Chapter Thirty-Three
Brinley
The room is quiet as our breathing evens out. We’ve shifted now. Cooper lies flat on his back, with me draped over him, my head on his chest and his hand holding mine like it belongs there.
He brushes his thumb along my hip absentmindedly.
“You still awake?” he murmurs.
“Barely,” I hum.
He huffs a small laugh and presses a kiss into my hair.
“C’mon,” he whispers. “Let’s go shower before we both crash.”
I let him pull me up. My legs feel weak when I stand, earning me one of Cooper’s devilish smiles without making a joke about it.
The bathroom fills with steam quickly. The water is almost too hot at first, but he steps in behind me and adjusts it until it’s perfect.
We don’t rush this part.
He washes my hair for me. His fingers work through it slowly, taking his time. I tilt my head back and close my eyes, letting the water run down my face.
I think about earlier. About the way he watched me while I was playing the game. When he realized I wasn’t just playing for fun.
He has no idea the truth.
He doesn’t know I used to sit in my tiny bedroom back home with my headset on, talking to a sweet farm boy I never thought I’d meet in person.
He has no clue the first time we “met” wasn’t at Broken Saddle.
And when he handed me the controller tonight and told me to play, it would’ve been so easy for me to tell him the truth.
It would’ve been the right time. I almost did.
But the moment’s passed, and I don’t know how to bring it up now. After the way he questioned me at the bar earlier, I’m worried he’ll think I kept it from him for a different reason.
He steps closer behind me, his arms circling my waist under the water.
“You’re quiet,” he says, pressing his lips against my neck.
“Just tired.”
He hums like he believes me.
We finish without saying anything more. He dries me off before he wraps me in a towel. It feels domestic in a way I’m not used to.
When we step into his room, he tosses me one of his shirts and a pair of boxer shorts, never mind the fact I packed pajamas of my own.
“They’ll fit.” He smiles.
I hold them up and glance between them and him. He has nearly a foot on me, and his broad frame fills out his shirt in a way that looks like it was made specifically for him.
I get dressed in front of him. The shirt hangs past my thighs, and the boxers sit low on my hips. He watches me, not hiding his appreciation for seeing me in his clothes.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
I smile and walk over to him. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, with a towel wrapped low on his waist. His hair is still damp, a little disheveled.
I don’t ask for permission as I climb on his lap. My knees settle on either side of his thighs. His hands slide automatically to my waist.
“Everything okay?” he asks quietly.
I nod, resting my forehead against his.
He presses a soft kiss against my lips. When I pull away, I trace my fingers along the line of his jaw, studying him like I’m trying to memorize every inch.
“I beat all your friends,” I say softly.
He smiles faintly. “You did. I never thought something like that would be so sexy.”
I exhale a chuckle. “You didn’t know I could play that well.”
“I’m learning more about you every day.”
I swallow. And I’m still deciding how to tell him everything that’s on the tip of my tongue.
I stay there on his lap, my arm wrapped around his shoulders, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
He’s watching me in that quiet way he does when he thinks I’m about to say something important.
“What?” he asks softly.
I hesitate, then track my thumb along his collarbone like I need something to focus on.
“I told you how my mom worked a lot when I was growing up. Most of the time, she had two jobs, sometimes three, when she was helping out at the local hockey arena. Only on game nights. We moved around a lot. Different town every time.” I shrug lightly. “She did what she had to do.”
He nods but doesn’t interrupt.
“We didn’t have cable,” I say. “We never could afford it. Some of my neighbors, though, were nice enough to let me use theirs. So that was… something.”
I let out a small breath, not quite a laugh.
“One year for my birthday, she got me an Xbox. It wasn’t new or anything. I think she bought it off someone at work.” I smile faintly at the memory. “I was obsessed with it.”
He slides his hands slowly up and down my waist, letting me know he’s there.
“I’d come home from school. It would be just me for most of the night,” I say. “Until late. I’d do my homework, make whatever was easy to eat in the microwave, and then I’d play.”
I glance down at my hands.
“It was easy to disappear into, I guess. Easier than thinking about how I was always sitting alone in an empty apartment, hating how quiet it was.”
He doesn’t look at me with pity, which is what I appreciate most. He just listens.
“I used to stay up too late,” I continue. “I’d play until the early morning, sometimes talking to people I’d never met. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know them. They were there, and it was nice not to feel so alone.”
His thumb pauses against my hip for a second, then continues its slow movement.
“I get that,” he says quietly.
I lift my gaze back to his.
“It’s been the same for me,” he explains. “Not always gaming, but hockey.”
He shifts slightly under me, almost like he’s adjusting with the weight of his words.
“It’s the one place where my mind completely turns off,” he says. “I don’t have to think about anything. Not the noise or the pressure of the expectations.”
I study his face as he talks. There’s something softer in his expression when he talks about hockey.
“It’s an escape,” I say, and he nods. “That’s what it is for me too.”
He brushes a piece of damp hair away from my face.
“You don’t have to escape here. Not with me.”
I rest my forehead against his, exhaling a slow breath.
“I know,” I say quietly. “I know because we’ve played together before.”
He studies me for a second, his brows pulling together as he tries to piece together what I’m saying.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
My hands stay where they are, resting on his shoulders. My thumb brushes back and forth along his shoulder. He blinks slowly, like he’s still trying to catch up.
“We’ve known each other a lot longer than you think,” I admit. “I didn’t know it at the time. Not for a while anyway… not until later.”
He searches my face, trying to connect the dots until his expression shifts.
“You moved around a lot,” he says slowly. “You told me that before.”
His eyes shift, and I see the exact moment something clicks.
“Wait,” he says, going still. “You’re Killa?”
I don’t smile right away. I just nod.
He lets out a quiet breath, something between a laugh and disbelief. “No.”
“Yes.”
He studies me like he’s searching for proof, his hands still resting at my waist.
“I had no idea it was you,” I admit. “Your username didn’t click for me right away either. Not until I heard someone call you Rowdy.”
He shakes his head slightly. “It’s my nickname. Just my last name shortened.”
“I know that now,” I murmur. “But back then, it looked like any other gamer tag.”
He studies me again, something curious settling in his expression.
“And CerealKilla?” He smirks. “What is that all about?”
I laugh, dropping my forehead briefly to his chest. “I couldn’t exactly use something like SniperGirl or HeadshotQueen.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “Why not?”
“Because the second guys realize you’re a girl, half of them turn into idiots,” I say. “They either start hitting on you or trying twice as hard to prove you shouldn’t be there.”
He grimaces. “Yeah… I guess that tracks.”
“So cereal it was,” I shrug. “Everyone eats cereal. Nobody questions cereal.”
“When did you figure it out?” he asks.
“After we met,” I say. “After we’d already been spending time together.”
His brow furrows.
“I pieced it together that day in the student center,” I continue. “When you came to talk to me. You were wearing your jersey…”
“And Donovan called me Rowdy,” he finishes. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t know how,” I admit. “It almost felt like I knew you in a way you didn’t know me.”
He’s quiet for a moment, like he’s turning that over in his head.
“I was going to tell you tonight,” I add. “When we were playing. It would’ve made sense then.”
He looks at me like he’s somewhere else for a second.
“All those nights,” he whispers, then pulls me into him.
When his lips crash against mine, it surprises me.
It isn’t heated like earlier. It’s slower now, softer. Like he’s trying to memorize this version of me and line it up with the one he thought he knew.
His hands slide into my hair, holding me there. I melt into him.
When I pull away, I study his face carefully.
“You’re not upset, are you?”
“No.”
“You don’t feel like I hid it from you?”
He shakes his head once.
“It makes sense,” he says quietly.
“What does?”
“The first time I saw you at the bar,” he continues, “I couldn’t explain it. You felt familiar. Like I’d met you somewhere before.”
His thumb brushes along my cheek.
“I think I would’ve found you anyway,” he says softly. “Even if it hadn’t started with us playing together.”
“You’d heard my voice before,” I say lightly.
He smiles.
“Yeah,” he says. “Guess I had.”
He rests his forehead against mine.
“I kept thinking it was chemistry,” he murmurs. “But it’s more than that.”
I don’t say anything. I just hold him, letting the truth settle between us.
“You beat me alone,” he adds after a second.
I can’t help it this time. I laugh. “Yeah, I have.”
He shakes his head, amused.
“I can’t believe it’s you.”
I look at him, taking in the smile on his face and this feeling of contentment in my chest.
“I think I spent a long time chasing that feeling again,” I say quietly. “Somewhere I could disappear into something and leave everything else behind.”
My fingers curl into his shirt.
“And somehow I found it here,” I say softly. “Just… in a person instead.”
He kisses me again. And for once, it doesn’t feel like I’m running from something.
It feels like I finally ended up where I’m meant to be.