Chapter Two
Brinley
It didn’t take too much to get settled.
The realization came as both a relief and a little sad if I thought about it too long.
Dave brought the extra stools by for the kitchen area, which gave me somewhere to sit to work on my homework and eat dinner. It would come in handy to have space to spread out my notebooks.
I used some of my money to buy an air mattress and a cheap set of sheets from the discount store down the road. The mattress hissed as it filled with air, expanding across the floor in the corner of the loft. I was nervous the first night that I’d wake up on the floor.
Thankfully, it’s held up okay so far.
The blankets I’d stuffed into the garbage bags to bring with me came in clutch. They smelled faintly like home, like the laundry detergent my mom had sworn by my entire life.
It wasn’t much, but it was mine.
I spent the night unpacking my stuff. I made a second run to the store to pick up a few groceries. Mostly easy meals I could make and have leftovers, along with some cold deli meat for sandwiches. I splurged on a cheap coffee machine. I figured making my own at home would save me in the end.
It would be enough for now, at least until I started making tips and could grab a few more things at the store.
Tomorrow, I’ll have my first day of class followed by my first shift at Broken Saddle.
By the end of the night, I was curled up on the couch, with my laptop balanced on my knee. I’d connected to the bar’s Wi-Fi and pulled up Netflix, settling into another episode of One Tree Hill. I always circle back to that show when I need something familiar.
I end up dozing off earlier than I mean to. The loft stays mostly quiet, the music drifting up from the bar below. It doesn’t bother me. If anything, it makes the place feel a little less empty.
***
The bar is packed when I step through the door.
Music thumps through the speakers. It’s so loud it almost feels like it’s vibrating in my chest.
Nearly every stool is taken, and the high-top tables are crowded. I’m starting to wonder if this was a terrible idea. It’s my first shift, my first time serving alcohol, and it looks like it’s one of their busiest nights. I guess there will be no easing into things.
A woman with dark hair pulled into a messy bun spots me hovering near the host stand and grins.
“You must be the new girl,” she says, already moving toward me. “I’m Sasha.”
“Brinley,” I say, shaking her hand.
She loops her arm through mine, like we’ve known each other for years, and guides me through the crowd.
“Don’t worry.” She leans close to me. “I’ve got you. Thursdays can get crazy with drink deals. There’s a big basketball game against a ranked team tonight, so it’s about to be a madhouse. It’ll be chaos, but the good kind. You’ll survive.”
Sasha runs me through the basics at lightning speed—where things are kept, how to start and close a tab, which tables are regulars, and which ones will give you the best tips if you’re quick on their refills.
I’m grateful to have someone beside me who doesn’t make me feel like I’m in the way.
Things come back to me faster than I expected. I’ve served before at diners and cafés, places where morning coffee orders were the biggest rush of the day. This is different.
The drinks are the hardest part.
People rattle off the names as if I should know them, and I nod along like I do, scribbling notes and hoping I can catch Sasha’s eye before I embarrass myself. Every time I hear a new order, my brain flags it as something I’ll need to study later if I want any chance of making decent tips.
And I do. I really do.
Between tables, I watch how Sasha moves. She jokes with customers, remembers faces, and calls them by name.
Halfway through my shift, the front doors open and a group of guys walks in. It’s impossible not to notice them.
They’re tall and broad-shouldered, filling the doorway without even trying. I notice how the crowd adjusts around them, people sneaking looks like they don’t want to be obvious about it.
My eyes move over them without much thought. One of them stands out immediately.
He’s bigger than the rest, and somehow, the room seems to adjust around him without him trying. He laughs at something one of the other guys says, his head tipping back enough for the sound to be heard over the music. It’s warm and easy.
I’m still staring when Sasha leans in beside me. “Hockey boys,” she says casually. “They come in here all the time.”
I nod, forcing my attention back to my notepad, trying to slow my racing heart. Then the tall one—Cooper, as I hear Sasha call him—looks up.
And our eyes meet.
It’s brief, barely even a second, but my heart seizes. I overhear one of his teammates call him by his last name, and that’s when it hits me.
It’s him. Rowden, or I guess Cooper Rowden. The goalie from the practice I watched yesterday.
He doesn’t smile or smirk or do anything obvious. He just studies me, eyes dragging over my face in a way that makes my pulse stumble, like he’s already decided something and doesn’t need to say it out loud.
I take their order, trying to pay attention to each name as I jot them down. When I get to Cooper, I jot down the name of his beer and retreat to the bar with my heart thudding harder than it should.
Sasha bumps my shoulder lightly as she starts pouring a drink.
“You know them?” she asks.
“No,” I say too quickly.
Internally, my thoughts start to race.
Of course I don’t know them. I don’t know anyone here. Not really. And I definitely don’t want to explain that my father is their hockey coach—or that I’m standing five feet away from players he drills into the ice while trying not to think about that connection at all.
Sasha glances over my shoulder, then back to me, eyebrows lifting.
“Well,” she says, grinning, “Cooper has certainly been eyeing you since he walked in.”
Something in my chest jolts. I don’t turn around. I already know.
I nearly drop the glass in my hand.
“What?” I ask, heat rushing up my neck.
She laughs. “Don’t panic. I’m just saying, you’ve clearly caught his attention.”
I risk looking toward the group.
Cooper isn’t staring this time. He’s leaning against the high-top table, talking with his teammates like nothing’s different. And I tell myself Sasha’s wrong. She’s seeing things that aren’t really there.
Still, I can feel it. The weight of his gaze on me burning into my skin.
I turn back toward the bar, forcing myself to breathe and focus.
This is my job. My first shift, for crying out loud. Whatever reason he may have, or whatever Sasha thinks she saw, I tell myself it doesn’t matter.
But as I set the drinks on their table and Cooper’s eyes flick up again, I get the feeling this night is only getting started.
The rush hits its peak just after nine.
Orders stack up faster than I can keep up. The bar buzzes with noise and people, the sharp clinking of glasses on wood. I’m sweating now. My hair sticks to the back of my neck, and my brain struggles to keep drink names and orders straight.
That’s when I mess up.
The guy who I just finished closing out his tab a few minutes ago stands in front of the bar, frowning at his receipt.
“What’s this?” he says, tapping the paper. “I didn’t order all this.”
My stomach drops. I lean over the bar and scan the items, realizing immediately what I’ve done.
“I’m so sorry,” I say quickly. “That one’s on me. I added it to the wrong tab. I’ll fix it for you right now.”
He exhales sharply, clearly irritated. “I’m not paying for someone else’s drinks.”
“You’re not,” I reassure him, already tapping the screen. “I’ll void it and refund you.”
He watches me like he’s waiting for me to make another mistake. “This place needs to get its shit together. It’s like they’ll hire any idiot right off the street.”
Heat crawls up my neck, but I keep my voice calm. “I’ve got it.”
I refund his card, then pull cash from my apron without thinking, covering the drink that was supposed to go on another tab. It’s my mistake. I have no problem dealing with it.
“I think the whole tab should come out of your paycheck,” the guy growls.
“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“That’s enough.”
The voice snaps through the air, sharp enough to turn heads.
Cooper is already on his feet, towering over the guy. The room seems to tighten around him, his size alone enough to make the air feel heavier. His jaw is clenched, his eyes dark.
“She told you she’d fix it,” he says evenly. “You got your refund. You don’t need to talk to her that way. In fact, you don’t need to say another word. Now get the fuck out of here.”
The guy turns, clearly annoyed and not expecting to find someone like Cooper standing there. “This has nothing to do with you, so stay out of it, kid.”
“It does now,” Cooper replies.
My face burns.
“Hey,” I say quickly, mortified. “It’s okay. I have it all handled.”
Cooper looks at me, frustration flickering across his expression, but he nods and steps back. He watches the guy as he mutters something under his breath and turns away.
Sasha bumps my shoulder lightly. “Don’t you worry about covering it. Seriously, it’s your first night. Don’t stress over it. Mistakes happen.”
I nod even though my chest still feels tight. I hate this feeling. Hate having all eyes on me and hate even more having someone step in, like I’m in need of protection.
When I glance up, Cooper is standing off to the side near the bar. His arms are crossed, and his expression is unreadable. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t interfere.
The rest of my shift passes in a blur.
By closing time, my feet ache, and my head pounds. I slip off my apron and pocket the tips into my purse, which I left hanging in the back room. I head toward the hallway, ready to disappear outside and up to my apartment.
“Hey.”
I stop. Cooper stands near the door, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. Without the noise and the crowd, he looks less imposing, but the way his eyes lock onto mine makes my pulse trip anyway.
“You okay?” he asks.
That does it.
“I didn’t need you to do that back there,” I say, sharper than I mean to. “You didn’t have to step in.”
His brows furrow. “Actually, I did. The way he spoke to you was out of line.”
“I can handle myself,” I snap. “I don’t need you and all your”—I wave my hand over his large frame—“playing hero because I made a mistake.”
Something flickers in his eyes then, and a smirk plays at the corner of his mouth. He knows exactly what I’m pointing out. The look he gives me says he also knows what it did to me.
“That’s not what I was trying to do,” he says, voice low now.
“What was it then?” I challenge.
His jaw tightens. “I don’t tolerate shit like that,” he says. “Doesn’t matter who it’s directed at. I’m not standing by and letting some man talk down to you, or anyone for that matter.”
I cross my arms, trying to ignore my heart thudding. “You don’t even know me.”
“And I don’t need to either,” he replies immediately.
The certainty in his tone throws me off. He steps a fraction closer, not crowding me but close enough that I feel the heat of him.
“No one gets to speak to you that way,” he mutters. “Not on my watch.”
The air between us feels charged. Like we’re both aware of how close we are to each other and how easily this could tip into something else entirely.
My irritation falters, melting away entirely.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
He nods once, like that’s all he wanted to hear.
I don’t let the moment stretch. I turn and push through the door out to the alley. The air is cool, biting at my cheeks as I step into the night.
And even as I walk away, I can feel him behind me. For reasons I don’t understand, I know this won’t be the last time our paths cross.