Chapter Twenty-Three
Cooper
I slept like absolute shit.
For most of the night, I just stared at the ceiling, flipping onto my side, then my back, then the other side again, fighting the urge to reach for my phone.
After I left the arena, I didn’t go straight home. I sat in my truck in the parking lot for a long time, engine off, hands on the wheel, replaying everything.
The time we’ve spent together. The way it didn’t start out easy, but it still became more than I ever expected.
The conversation with Kade and Talon when I found out who her father was. The look on her face when I told her I knew. Like she’d been bracing for me to walk away.
Then Dawson’s office.
The way he stood there like he was protecting something bigger than one of his star players or his program. The way he watched me like he was measuring how much control he still had.
I saw him leave not long after I walked outside. For a second, I thought about following him. Catching him somewhere off campus, somewhere he couldn’t hide behind his desk or the title on his door. I figured if I pressed hard enough, he’d slip.
Because something about that conversation didn’t sit right.
If he’s watching her… if someone really did approach her behind the bar that night to scare her out of town… I didn’t want to make this worse for her by going against his orders.
And if I push back, I don’t know what he’ll do.
But I can’t leave her hanging either. Not when it already feels like everyone in her life has.
I don’t want to be another person who disappears or withholds the truth from her.
I’m still holding out hope that she went back to the farm when she left the party last night. When I climb out of bed, I tell myself I’ll explain everything to her when I get there.
The morning air is crisp when I pull up. The sun is barely over the trees. I grab my gloves from my truck and head toward the barn, running through my usual checklist of chores in my head.
When I’m finished, I stop short outside and check for any signs of her. Her car isn’t here. I go around to the other side of the barn, hoping maybe I missed it. But the gravel drive leading to the other side of the property is empty.
There’s a tightness in my chest as I turn to head upstairs toward the apartment.
“Brinley?” I call out, stepping inside.
Everything about the space feels wrong. The first thing I notice is that her blanket, which she kept on the couch, is missing, and her shoes are no longer by the door.
It feels empty and cold here, like all the warmth that once filled the room is gone.
Like someone decided they were leaving and not coming back.
My eyes land on the note left on the counter, and my stomach bottoms out.
I don’t touch it at first. I’m almost scared to read it, out of fear of what it could say.
Has she spoken to her father again?
Did he give her the same warning he gave me?
What if he did run her out of town, and she’s never coming back?
“Hey,” Atlee says warmly from behind me.
I turn. She’s holding a mug, still dressed in her pajamas. Her eyes are soft and sympathetic when I turn around.
“I saw her moving her things out this morning. I tried to stop her before she left, but I was too late. I came up here and saw the note she left,” she says, nodding toward the counter.
My hands shake when I pick it up. My eyes quickly flit across the page to the short message she left.
That’s it. That’s all she left me with.
“How do you know she was moving her things out?”
“I watched her carry her duffel bag and the blanket she brought with her,” she says gently. “When I checked the closet and the bathroom, everything that was hers is gone.”
“When did you last talk to her? Did she say anything?”
Atlee hesitates. “Not since I dropped her off last night after the game. She looked tired, though. Like maybe she hadn’t slept much.”
Of course she didn’t sleep.
Her father has eyes on her.
The words replay in my head like a warning siren. He wasn’t bluffing when he said he was watching. And I’m the idiot who thought I could handle it.
I exhale hard.
“Did something happen between you two? Are you okay?”
She studies me for a second, like she’s trying to figure out how everything unraveled this fast.
“Her father wasn’t part of her life,” I explain. “He left before she was born. She grew up not even knowing if he was aware she was out there.”
Atlee’s brows knit together. “Okay…?”
“She transferred to Rixton. I think in hopes of meeting him, maybe she hoped they could build a relationship. I don’t know. We haven’t really talked about it much.”
There’s a beat.
“Cooper…”
“Her father,” I say, forcing the words out. “It’s Coach Dawson.”
Her face drops. “Oh shit.”
I nod. “After the game last night, he called me into his office. I thought it was about my shoulder. Instead, he warned me to stay away from her. He said he’ll find out if I do. I guess he’s watching her.”
“He’s watching her?” she repeats. “What does that even mean?”
“Well, his words were,” I say, jaw tightening, “actions have consequences. If I don’t follow his orders, I could be risking my career.”
Atlee exhales sharply. “Are you shitting me? That’s a load of bullshit.”
I shoot her a look.
She shrugs. “Don’t act like you’re not thinking the same thing.”
I am. I just don’t know what to do with it.
“She went to his office not long ago to see him. I guess it didn’t go very well. Wren said she saw Brinley leaving in tears,” I say quietly. “When I told her I knew, I promised her I wasn’t going anywhere.”
The room feels too empty when I glance around again.
“Does she know about your conversation with Coach last night?” Atlee asks. “She doesn’t seem like the type of person to just leave without a reason. Do you think he spoke to her again?”
“I don’t know. But after he pulled me in last night… I stopped answering her messages.”
Atlee’s expression shifts. It’s not necessarily judgment, but more understanding.
And that somehow makes it worse. The guilt settles low in my gut.
If he really does have eyes on her… if he’s trying to run her out of town… then her staying above the bar isn’t safe. And the thought of her closing up alone makes my stomach turn.
“I have to go,” I mutter.
“Where?”
“I don’t know. I just—” I drag a hand through my hair. “I can’t just stand here anymore.”
***
By the time I get in my truck, the silence echoes louder than it should. The note she left is folded in my pocket.
All I can keep thinking is what if she left? What if she packed up her stuff and never looked back? And I don’t know if this means she’s leaving here or if she’s leaving Rixton entirely.
I head toward the hockey house but have no idea what my next steps are. I already feel like I’m spiraling out of control after my conversation with Coach last night.
I’m hoping that if I talk to the guys, they’ll give me advice on what to do.
After everything we’ve been through over the past year, they already don’t trust him. This will only add more fuel to the fire.
I’m halfway there when I pass a car pulled over on the shoulder with its hazards on. I barely look at first, until I’m passing by and I realize it’s a silver Toyota. It looks awfully similar to the one Brinley drives.
Something nags at me.
I check the rearview mirror and catch the duct tape hanging off the bumper. It clicks a second later.
Without thinking, I veer into an empty bank parking lot, cutting across it before turning into the alley that leads back toward her. When I pull in behind her car, my headlights sweep over the broken taillight. There’s no mistaking it now.
It’s Brinley.
I shut off the engine and walk up to find her window already down. The sharp scent of gasoline hits me before I even reach her. She’s in the driver’s seat, her head bent forward, both hands covering her face.
She reminds me of how she looked that day at the bar, when I found out she'd gone to talk to Coach Dawson and Wren had seen her leaving in tears. She has the same slumped shoulders. She’s folded in on herself, like if she makes herself small enough, it might all disappear around her.
I tap lightly on the glass.
She jumps a little, then looks up. Her eyes are red. She’s not crying anymore, but you can tell she has been. Or maybe it’s a mixture of her lack of sleep that Atlee mentioned noticing earlier.
Relief passes over her face when she realizes it’s me, which only makes me feel worse. But it disappears just as quickly.
“What happened?” I ask.
She clears her throat. “It started making this weird noise, and eventually, it just stopped. It won’t even start anymore.”
“Did you call anyone?”
She nods. “They’re on their way. I’m okay. You can go.”
I glance at the empty stretch of road around us. It’s not terrible out here, but it’s not somewhere I want her sitting alone either.
“Who’d you call?”
“County Something Towing,” she says. “Some guy named Caleb is supposed to be here soon.”
I blink. “County Line Towing?”
She nods.
I let out a slow breath. Of course she called Caleb.
“He’s good people,” I say. “You’ll be in good hands.”
“Oh, good,” she says flatly. “I feel so much better now.”
I almost smile. Her tone tells me she’s over this conversation. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m not leaving her here. I’m not gonna just drive off because she says she’s fine.
A few minutes later, a pair of headlights appears, and sure enough, Caleb’s older service truck rolls up behind mine. He climbs out, baseball cap pulled low, and gives me a surprised look.
“Rowden?” he says. “Didn’t expect to see you when I rolled up.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Brinley’s a friend of mine. I was driving past when I saw her on the side of the road.”
He looks between us, then down at her car. “Did you take a look at it? What’s it doing?”
She explains it again, calmer this time. Caleb pops the hood, that same gasoline smell lingering as he leans in with a flashlight, listening while she tries to start it once more. It just clicks.
“Might be something with the fuel line,” he says. “Or it’s getting fuel but not firing. I’ll know more once I get it to the shop.”
“Yeah,” I say, standing beside him while he lowers the hood. “Let me know what you find.”
“I will.”
He starts backing the truck into position, getting everything lined up to hook her car to the tow bar. I stand close to Brinley, more out of instinct than anything.
Brinley’s a few steps away, wrapping her arms around herself. I can see her glancing between us like she’s trying to decide something.
“Caleb,” she calls out. “Would you mind giving me a lift to my place? It’s only a couple of miles from here.”
He pauses, looking between us. “Sure, I—”
“I’ve got it,” I cut in.
Both of them look at me.
“I’ll take her,” I say, already walking toward her trunk. “No need to ride with him when I’m already heading in that direction anyway.”
My tone leaves no room for discussion. I don’t mean it harshly, but I’m not debating it either.
Caleb nods once. “All right then.”
Brinley doesn’t argue, but I can see the subtle tic in her jaw. Her eyes track me as I pop the trunk.
There’s more in here than just her duffel bag. There’s a small storage box, a couple of large garbage bags, and a few grocery sacks with random food items. There’s even a pair of boots shoved into the corner.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was leaving Rixton and not moving back to the loft.
I grab the duffel and one of the garbage bags, which looks like it’s filled with more clothes, and carry them to my truck.
“You don’t have to take all of that,” she says behind me.
I ignore that and come back for the box.
She steps closer this time. “Cooper.”
“What?”
“That’s enough.”
I glance into the trunk again. “If you’re moving your stuff out of the barn, I’m not leaving half of it in here.”
Her jaw tightens. “I wasn’t—”
“You’ve been living out of your trunk for weeks,” I say, quieter now. “I’ve hated it the entire time.”
The words slip out before I can soften them.
She stills for a second.
I grab the remaining bags as Brinley reaches for her boots, then shut the trunk before she can argue some more. “You’re not riding home with Caleb, and you’re not leaving your stuff sitting out here. That’s it. I’m not going to argue with you on the side of the road about it either.”
She would’ve never called and asked me for help. This much I know for certain.
I’m not going to let her handle this alone either.
She doesn’t say anything else. Just stands there, watching me load the rest into the back of my truck while Caleb finishes loading her car.
And for the first time, she doesn’t try to stop me or argue.
Our hands brush when I reach for the boots, adding them along with the rest of the stuff. She jerks her hand away like she touched something hot.
I’d be lying if I said that didn’t sting.
When I shut the tailgate and walk around to open the passenger door for her, she hesitates before climbing in without a word.
The drive back is quiet. She keeps her eyes on the window. I keep mine on the road.
I want to ask if she’s talked to her father again.
I want to apologize for not responding to her last night.
I want to tell her that pulling up behind her car and seeing her sitting there alone, knowing she didn’t call me, bothered me.
But I don’t know how much I’m allowed to say right now.
When we pull up outside Broken Saddle, I grab her things from the back without asking. She unlocks the door and steps inside first. I set everything just inside the entryway.
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “You’ve done enough.”
She still doesn’t look at me as she bends to pick up her duffel.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
That makes her pause. She straightens and finally meets my eyes.
“For what?”
“For last night. For not responding to your messages or calling like I said I would.” I rub the back of my neck. “For making you feel like you did something wrong.”
Her brows pull together a little.
“It’s not you,” I add. “I’ve just got some things I’m trying to sort through. And I didn’t handle it right.”
I leave it there. I can see the questions swirling in her eyes, but she doesn’t ask them. She just studies me like she’s trying to decide whether I’m being honest.
“Okay,” she says softly.
I nod once. “I meant what I said before. I’m not going anywhere. I need you to trust me on that.”
She holds my gaze a second longer, then looks down. “I understand, Cooper.”
Every instinct in me wants to close the distance between us. To pull her into my arms and fix this. Explain to her what’s going on.
Instead, I step back onto the deck.
She closes the door gently. The lock clicks a second later.
I stand there for a moment, staring at the door, knowing she deserves more than half answers.
And knowing I’m going to have to decide soon what matters more—my hockey career or the girl I never saw coming.