table. “Sit.”
I do, rolling my shoulder once like it’s nothing. It’s sore. The tightness is still there, worse now that the adrenaline’s worn off.
He presses into it, testing the range. I grit my teeth enough to hide it.
“You got driven into pretty hard.”
“Yeah,” I grunt as he hits a tender spot.
He nods like he expected it. “You’re not getting on the ice today.”
I huff out a quiet breath, shaking my head. “I’m fine.”
“Light work,” he says instead, already moving on. “Hit the bike and do some stretching. No pushing it. Not if you want to play later this week.”
I don’t argue with him, not if it means I’ll be able to play.
A little while later, I’m in the weight room, half going through the motions. I go through a few sets with resistance bands, working on light movement. It doesn’t feel like it’s doing much, but every rep is a dull reminder that I’m still feeling it.
I ignore it, though. I always do.
Coach steps into the conditioning room, his eyes lingering on me, his expression as hard as ever.
When conditioning winds down, my body is still buzzing. Sweat drips from my brow as I grab a towel and wipe my face.
Coach Dawson waits just outside the locker room, leaning against the wall like he’s been there a while. His posture is rigid, his jaw clenches tight. He’s the kind of man who keeps himself locked up tight, never letting things get too personal.
“Rowden.”
His voice stops me mid-step, and I turn toward him.
“You good to go for Thursday?” he asks.
That’s it.
Not how’s the shoulder?
Not medical clear you fully?
Not even you took a hell of a hit last night.
All he wants to know is if I can do my job.
I don’t hesitate, though. I never do.
“Yeah.” I nod. “I’ll be ready.”
He watches me, like he’s weighing it, then decides not to push.
“Good,” he grunts. “We need you locked in.”
Then he turns away, already moving on.
I linger there for a second, waiting to see if he says anything else. He doesn’t.
I guess that’s how this works. I say I’m good, and that’s the end of it. No one questions it. No one looks twice. And if I don’t bring it up, neither do they.
It’s loud in the locker room when I step in a few minutes later. A mix of jokes, laughter, and lockers slamming shut. I roll my shoulder once as I move to my stall, trying to loosen it up before anyone notices.
Owen looks up when he sees me.
“You alright, Rowdy?”
“Yeah,” I say automatically. “Just a little beat.”
He watches me a second longer than I’d like.
“You’ve been quiet for the last couple of days. This about…” He trails off, not saying her name.
I glance across the room and catch Talon’s eye. He’s sitting at his stall, a towel draped around his neck, one elbow braced on his knee.
“Before you feed us some bullshit answer,” Talon says evenly, “remember we know you better than that.”
I grab my shirt from the bench and drag it over my head, buying myself a second.
“I’m good,” I say finally. “We’re good. Just feeling it from the lift. Nothing we haven’t all pushed through before. Right?”
Owen nods slowly. Talon doesn’t look convinced.
Thirty minutes later, I step out of the rink, the noise from inside fading behind me. My body feels heavy in that post-lift way. I wish I was heading back to the house to crash.
Instead, I’ve got a list of chores to complete.
My phone buzzes in my pocket before I make it to my truck. I pull it out to see a notification come through from Brinley.
And just like that, everything else fades to the background a little.
Brinley: Missed waking up next to you. Hope your workout is going well and your shoulder is better today.
I smile despite myself, something loosening in my chest.
Just leaving the rink now. Feeling better now. How’d you sleep?
Brinley: Great, actually.
That does something to me.
I start the engine and pull out of the lot, heading toward Brinley and the farm. The road stretches ahead of me, and my mind drifts back to the workout, to the game coming up and everything riding on it.
I’ll take care of my shoulder. I’ll ice it and be ready, just like I always am.
When I get to the farm, I don’t waste any time sitting in my truck longer than necessary. Grabbing my work gloves, I head straight for the barn. When Dad agreed to let Brinley stay on the property, I promised him that I’d help get the chores caught up.
With the season underway, I wasn’t stopping out as much as I normally would, which left a lot on him to shoulder. Pun not intended.
I’m halfway through tossing loose hay into the stalls, spreading it out along the feeders, when I hear footsteps behind me.
“Hey.”
Brinley’s voice carries across the yard, cutting through the quiet hum of the barn. I glance over my shoulder and find her stepping out into the sunlight, wearing a pair of jeans and one of my old hoodies.
My hoodie.
She must’ve found it in one of the closets since I hadn’t seen it since last winter. Something warm spreads through me at the sight of her.
“You didn’t say you were back already,” she says as she walks closer. Her eyes flick to my arm for half a second, like she’s checking in without asking outright.
Her hair is pulled away from her face, her skin bare, and I’m able to see the light dusting of freckles covering her cheeks.
“I figured I’d get a head start on chores,” I tell her, grabbing another flake of hay and tossing it into the stall.
She nods toward the barn. “You come out here often to help out?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “Keeps me out of trouble.”
I wink.
She snorts. “Doubt that.”
I’m just about to call an intermission and pull her into me when tires crunch over gravel behind us.
We both turn as a black BMW rolls into the drive. The engine cuts and the door swings open.
Atlee hops out with the kind of energy that suggests she’s already been talking for ten minutes before arriving. She shoves her phone in her pocket, ponytail bouncing as she scans the yard.
“Atlee,” I call.
She spots me and grins. “Wow. You finally showed up for once. I was starting to think a cardboard cutout had replaced you.”
“Nice to see you too,” I mutter. “Little shit.”
Brinley laughs under her breath, and Atlee’s eyes zero in on her.
I see the moment it clicks.
Oh. That girl.
Atlee’s smile shifts as she strides over with the kind of look on her face that means I’m about to regret what happens next.
“So you must be the mystery girl.”
Brinley blinks. “Mystery girl?”
“My mom mentioned you. Repeatedly. I’m shocked there wasn’t a town hall meeting about it.”
I shoot her a look. “You done?”
She ignores me and sticks her hand out toward Brinley. “Atlee. Sorry about him. He was raised better. I’m his sister, unfortunately.”
Brinley shakes her hand, smiling. “Brinley. I didn’t realize I was… Rixton news.”
“Oh, you are,” Atlee says easily. “You moved into the barn. That’s practically headline material.”
I step in before this spirals. “She’s exaggerating. Don’t worry, she does that often.”
“Do I, though?” Atlee arches a brow before turning back to Brinley. “He’s been weirdly evasive every time I ask about you.”
“Because it’s none of your business,” I cut in.
“That’s never stopped me before.”
Brinley’s watching us as though she’s discovering a side of me she didn’t know existed. And I guess maybe she is.
Atlee’s always had a way of dragging me out of my own head, whether I want her to or not.
“So,” Atlee says, rocking back on her heels, “you’re staying here?”
“For now,” Brinley answers. “Just until I figure out what’s next.”
“That tracks,” Atlee says.
“With what?” I ask.
“With you,” she replies simply. “You wouldn’t bring people here unless they matter to you.”
Brinley’s gaze flicks to me at that. I pretend to be very focused on the hay in my hands.
Atlee glances toward the house, then back at Brinley. “I’m in the dorms this semester. My parents are still offended about it.”
“They’re still mad?” I ask.
“They think it’s ridiculous we’re both paying to live elsewhere when there are perfectly good bedrooms in that house.” She air quotes. “But I like my freedom. And I don’t like my brother hovering.”
“I don’t hover.”
She and Brinley exchange a look.