Chapter Thirty-One
Brinley
I’m mid-pour when I see Cooper at the end of the bar.
It’s not even that I’m looking for him. I can feel it. The shift in the air when he’s near. The undeniable pull tugging me closer to him from the moment we first met.
The second I see him, the smile spreads across my face before I can contain it. He must’ve come straight here after getting back to town from his game.
He’s home. He didn’t tell me he was stopping by, but he’s here.
Then I really look at him and notice he isn’t smiling. He isn’t relaxed. His shoulders are tight, and his jaw is set in a way that I’ve only ever seen when he’s upset or something is bothering him.
I finish pouring the rest of the beer and slide it across the bar, trying not to stare at him like I’m waiting for whatever bad news he’s holding in to drop.
He doesn’t approach me at first and simply sits at the end of the bar, watching. He’s not ordering anything or speaking to anyone despite the number of people who recognize him and try to strike up a conversation about their last game.
My stomach twists.
When we run low on ice, I grab the bucket and head into the back room. It’s cooler back here, and after being on my feet behind the bar for the last couple of hours, I welcome it. I set the bucket under the machine and pull the lever just as the door behind me opens.
I don’t have to turn around to know it’s him.
“I didn’t realize you were stopping in tonight,” I say over my shoulder.
He doesn’t smile.
“When you stayed over the other night,” he says, his voice calm but tight enough to put me on edge, “did you see a notebook of mine?”
I blink at him. “A notebook?”
“It’s a black notebook with a Rixton Wolves sticker on the front.”
I shake my head slowly. “No?”
The ice clinks into the bucket. I turn to watch it drop, buying myself a moment while I try to figure out where this is coming from.
“I wasn’t exactly paying much attention, though,” I add. “We were kind of busy.”
He doesn’t react. If anything, his jaw tightens.
“Why are you asking?”
“I had some notes in there. Game stuff and other things I’ve been tracking.”
“Okay…”
The machine hums behind us, the sound of ice falling as it begins to fill back up. I shut it off and turn to face him fully.
“What reason would I have to look at your game notes?”
He rubs his hand over the back of his neck, appearing to debate whether to say the next part at all.
“Someone got a hold of it.”
Our eyes finally lock. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember seeing it. If I did, I’d tell you.”
“Well, someone got a hold of it, and it was while you were at my house. No one else has been in my room except you.”
The way he says it doesn’t sit right.
“So what are you saying? You think I did something with your notebook?”
He exhales slowly, looking away for a second before forcing himself to meet my eyes again.
“I got a message,” he says. “From an unknown number. They sent me a photo.”
“What do you mean they sent you a photo? Of what?”
He pulls his phone out and turns it to me. I lean closer, taking in the notes on the page. You can see my bag sitting on the chair Cooper uses at his desk, or when he’s playing video games.
I straighten slowly. “Okay? I don’t remember seeing it, but it looks like it was in your room. I’m not sure what you think this proves.”
“Did you take a photo of this, and… I don’t know, give it to anyone?”
Heat creeps up my neck at his insinuation.
“Why would I take a photo of this? And even if I did, what would I do with it? Who am I gonna give it to?”
“I don’t know.” The answer comes too fast, like he hates how weak it sounds.
“Wait, let me get this straight. You showed up here because you thought I did?”
“I came here because someone told me that they got this from you, and I’m just trying to figure out…”
“And you automatically believed this person? Some random person who supposedly sent you a text message?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“I mean, it kind of is. And you clearly believe them, which is concerning, especially since they seem like such a reliable source.”
The ice bucket is still sitting on the ledge, half full. My hands are wet, and I quickly swipe them over the front of my jeans, suddenly feeling like the walls in here got smaller.
“You really think I’d go through your things?” I ask. “Or use your notes against you? Seriously. You actually think that sounds like me?”
“I don’t know what to think right now,” he says quietly, dragging his hands through his hair in frustration.
That one stings.
“You don’t trust me?”
“That’s not fair.”
“I mean, it feels like a fair question to me.”
He looks more tired than angry. Like he’s been fighting with himself about this before he ever walked in here.
“There’s more than plays in there,” he admits. “There are notes about some things. Things I’ve been tracking.”
“What are you trying to say, Cooper? Do you think I took them and what, am using it to blackmail you or something?” I burst out laughing at the absurdity of it.
“I didn’t say that, Brinley.”
“You didn’t have to. The fact that you showed up here and practically cornered me, asking these questions that make no sense, is proof you clearly think I had something to do with it. I barely know anything about hockey. You think I understand what that chicken scratch even says?”
He doesn’t answer. That silence says more than anything else he could.
“I didn’t touch your notebook. I didn’t take a photo with it or give it to anyone.”
His eyes search my face, studying me like he’s still trying to decide whether to believe me.
“I wouldn’t do that to you,” I add.
The silence that follows sits heavier than anything he said. For the first time since he walked in, he looks unsure. And somehow, that stings more than the accusation itself.
I don’t say anything. Honestly, I’m afraid that if I stay in this room for another minute, I’ll either cry or say something I can’t take back.
So I grab the ice bucket and walk past him without another word.
The door swings closed behind me, and the noise of the bar rushes back in. Someone calls my name for another round.
I slide behind the bar and start scooping ice like I wasn’t just accused of betraying the only person in this damn town I actually trust.
Cooper comes out a minute later.
I don’t bother looking his way, but I can feel him. He takes a seat at the end of the bar again. He doesn’t order anything. He just sits there.
When I finally give in and glance his way, he’s staring intently at his phone while he’s typing away.
I tell myself not to care. If he thinks I’d betray him, that’s his own issue.
I move down the bar, taking orders and refilling drinks. One of my regulars strikes up a conversation about Bigfoot, and I laugh along with it even though I’m not really hearing a word he’s saying.
Every time I look at Cooper, he’s still messaging on his phone.
At one point, his phone rings. He stands and walks outside without so much as a goodbye. I don’t know who it is, and quite frankly, I don’t want to know.
I busy myself wiping down the counter and restocking the bar. When he returns a few minutes later, he doesn’t sit down this time.
He waits until I glance in his direction, and he tilts his head, motioning for me to come over. I hesitate long enough for him to notice.
Dave steps up behind me and tells me to take a break. I sigh as I round the bar.
“What?” I ask.
“I need to go take care of some things,” he says.
“Okay.”
“I’ll be back in an hour when you’re off.”
I cross my arms. “Why?”
“I figured I could give you a ride back to the hockey house. I want you to stay with me tonight.”
I stare at him. “No.”
“Brin—”
“No,” I repeat. “Once again, you’re trying to tell me where I’m sleeping tonight.”
His shoulders tense.
“I’m staying at my apartment tonight.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice. “Will you please just trust me?”
The word trust hangs there between us.
“Trust you?” I huff out a quiet laugh, but there’s nothing funny about it. “After the conversation we just had?”
His jaw tightens. For a second, it looks like he wants to argue, but he stops himself.
“I’m not doing this here,” he says. “I need you with me tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because I do.”
“That’s not an explanation.”
He glances toward the front of the bar like he’s measuring how much to say. When he looks back at me, the anger has eased, his gaze softening.
“Please,” he whispers.
The way he says it is what makes me pause.
“Will you tell me what’s going on?” I ask.
“I promise, I’ll explain everything to you. Just not here, okay?”
I hold his gaze.
“Then why does this feel bigger than you’re letting on?”
His voice softens. “I’m not trying to hide anything. I’m just… trying to figure out what the hell is going on.”
I study him for a second, taking in the tension in his shoulders and the way he keeps checking his phone like he’s expecting a call.
This time, it doesn’t feel like he’s doubting me. It feels like he’s trying to figure out how much more he can take.
I exhale slowly.
“I’ll be back when you get off work. Don’t fight me on this tonight, please. I just need you with me. Where I can see you and know you’re safe.”
There’s that word again. Safe.
“I’m not promising anything.”
It comes out softer than before.
He nods once, like that’s enough for now.
I’m being stubborn now, and I know it.
“Just… think about it,” he says, pressing his palm against my cheek. He brushes his thumb along my lower lip. “And Brinley... I’m sorry. I’ll be back before you’re off.”
I nod, and he steps back before I can say anything else.
I watch him turn and walk toward the door, already pulling his phone out again.
Whatever this is, something tells me this isn’t about a notebook.