Chapter 4 #2
He’s right. If it weren’t for Alise, I don’t know that he’d be standing here.
She’s the only person stubborn enough to go toe-to-toe with him and win.
I still remember Cooper’s retirement party.
Beau hitting the ground. Alise on her knees beside him, eyes red, voice shaking as she told the paramedics she wasn’t leaving his side.
Even after they worked through the fallout, he tried to push her away again.
Said he was afraid of what she’d think, seeing him like that.
But Alise has never feared the messy parts of love. She stayed anyway.
Now they’ve got a place a few blocks from the rink back home, near Aunt Peggy’s.
Small house, crooked fence, front porch that needs repainting.
It fits them—quiet, solid, lived-in. He walks her to work when he’s not coaching.
She brings him lunch like she knows he’ll forget to eat if she doesn’t.
They’re proof that sometimes the thing that almost breaks you is the same thing that stitches you back together.
It’s still weird sometimes, seeing the girl I grew up calling my sister living with my big brother.
The same girl who used to race me through the park and steal my popsicles now argues with Beau about grocery lists and paint colors.
But they balance each other. He steadies her. She reminds him to breathe.
I’ll never say it out loud, but I’m grateful for her.
Beau is quiet again now, gazing at his mug. There’s a new kind of peace in him, a looseness in his shoulders that wasn’t there before.
Cooper watches us from behind his desk, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to smile.
It’s strange to see him this relaxed. A few years ago, he’d have been pacing, jaw tight, already planning three moves ahead for all of us.
That’s who he’s always been. The fixer. The one who grabbed the wheel when Dad died and decided the only way to keep us together was to hold on so tight none of us could move.
He drove me insane with his lectures, his constant need to control everything. He thought he was protecting us, but half the time, it felt like he didn’t trust us to stand on our own. Then Ramona happened. She came in like a storm and somehow made him laugh when he was certain he’d forgotten how.
She doesn’t let him carry everything alone anymore. He still tries—because he’s Cooper—but now he knows when to pass the load. They’re good together. A quiet kind of love that doesn’t need fireworks, just steady light.
But he’s still him, which means he still thinks it’s his job to keep the rest of us in line. Most days, it works. Beau, Cole, Momma—they’ve all carved out their lanes. With me? I’m not sure he’s ready to loosen his grip yet.
He leans forward and clears his throat, and just like that, the air shifts. The warmth drains from his face until all that’s left is the head coach. It’s subtle, a flip of a switch I’ve watched my whole life. Game mode. No room for a little brother here.
“We’re not fighting,” he says finally, tone steady but clipped. “We’re talking about expectations.”
I swear I can feel the shift ripple through the room. Beau straightens a little in his seat; Cole sinks back in his chair like he’s settling in for a show. I keep my expression easy, but my pulse kicks up anyway.
“You’ve got the skill,” Cooper continues, eyes locked on mine. “But the league doesn’t care about your last name. You’ve got to prove you belong here.”
I nod, the words familiar and heavy. I’ve heard variations of this speech since I could tie my own skates.
Work harder. Focus. Don’t screw up. Coming from him, it’s not advice.
It’s a line I’m either on the right side of or not.
Despite my best efforts to act unfazed, the same weight that’s been sitting on my chest since draft day presses down.
“I know,” I mumble.
He studies me for a beat, like he’s trying to read everything I’m not saying.
He’s always been annoyingly good at that.
Instead of digging, he just nods and leans back, satisfied enough for now.
I can feel all three of them watching me.
Pride. Pressure. Worry. It’s a familiar cocktail.
So, I reach for the one thing I know how to use.
“Don’t worry, Coach. I’ll try not to embarrass the family name.”
“That’ll be a first.” Cole snorts because, in his mind, I’ve been embarrassing them since birth.
The tension breaks, but underneath the laughter, something in me stays wound tight. No matter how much I joke, there’s still that part of me that wants Cooper to be both coach and brother. Critic and biggest fan. Maybe one day he will be, but today is not that day.
Cooper exhales, the moment hanging fragile between us. “I’ve already spoken with the PR intern in charge of rookie media prep this year. I let her know you’ll be starting tomorrow, and what she might be walking into.”
I try not to wince. They’re not wrong. My reputation still walks into a room before I do.
“Poor woman. Hope she signed a waiver.” Cole snorts, lifting his coffee.
Beau chokes on his coffee, coughing into his sleeve while I grin.
“Wow, thanks for the faith, guys.”
“I’m just saying, she’s distractingly cute. If Kyle thinks so, too, we might have another headline on our hands.”
Beau shakes his head, fighting a laugh. “Yeah, she’s got that PR polish, but she’s sharp. You might wanna keep your flirting to a minimum, Kyle.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like,” Cole fires back.
I bark out a laugh, Beau following right behind me.
Cooper’s glare snaps us into silence. It’s the same one he used to give us when we were kids, and he caught us swearing in front of Momma. “You done?”
“All yours, Coach.” Cole raises his hands in mock surrender.
Cooper shakes his head, but there’s the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his mouth. “You’ll report to her office tomorrow at eight a.m. sharp for media training and interview prep. Whatever she tells you to do, you do it. Understood?”
“Got it.”
“There’s no morning practice, but I want you in the training room by eleven for fitness testing. Strength, agility, endurance… you know the drill.”
“Yes, sir.” I give him a mock salute, earning another snicker from Cole and Beau.
“Welcome to the team, kid,” Beau says as he stands, clapping a hand on my shoulder. His touch is solid and warm, and for a second, the knot in my chest eases.
Cole lingers by the door, grin crooked. “Try not to blow anything up before your first game.”
“Not making promises I can’t keep.”
They both laugh on their way out, voices fading down the hall, and just like that, the room quiets again.
Cooper doesn’t look at me right away. He stares at his coffee instead, then finally says, “I know I ride you hard. It’s not because I don’t think you can handle it.”
“I know.”
“You’ve got something special, Kyle. Always have. Don’t lose sight of why you’re here.”
“I won’t.” I swallow around the lump in my throat and nod.
“Good. Now get out of here and try not to be late tomorrow.”
“No promises.”
He flashes me another annoyed look before gathering his papers. “Go home, Rookie. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
I push to my feet, slinging my duffel over my shoulder. “Wouldn’t dream of being late twice in a row.”
“See that you don’t.” His mouth twitches like he wants to smile but won’t give me the satisfaction. “Close the door on your way out.”
“Yes, Coach.”
He shakes his head, muttering something that sounds a lot like smartass, and I step into the hall. The door clicks shut behind me. For a second, I just stand there, staring at the blank screen of my phone, not yet ready to move. When it lights up, my chest tightens.
Unknown Number
Dinner is tonight at 7:00.
My grin comes fast, helpless. It’s stupid how just seeing her name—well, her number—can light me up like this.
I make no promises. Should I bring dessert or just my devastating charm?
The typing dots appear almost instantly, pulsing like a heartbeat. It’s ridiculous how that tiny thing makes mine kick harder.
Unknown Number
Bring pie. The charm is overrated.
I huff out a laugh, one shoulder propped against the cool plaster of the wall.
Harsh, sweetheart. Guess I’ll have to bribe you.
Unknown Number
You can try.
I should stop there and pretend she’s not already crawling under my skin, but I don’t.
Oh, I plan to. You look like the kind of girl who pretends she doesn’t like a challenge just to see how far someone will chase her.
The dots appear, pause, vanish, then blink again. She’s thinking about it.
Unknown Number
You assume I’m chasing material.
You’re still texting me, aren’t you?
Unknown Number
Maybe I’m bored.
Maybe you’re curious.
Unknown Number
Maybe you’re full of yourself.
Entirely possible. Still, you haven’t blocked me yet.
Unknown Number
I’m giving you time to hang yourself with your own charm.
Dark. I like it.
There’s a pause long enough for me to imagine what she looks like right now. Her lip caught between her teeth and that spark in her eyes right before she says something that’ll ruin me in the best way.
Unknown Number
You’re trouble.
You say that like it’s a bad thing.
Unknown Number
I haven’t decided yet.
Take your time, sweetheart. I’ve got all night.
Unknown Number
You really don’t. You’re meeting me at the coffee shop near the arena at 5:30. We need to get our stories straight before dinner with my mom.
Look at you, planning ahead. Very wifey of you.
Unknown Number
This is not a date. It’s business.
All great love stories start with mutual denial.
Unknown Number
You’re incorrigible.
You’re still texting me.
Unknown Number
Unfortunately.
Keep lying to yourself, sweetheart. I can take it.
Unknown Number
Don’t forget to bring pie. I’ll need the sugar rush to tolerate you.
You sure you don’t just want me?
Unknown Number
That’d require you to stop talking.
Never gonna happen.
The dots appear again, lingering this time, like she’s fighting a smile she doesn’t want me to see.
I can almost feel the invisible thread pulling tight between us.
I stare at her last message until the screen fades, a stupid grin spreading slowly across my face.
There’s something about her—quick-witted, sharp-edged, impossible to read—that makes everything else fade into the background.
Every word feels like a hit of adrenaline. Each reply lands somewhere deeper than it should. She doesn’t know me, but somehow, she’s already cracked something open I didn’t realize was closed. Before I can overthink it, I tap her number and add it to my contacts: Lightning Girl.
Because that’s what she is. Fast, bright, and dangerous in a way that makes me want to lean closer anyway.
And if I’m not careful, she might just burn me alive.