Chapter Twenty-Two
Brinley
The barn is quiet when Atlee drops me off, aside from the sound of Penalty shuffling around in her stall.
I take the stairs up to the apartment and drop my keys on the counter, shrugging out of my jacket. The familiar creak of the floors grounds me for half a second before my phone buzzes in my hand.
Wren: The guys are having people over tonight. You coming?
Wren: I could use some help getting everything set up before the guys get here.
We exchanged numbers after the game, knowing we’d be seeing more of each other in the future.
I stare at the message, then back out and open the thread with Cooper. He still hasn’t called me, but I’m sure he had to get checked out by the medical staff before he showered.
I debate taking Wren up on her offer before I quickly fire back a response.
Me: On my way.
I change out of Cooper’s jersey, shoving it into my bag and switching over to a sweater before pulling my hair up without caring how it looks.
I head back downstairs after I lock up, then send a message to Cooper about the change in plans.
Me: Heading to the hockey house.
I wait for him to respond, but my screen stays quiet.
I tell myself it’s nothing. He’s probably still in the locker room. Probably talking to the trainers. Certainly, everything is fine.
Still, that uneasy feeling lingers as I unlock my car and slide into the driver’s seat.
The drive over doesn’t take long, but I keep glancing at my phone at every red light like it’s going to light up any second. It doesn’t.
I park along the street and head inside.
The house is already packed. Music thumps from a speaker shoved against the far wall, bass vibrating through the floor. The kitchen is crowded, with people spilling into the living room, red cups in hand.
Wren spots me almost immediately and throws her arm up.
“Brinley!” she yells over the music. “Thank God. Come help us with drinks.”
I weave my way through clusters of people dancing and talking over each other until I reach the breakfast bar. Wren’s standing there with another girl who introduces herself as Wren’s roommate, Alisa, before handing me a plastic cup as well.
I set my bag down and roll up my sleeves, falling into step beside them while they mix a questionable neon liquid in a giant cooler. I don’t know what’s in it, but the smell of alcohol hits hard enough to make my eyes water.
I keep glancing toward the door without meaning to, half expecting it to open and for Cooper to walk in like everything’s normal.
Ten minutes go by. Then twenty.
The music gets louder. The room gets warmer.
Talon shows up first, then Kade and Owen right behind him. All three of them talk over each other about a play from the third period like they’re still on the ice.
I want to pull one of them aside and ask where Cooper is, but I don’t.
I don’t want to be that girl. The one pacing by the door. The one who’s obsessing over her crush. We’re not even a couple, not yet anyway, so it’s not like he owes it to me to keep me updated on what’s going on.
So I grab a cup, pretend I’m listening, and keep telling myself he’ll walk in any second.
I double-check that my phone is set to vibrate before I busy myself with cups that don’t need refilling. My mind starts spinning on reasons he’s not here with his friends.
Did something happen after the game?
Is he having car trouble, or could his phone have died?
Did my father say something to him?
I don’t know how much his friends know, though I’d argue they know something, since Wren told him she’d seen me leaving his office the other day.
I don’t want to say the wrong thing or drag them into it if this is nothing, so I stay quiet.
I’m not in the mood to drink, but when someone presses a cup into my hand, I take it. I let it sit there, fingers wrapped around the plastic, as if it gives me something to do to keep my eyes from drifting toward the door.
I check my phone again.
Still nothing.
The music pounds through the kitchen. People shout over it, laughing too loud. It feels like the whole room is moving, and I’m just… standing in it.
Wren catches my eye from across the counter. “You okay?” she mouths.
I nod automatically. It’s easier than trying to explain the tightness in my chest. Easier than admitting I can’t shake the feeling that something feels off.
I don’t want to be the girl who brings the mood down. Not when everyone’s celebrating. Not when I’m already carrying around the weight of who my father is and what that might mean for the man I’m starting to fall for.
Time continues to tick by, and I’m starting to feel more and more like I shouldn’t be here. Like I don’t belong.
Eventually, the noise starts to grate on my nerves. The laughter and the music worsen my anxiety. I set my drink down, barely touched, and grab my bag.
“I’m gonna head out,” I tell Wren quietly.
She frowns. “You sure?” She glances around the room, likely looking for Cooper.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m tired. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”
It’s not a lie, just not the whole truth.
I inhale a deep breath when I step outside and make a beeline across the yard toward where I parked. I sit there for a second, my hands on the steering wheel, staring at the hockey house, hoping that he might finally show up.
Like if I wait just a little bit longer, he’ll be here, and everything will be okay.
If he’s not here, though, maybe he’s already at the barn.
The thought is enough to get me moving.
This time around, the drive back feels longer. My eyes track every headlight I pass, wondering if maybe it’s him before disappointing me.
When I pull into the gravel drive, the barn apartment is dark, and I don’t see his truck anywhere outside.
I unlock the door anyway, stepping inside like he might be here just out of sight. The space feels emptier than it has before. I drop my keys and kick off my shoes, resisting the urge to check my phone once more, knowing what I’ll find.
Not knowing what to do with this restless energy, I take a shower. The water is hot, almost too hot, but I stand under it anyway. I let it pound against my shoulders while my thoughts loop in circles.
I shut off the water and dry off slowly, pulling on an old T-shirt and underwear before climbing into bed. I set my phone on the nightstand, knowing I’ll hear it if he texts or calls.
He’ll text. He always texts.
***
Sleep comes in pieces. I drift off for a few minutes before jerking awake, like my body won’t let me sink too deep.
At some point, I reach over and check the time on my phone. It’s 4:07 a.m.
My chest tightens when I notice there are no unread messages and no missed phone calls.
For a long moment, I just stare at it, hoping answers will somehow appear in my mind. Or like a message will come through explaining everything.
They don’t.
I set the phone down on my chest and stare at the ceiling instead.
Whatever happened last night… it wasn’t small. I can feel it now.
And for the first time since I got to Rixton, the thought slips in that maybe this place isn’t for me after all.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed before my mind spirals out of control.
The room looks the same as it did when I went to sleep, but something about it feels off.
In the span of a few hours, it’s like I’m not supposed to be here anymore.
Like I’ve slipped back into that same feeling—being somewhere I don’t quite belong, surrounded by people who were never meant to be permanent.
I move quietly, pulling my duffel out of the closet. I fold my clothes, pack up my toiletries and shoes, and gather all the little things I brought with me.
I tell myself that giving him space will be easier than waiting for a call that may never come. But really, I don’t know how to stay here when I’m starting to feel like he’s pushing me away.
I find a scrap of paper in the drawer and sit at one of the stools at the breakfast bar, waiting for a few minutes before I start writing.
Thank you for letting me stay here. And for everything else too. Please tell your family how much it means to me.
It’s polite. Safe. It doesn’t say anything about how this place has felt more like home than anywhere else I’ve lived.
I leave the note on the counter where he’ll see it.
If he comes looking for me.
On the drive back across town—to the loft above the bar—my mind keeps replaying the last time I saw him. The way he searched the stands until he found me. The way his face softened when he did. The wink like it was just ours.
The way he asked me to come like it mattered.
I’m only a few miles from the loft when my car jerks as I’m approaching a stoplight.
It’s subtle at first, like I hit a rough patch on the road. The light changes, and I let off the brakes and ease into the gas.
“C’mon,” I mutter under my breath.
The engine makes a strange, higher-than-usual whining sound. The steering wheel starts to vibrate faintly beneath my hands. A sharp scent of gasoline seeps into the car, enough to make my stomach turn.
It’s an old car, so I’m used to its quirks by now. But the dashboard lights flicker.
My stomach drops when the car lurches, harder this time. I have to tighten my grip on the wheel to keep it straight. The street is mostly empty this early, which is the only thing working in my favor.
“Not now. Please not now.”
I manage to coast onto the shoulder before the car finally gives out. The engine sputters once, twice, then goes quiet.
I sit there for a second, staring at the empty stretch of road ahead, my hands still locked around the steering wheel, as if I can will it back to life.
Of course this would happen today.
I turn the key again. The engine makes a god-awful grinding sound, something that feels expensive, then dies just as quickly.
I let my head fall against the headrest and close my eyes.
I don’t have anyone to call.
That realization hits harder than the breakdown itself.
For a split second, Cooper’s name flashes through my mind. I picture his truck pulling up behind me, him climbing out, telling me it’s fine like he always does.
I shove the thought away.
He hasn’t answered me. Why would he now?
My vision blurs before I realize what’s happening. I press my palms against my eyes, annoyed at myself. It’s just a car. It’s fixable. Probably.
I swallow past the tightness in my throat and reach for my phone. Not to call him, but to search for a towing company.
My fingers shake more than I’d like as I tap the first number that pops up. The man who answers sounds half asleep, but he promises someone will be there in thirty minutes.
I sink into the seat and pull my jacket tighter around my shoulders. It’s not freezing, but it’s cold enough to feel it settling into my bones without the heater running.
Cars pass every few minutes, and each one makes me tense. Headlights sweep over the windshield and disappear again, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
And the quiet is the worst part.
I came to Rixton looking for answers. For closure. Maybe for proof that I wasn’t just drifting from one place to the next.
Somewhere along the way, it stopped being about me figuring things out and started being about him. Now I’m sitting on the side of the road before sunrise, wiping my face with the sleeve of my jacket so I don’t have to admit I’m crying.
This feels like a sign from the universe that my time in Rixton is up. Maybe I misread what was happening between Cooper and me and let myself lean into him more than I should’ve. I wanted what I felt for him to mean something to him too.
But some things aren’t meant to last. Maybe Rixton and Cooper were never meant to be home and, instead, were just another stop along the way.