Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
COOPER
“So, how is this supposed to work?” Chase holds up a face mask. Head tilted and a brow arched. “Why is it wet? What are the flaps for? Am I supposed to tuck that into my mouth?”
“No.” Elliot laughs, scooting closer to him on the couch.
“Here. Let me help you.” Chase hands her the charcoal mask, cheeks tickled pink.
“You want to place the top at your hairline right here, then work down the rest of the mask. This goes over the bridge of your nose. And the flaps…” She snickers.
“They are to help bend around your chin, jaw line, and mouth. Most definitely not to go into your mouth. Pat it down and make sure it won’t slip off your face.
Now start your timer for fifteen minutes and enjoy your wine. ”
Chase follows her instructions, leaning back into the couch with an oversized glass of red wine.
“Good boy.” Elliot pats his shoulder before moving to help Beckett with his mask.
This isn’t the first girls’ night we’ve crashed…
or wanted to be a part of. Classes kick back up tomorrow.
Coach gave us last Monday after practice through today off.
It was a welcome reprieve for everyone with the conference tournament right around the corner.
From here on out, everything is about the road to the Frozen Four, hauling the trophy over our head, and bringing it back to Lakeland.
Both the women’s and men’s teams are leading the standings.
However, before departing from the locker room, Coach gave us a stern lecture on behavior over break, which went in and out of the ears of half my teammates.
My cousin, who plays for Chicago, had called a couple of weeks ago to catch up.
I opened up after he asked about NHL prospects, and yet another article about my dad and me.
I don’t know why I hadn’t sooner, he understands.
He reminded me that people criticize us because they’re jealous or have nothing better to do and don’t want to face their insecurities.
Comparing me to my dad is easy, buzzworthy, and clickbait; they don’t care about what it’s doing to me.
All of which were reiterations of what Sutton and Dad have said to me.
When I asked him about how he stays grounded, he invited me to volunteer with his and his twin sister’s charity. A couple of the guys came with me, but the rest of the team was scattered across the US doing who knows what.
It’s relaxing the eight of us being back together now.
Sutton’s bathroom door opens, and I can hear Jordan and Jaxon heading toward us.
“That hurt,” Jaxon groans.
“You wanted to bleach your tips. Bleach hurts.”
“You purposely got it in my eyes.”
“It didn’t get anywhere near your eyes. Stop being a big baby. You wanted this.”
“I wanted your hands on me,” Jaxon mutters, but unfortunately for him, I hear him from the kitchen.
“That’s my little sister you dick. Stop thinking about her like that,” I holler.
Jaxon leans over the counter and apologizes when he reaches the eat-in. Jordan is behind him, pulling off the plastic gloves she’s wearing and washing her hands. His hair doesn’t look as ridiculous as I thought. The blond tips are…interesting to say the least.
He had two ideas for team bonding: frosted tips and mustaches. Thankfully, everyone vetoed the frosted tips. Now we’re growing out mustaches for the rest of the season and, crossing-fingers, into the tournament.
I rub a thumb over mine.
Unlike my best friend, I grow facial hair quickly. I’ll have a full-fledged mustache by the time the first round happens if we make it. Sutton keeps saying I’m going to jinx us if I keep trimming it.
Topping off Sutton’s drink, I rejoin her on the couch. Jaxon is now droning on about his disappointment in Lakeland cancelling our annual sports lip-sync battle. It’s a twenty-year tradition that our new Athletic Director deemed unnecessary and a waste of time.
“We had the perfect dance too.”
Dawson pats Jaxon’s bare thigh, his already short shorts riding up his long legs. “Want Chase and I to film it with you?”
“You’d do that?” He perks up.
“Anything for you babe,” Dawson replies as Chase throws popcorn at them and says, “Don’t volunteer me. I can’t dance.”
“Stop talking!” Elliot warns Chase again. “You have three minutes left.”
Even with our friends the world falls away when Sutton is around. Words become sounds. People become blurry, out of focus. Except for her. We’re a snow globe on a shelf. Our own little world, that we’ve shaken up and living in the flurries around us.
My fingers are tangled in her hair massaging her scalp, watching her debate which color to paint her toes. When she can’t decide, I pick, taking the bottle of polish from the table. Holding the two in one hand, I drag an unpainted foot into my lap.
“Is it weird that I’m bummed I won’t get to see you dance?”
“You should be,” I tease. “Because your man was looking mighty fine.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. These hips, baby, you should see the way they move.”
“Are you holding out on me?”
I lean in toward her, my chest brushing her bare knees.
The polka-dot lounge shorts are adorable.
Sutton’s also in my sweatshirt, one of the six she has conveniently forgotten to give back.
I don’t care, I like seeing her in them, or when I spend the night and sneak one to wear in the morning, and they smell like her.
“Whenever you’re ready,” I remind her.
Sutton and I haven’t had sex yet. We’ve done everything else, and it’s good. So. Good. Everything has been better with her, and I know this will be too, and I’d wait forever if that’s what she wanted or needed.
She bites her bottom lip, blush rushing her cheeks. “Thank you.”
Kissing her cheek, I resume my masterpiece, moving to her other foot.
“Isn’t this nice?” Jaxon asks no one in particular. “I thought something was missing, then remembered that Cooper and Sutton are dating now.”
“We aren’t dating,” Sutton chirps.
“Then what the fuck is this?” Beckett gestures in our direction, his larger body shoved against mine.
“You still haven’t asked her out?” Jordan sighs, and from over my shoulder she’s trading her wine glass for her phone. “I’m texting Dad—” she starts to threaten before, of all people, Elliot snatches her phone.
Good thing. He’s coming to our game this week with Sutton’s dad, plus who knows what Mom ended up saying to him.
“Let’s not ruin the peace before we’ve gotten to thoroughly enjoy it.” Elliot then turns to me, blocking herself from Sutton and mouths If you don’t ask her soon, you’re dead. I know where you live. Her other hand pretends to pull a knife across her neck.
I give her a thumbs up.
They leave us alone, catching Beck in a moment of chattiness gabbing about his sister. I’m almost done with Sutton’s toes.
“I like this color.” It’s a bright blue-green. “Reminds me of your eyes.”
“Pay attention.” Sutton giggles. “You’re getting it on my skin.”
“Have you seen your hands?” I hook a finger around her pinky, tickle her palm, and she squeals. “Admit I’m better at this than you, Dave.”
She narrows her eyes at me.
“No.” Sutton leans forward, snatching the polish. “Gimme your feet, I’ll show you.”
Friday is our last game before the conference tournament starts, and Dad’s here.
I didn’t see him or Mr. Davis during warm-ups, but they’re there now.
The empty seat next to them was empty till right before puck drop.
My favorite, steadying redhead, rushing in.
Her dad’s arm around her shoulder, pulling her into a hug.
I throw one leg over the boards, dig my skate into the ice, and kick the other over. Taking a lap around our half of the ice before stretching for the next period. I skate by them, wink at Sutton, and make a hand heart on the glass, stick in my armpit.
Her dad blows a kiss with his free hand. Mine folds over laughing.
Everyone is having a great game. Beck hasn’t given up a single shot.
He passes his most recent save to Dawson, who passes it to the freshman defenseman, who is lightning quick and speeds down the ice into offensive territory.
Nudging it off before being slammed into the boards by the opposing team, Jaxon scoops it and passes the puck to me behind the net.
I skate, brushing off the defenders on me. Our other winger comes in for the rescue, and I get him the puck before skating back around the net, getting into position for a backside goal.
That goal puts us up four to zero, and I’m officially three goals out from Dad’s record.
Jaxon throws his arms around me in a hug. The rest of my teammates on the ice are joining him.
I skate by Sutton, again, and point my stick at her to claim her.
I hope the guys sitting around her realize she’s mine and stop looking at her butt every time she jumps to her feet.
She won’t be mad to learn the goal wasn’t for her, she knows it’s because of her. That goal was for me. Even with Dad here, this game is for me, for my team.
After the game, the three of them are waiting for me. Sutton’s in her light denim overalls and a ribbed, long-sleeve, navy shirt. Curls pinned half-up with a matching clip with the Bears logo painted on it.
Absentmindedly, and oblivious to our dads standing over her, I walk up to her, cup her cheeks, and kiss her. Hard. Possessively.
There’s a cough.
Sutton pulls away with a full-body blush.
“Hi, Mr. Davis.”
“Carmichael.”
“I—” I’m about to apologize, but for what? “I like your daughter a lot, and she’s a good kisser.”
My dad sighs into his hands. Sutton gasps. And her dad chuckles, messing up my freshly showered hair.
“Happy that she’s kissing you, son.” He drops his hand. “Great game tonight.”
Dad chimes in next. “That goal—what number is that?” We both know the answer.
“Eighty-two. You’re going to do it, Cooper.
” When I take in a slow inhale, he adds, “If there’s anyone I want to break my records, it’s you.
Watching you play and share the love of this sport with you is the highlight of my career, Cooper. ”
His words fight off the lingering voice in my head.
I was four when I asked if I could skate with Dad. Told my mom I wanted to be like him when I grew up. When Dad came home from that stretch of away games and she told him, he cried. The next day, he took me to get skates, and we spent the entire afternoon skating.
In middle school, I wanted to try other sports. It didn’t surprise me that he was at every practice or throwing the baseball with me, calling his brother-in-law for tips.
In the midst of the darkness in my head, drowned out by voices, it was easy to lump him in with everyone else. Believe that what they were saying was also his opinion, but it never was.
I had lost sight of my love for the sport because of my fears of not being good enough. But I also lost sight of getting to do this with him. I love sharing hockey with him.
I smile, a reflection of his. “Then you better get ready to be dethroned. I bet it’ll happen before we even make the semifinals.”
Dad laughs. “I’m ready. You hungry? Want to get dinner?”
Sutton steps away from our dads, slips her hand in mine. I swear one of her psychology classes is mind reading because of the understanding she portrays. She squeezes my hand and murmurs, “Never kiss me in front of my dad again.”
“Tough luck, baby. I’m addicted to those lips.”