Chapter Eight
Brinley
I don’t stop shaking once we’re inside.
The stairs feel steeper than they ever have, my legs unsteady as I fumble with my keys to unlock the door. Every sound outside makes my pulse spike. My brain won’t let go of who might be out there, and every detail of what happened keeps replaying on a brutal loop in my mind.
His dark clothes. The way his face stayed hidden out of sight from the glow of the streetlights. The pressure of his grip on my shoulder as he pinned me against the brick building.
I can’t remember his voice, and that scares me most of all.
Not recognizing it should’ve made me feel better. Instead, it makes everything worse. I don’t know anyone in Rixton well enough to place a voice, which means it could’ve been anyone.
Someone who’s watched me. Someone who’s waited for the right time to strike.
The loft feels almost foreign the second I step inside.
I lock the door immediately, my fingers clumsy on the deadbolt, before I press my back against it. My eyes scan the space, searching for any sign that someone may have been here.
“You’re okay,” Cooper says gently.
I jerk around, my heart jumping. He’s still here, standing near the kitchen with his hands open at his side. He doesn’t crowd me, but he’s not backing away either. More like he’s trying to make himself look as nonthreatening as possible.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice sharper than I mean for it to be. Fear has a way of stripping away softness. “How’d you get here so fast?”
He doesn’t flinch.
“I was following you.”
The words cause my head to snap up to meet his gaze.
“You what?”
“I wanted to make sure you got home safely,” he says simply.
I stare at him, my mind scrambling to make sense out of his admission. “That’s a little… strange, don’t you think?”
“I know,” he says immediately. “I get how it sounds.”
“Then why?” I ask. “You don’t even know me.”
He scrubs a hand over his jaw, frustration flickering across his face. As if he’s wrestling with an answer that will somehow justify his actions.
“I can’t really explain it,” he admits. “There’s just… something about you.”
That doesn’t help. If anything, it makes my nerves hum even louder.
“If I hadn’t known you lived above the bar,” he continues, “I probably wouldn’t have followed. But once you told me, I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep unless I knew you made it home okay.”
That hits somewhere deeper than I expect.
He exhales, taking a single step toward me before stopping himself. “And yeah, I’m pissed that Sasha left before she saw you made it inside safely.”
I don’t know what to say to that. To any of it, honestly.
“I wasn’t planning on sticking around,” he adds quickly. “I just wanted to make sure you both were safe. That’s it, and then I was going to leave.”
“But you didn’t,” I say quietly.
His gaze meets mine. “Because you never made it inside, and he was already there… waiting for you.”
My stomach twists again, the image of him shoving me against the wall flashing through my mind.
“When I saw him push you,” Cooper says, his voice lower now, “I didn’t even think. I just moved.”
Something about the conviction in his tone makes my throat burn.
“I’ve seen people freeze before,” he continues. “And I’ve seen what happens when no one steps in.”
The implication hangs heavy between us.
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to stop the tremors still wracking through me. “I didn’t even scream,” I admit, the words scraping out of me. “I don’t know why. I just, I couldn’t.”
“That’s normal,” he says immediately. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
I let out a shaky breath. “He didn’t take anything. I’m not hurt.”
I look at him again, really look at him this time. He stands slightly angled, giving me space. There’s tension still coiled in his shoulders, like he hasn’t come down from the situation either.
“You didn’t have to stay,” I say.
“I know,” he answers. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”
For the first time since we walked through the door, my breathing starts to slow. Not because the fear is gone, but because I don’t feel like I’m handling it on my own anymore.
That alone scares me almost as much as what happened in the alley did.
Because it means I’m letting my guard down more than I ever expected I would.
And I don’t know what to do with that yet.
Silence stretches between us. I keep my arms wrapped around myself, suddenly aware of how close he is and how his presence fills the room, grounding me.
“I couldn’t see his face,” I say finally. “He kept it covered, away from the streetlights. I didn’t recognize his voice either.”
“That’s okay. You don’t know many people around here anyway. It’s understandable if they are a stranger to you.”
“I know,” I whisper. “That’s what scares me because why? He asked me why I was in town, told me I had no business being here, and to leave if I knew what was good for me.”
Cooper’s jaw tightens. “We’ll figure out who it was. I promise you.”
The certainty in his voice startles me.
“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” I admit, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I can stop them. “This place doesn’t feel safe right now.”
“I’m not leaving you,” he assures me. “I can sleep on the couch or on the floor. I don’t care. I just don’t think you should be by yourself either, not after what happened.”
I study his face before I nod. “Okay,” I say softly.
Relief passes over his face before he smooths it over. Almost like he didn’t want to show it, but it slipped through.
I sink onto the edge of the loveseat, exhaustion hitting me now that the adrenaline is starting to wear off. My hands are still trembling. Cooper crosses the room to grab a blanket and drapes it over me.
Neither of us speaks for a long time.
“Who have you met or spoken to since you’ve been here? Anyone who may not be happy that you’re in town?”
I shake my head, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders. “Not that I can think of. Except for the guy at the bar last night, but he wouldn’t necessarily know I’m new in town. No one even knows where I am.”
His posture shifts immediately. I can feel his gaze burning into my skin.
“No one at all?”
“I didn’t tell anyone,” I say quickly, like I need to justify it. “I didn’t want questions from my mom. Or opinions.” I swallow. “So I don’t understand how someone would even know I’m here or would even be looking for me.”
I’ve already said too much, and I’m waiting for him to question me on why I’d keep it a secret from my mom of all people.
“Do you think it was a mistake?” he asks. “Wrong person?”
“Maybe,” I say, clinging to the idea because it somehow makes it easier to breathe. “That’s what makes the most sense. Maybe they just got me mixed up with someone else. There are a ton of students who have moved to Rixton right now.”
He doesn’t say anything. He just nods.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
I mumble out a “yeah” through a yawn. “I just want to sleep.”
That’s when his gaze drifts past me to the corner of the room. I follow his line of sight and cringe. The air mattress sits deflated on the floor, and the cheap sheets I picked up are slightly askew. My stack of blankets looks thinner than it did last night.
His jaw tightens before he looks back at me, then back over at the bed.
“No,” he says under his breath.
“What?”
He exhales a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not sleeping here tonight.”
“I am,” I say automatically.
He shakes his head. “You don’t even have a real bed or enough blankets. It’s cold in here, Brinley.”
“I’m fine,” I insist, wanting to put my foot down just to spite him.
He meets my eyes. “Come back to the hockey house with me. Just for the night.”
My heart jumps. “I don’t think… That’s not a good idea.”
“Why?”
I gesture vaguely between us. “Because of… this. We barely know each other. Don’t you think this is a little weird?”
“You were fine with me staying before. I was gonna sleep where, on this loveseat?”
I blink. I hadn’t quite thought through that before. “You’re not sleeping on my couch.”
“Then you’re coming with me.”
We lock eyes, neither of us backing down. My stubbornness meets his stubbornness.
Finally, I sigh. My shoulders slump as exhaustion wins out. “Fine, but it’s only for tonight.”
“Of course,” he says too quickly.
“And don’t get any ideas.”
He holds his hands up. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“One night,” I repeat.
He nods. “Just one.”
But the way he says it tells me he’s already thinking of a plan past tonight. Somehow that both comforts me and scares me more than what happened in the alley ever did.
He stands and grabs my keys, waiting by the door. Something presses in my chest, something I don’t quite have a name for.
I grab my backpack from the hook by the door and lay it open on the loveseat, staring down at the handful of things I own and brought with me. I grab a change of clothes—sweatpants and an oversized hoodie—along with my toothbrush, face wash, and makeup remover, stuffing them into a small pouch.
That’s it.
I zip the bag and sling it over my shoulder, suddenly aware of how temporary this space feels.
I can feel Cooper watching me when I grab my jacket, casting one last look at the loft. We shut off the lights and lock up. Outside, the cool evening wraps around me immediately.
Cooper leads us down the stairs and stays close beside me, too close, as we cross the parking lot. His hand hovers near my back without touching me.
When we reach his truck, he opens the passenger door for me before I can even reach to do it myself.
“Thanks,” I murmur.
He doesn’t respond, just simply nods as he waits until I’m settled before closing the door and rounding the front of the truck. As soon as the engine turns over, warmth spills through the cab, and I exhale for what feels like the first time in hours.
The drive back to the hockey house is quiet. Streetlights blur past the window.
When we turn back onto the street, I can hear the music and laughter before I see it.
Cooper slows as we pull up in front of the house, headlights washing over cars packed into the driveway and lining the curb. Someone shouts something from the porch, and it’s met with a roar of laughter.
Cooper reaches for the door handle, then pauses, looking at me one more time. That matters more than it should.
I nod.
He opens the door, the noise crashing over us as the music spills in. I climb out, keeping my backpack slung over my shoulder. My heart beats faster now, not from nerves exactly but from this feeling that I’ve crossed into something I can’t come back from.
Whatever line I tried to draw between us, I stepped over it the moment I got into his truck.
As we walk toward the house side by side, I know one thing for sure.
Tonight is going to change something.
And there’s no pretending otherwise.