Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
COOPER
A satisfied ease washes over me as I button up my dress shirt for our game tonight. My pre-game ritual is being checked off, and this morning in the study room might be the newest addition.
The person staring back at me in my reflection is lighter, freer, and unapologetically happy.
I finished the evaluation for her when I got home; it’s sitting on my desk.
Carefully, I went through each question, knowing how important this is to her.
Seeing how what she’s doing is working. I know my participation is part of this, but it’s her that’s helping me fall back in love with the sport.
She’s showed me how to separate who they want me to be with who I am. Reminded me how fun skating can be.
My playing is better. It’s still there in the back of my mind—I know I’m creeping up on Dad’s record.
I know other NHL teams are watching my every move.
I know this could be our year to bring home the trophy again—but I’m working to keep it there.
Use it as a different type of fuel. Navigating how to want it for myself and not others.
I want to break Dad’s record.
I want to play in the NHL.
I want to win the Frozen Four.
The affirmations, the goals, are on a note card in her handwriting taped to my bathroom mirror.
Jaxon knocks on my door. It’s a light tap followed by three more, each increasing in sound and pressure. He never waits for an answer to come in but at least he knocked. It’s caused some issues in the past, but that’s why we have locks—so he says.
“Can I catch a ride to the bus?” he asks. Jaxon doesn’t like to drive. “Chase and Dawson already left, and I don’t know where Beck is.”
“He has to pick up his sister early from school. She has a fever.”
“Is everything okay?” Jaxon is as worried as I was when he texted me an hour ago asking me to let Coach know he’ll be fifteen minutes late.
“A bug is going around her school. Elliot’s going to watch her here since his mom’s busy.” I tighten my tie. “I’ll be ready in ten.”
Before heading downstairs, I walk to my nightstand and grab my lucky bracelet.
Our game today is only an hour away against Wisconsin. Everyone is overconfident that we’ll crush them. They haven’t won a game in the past month, but that means they’re hungry.
Our winning streak is expanding. We’ve won the past eight games.
In the car, Jaxon goes through his pre-game rituals. Which means he’s snagged the aux and put on his playlist. He rolls down the windows and is singing at the top of his lungs.
“Is Sutton coming to the game?”
“No, she has a study group tonight.” I didn’t ask her to come, didn’t want to pressure her to be there. I know she has other obligations besides me, other classes and schoolwork.
“Did you ask her to come?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you? You could have. Maybe she’d like to know that you want her there.”
I always want her there. “She’s busy. I don’t want to make her feel bad. Plus, it’s not home.”
“So?” His fingers fire away on his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Asking her to come to our game. Suggesting that she bring whatever flash cards or homework she has and does it in the stands.” We both know she’ll get nothing done. This isn’t baseball. Hockey isn’t a slow game.
I reach across the car, snatch his phone, hopefully before he’s hit send. I toss it in the back of the car.
“Come on, Coop.” He unbuckles and worms himself across the console to get his phone off the floorboards. Jaxon laughs maniacally, buckling himself back in. “Nice try, but it sent.”
We’re passing another rec center on campus. Congregated out front is the baseball team. I immediately spot Zach, his Lakeland baseball hat flipped backwards. He’s smiling and talking to Sutton.
My face must fall—the outward expression of my heart and stomach plummeting through the seat, out of the car, and being dragged behind us—because Jaxon comments on it.
“It’s nothing, man, I promise.” She has her tote bag hanging off one shoulder, books in her arms. “Isn’t her apartment down the street from here. She was probably walking home and being nice.”
I slow down, turn off the music, and because I want to torture myself, I roll down my window. Her voice is carried by the breeze, a sweet sound that fills my car.
“I’ll see you around,” Zach tells her.
“Bye, Zach,” her voice echoes.
“Stop listening,” Jaxon whispers, even though he’s leaning closer to me to also eavesdrop.
“Let me know what time works for you on Monday.” She nods. “Bye, Sutt.”
Jaxon rolls up the windows as I stare in the rearview mirror.
Sutton is walking away from Zach, both becoming smaller the further I drive.
I try to focus. What’s Monday? Since when has he called her Sutt?
The parking lot to the arena is the next left, but I take a second, third, fourth peek at them.
“Coop.” Jaxon jostles my right shoulder. “Cap. Dude, don’t worry about him. He’s not the one wearing her number.”
I turn, drive my shoulder into the seat. “How do you know about that?”
“I’m not as oblivious as people think. I know you combined your jersey number with hers after freshman year.”
No one knows about that. I made up a lie that my number was needed for an incoming freshman as part of a recruiting deal.
Not even Coach questioned me when I showed up at his office asking—more like begging—to change my number.
I’d been twenty my entire hockey career.
Since peewee skating and swimming in polyester.
She’d been sixteen since I can remember.
When Mom called to tell me that Sutton was officially done playing, potentially needing another surgery, I dropped what I was doing to sprint to Coach’s office. I didn’t even think twice about my decision. I’d play for both of us.
Maybe that’s why I want her to come to my games, wear my jersey. Maybe she’ll realize I changed my number. Maybe she’d realize it’s for her, that it’s always been her for me.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t matter?” I try to get out of the car, but he pierces me to the seat with a look.
His steel eyes threatening me to move. “All of it matters, Cooper. You’ve been obsessed with her for years.
You’ve never let yourself date, barely hook up with anyone because of Sutton.
Both of you act oblivious, but we all see it.
” He taps on his phone, changing the song. “At least I do.”
“She’s choosing him! That’s why I agreed to help her,” I snap, not at him, but in half. My heart, the remaining parts she doesn’t have tucked in her back pocket, fissure in half.
“No she’s not! Get your head out of your ass and see that—”
I get out of the car, not wanting to hear what he has to say.