Chapter Eighteen #2
Or he could say a thing without handing over the whole thing.
Mara’s words.
Frankie would approve of that.
Probably.
Maybe.
With a note about punctuation.
He opened his mother’s thread.
His thumb hovered.
Then he typed:
COOP: Slight heads-up before Sunday: I’m seeing someone. Her name is Frankie. I’m not bringing her Sunday because it’s new and private, but I wanted to tell you.
He stared.
Too formal?
Too much?
Not enough?
He almost deleted private.
Then left it.
Sent.
His heart did something stupid.
The reply took two minutes.
Longest two minutes of his life outside of penalty kills.
MOM: Oh honey. Thank you for telling me. I’m happy for you. I will try very hard to be normal Sunday. Is she kind to you?
Coop stared at the last sentence.
Is she kind to you?
Not pretty?
Not where did you meet?
Not when do we meet her?
Kind.
He blinked, surprised by the sting in his eyes.
Then typed:
COOP: Yes. In her way.
His mother replied:
MOM: Good. I’ll save chili. No interrogation. Maybe one tiny question.
He smiled.
COOP: One.
MOM: Two if I’m very brave?
COOP: One.
MOM: Fine. Love you.
Fine.
He laughed softly.
Then typed:
COOP: Love you too.
He put the phone away and leaned against the hallway wall.
No collapse.
Again.
His family did not fall apart because he put a boundary around something new.
A tiny line.
Private.
One question.
Saved chili.
He could do this.
Maybe.
His phone buzzed again.
Mara.
MARA: She is trying to be normal and is now stress-cleaning the kitchen. Progress.
COOP: Tell her thank you.
MARA: No. Tell her yourself Sunday. I am not your secretary.
COOP: You literally asked for updates.
MARA: Emotionally, not administratively.
Coop shook his head, smiling.
Then he looked down the hall toward the trophy case.
Frankie stood there alone.
He had not seen her approach.
She wore her black hoodie, backpack over one shoulder, phone in hand. She was looking at the display, but her shoulders were high.
Not relaxed.
He pushed off the wall and walked toward her, slowing before he reached her space.
“Hey,” he said.
She looked at him.
“Hi is banned after kisses,” she said.
“This wasn’t after a kiss.”
“Preventative ban.”
“Noted.”
Her eyes flicked to his phone. “Family?”
“Yeah.”
“Weather?”
“Surprisingly clear.”
She raised an eyebrow.
He stopped beside her, not touching.
“I told my mom I’m seeing someone.”
Frankie went still.
Not bad still.
Alert still.
“And?”
“She said she was happy for me and would try very hard to be normal.”
Frankie’s mouth almost moved. “Good luck to her.”
“She asked if you’re kind to me.”
Frankie blinked.
That had surprised her.
Solid.
Maybe.
“What did you say?”
“That you are. In your way.”
She stared at the display.
“It’ll do.”
“Moderate?”
“High.”
His chest warmed.
He kept it off his face as much as possible.
Failed.
Frankie looked at him. “Your face.”
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
“No.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
He smiled.
“Still dating Frankie Callahan,” he said. “Still face-weird.”
She looked away, but color touched her cheeks.
“Ridiculous.”
“Completely.”
A group of students passed at the end of the hall.
Frankie did not step away.
That was new enough to notice and not mention.
They stood side by side.
Privacy.
Not secrecy.
He liked the difference.
He loved—
No.
Not yet.
Too soon.
Too big.
Not because it was untrue.
Because the word deserved more room than a hallway during showcase week.
He tucked it away.
Carefully.
Frankie’s phone buzzed.
She looked.
Her face changed.
Coop read the shift before he read the screen.
Her father.
She did not turn it toward him this time.
That was okay.
Private.
Not secrecy.
She read the text.
Then locked the phone.
Her jaw was tight.
Coop waited.
Frankie stared at The Fire We Built.
“He says the board liking me means nothing if Westbridge scores early.”
Coop felt anger rise.
Not first.
Not first.
He breathed.
Once.
Then asked, “What do you need?”
Frankie’s eyes closed briefly.
When she opened them, some of the tightness had eased.
“Angry second,” she said.
He nodded.
“Okay.”
“You’re angry?”
“Yes.”
“Second?”
“Yes.”
She looked at him then.
Her face was still guarded, but something behind it had gone less alone.
“I need…” She stopped.
He waited.
She hated needing.
He knew.
He waited anyway.
“I need to remember the showcase is not a game,” she said.
Coop nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“And Westbridge is not my father.”
“No.”
“And one early goal is not a verdict.”
His chest tightened.
“No,” he said. “It’s a game event.”
She breathed out.
“Good.”
There it was again.
A word handed back and forth like something they were learning how to use safely.
She looked down at his hand.
Then reached for it.
Not a finger this time.
Her whole hand.
Public hallway.
Evening traffic.
Trophy case lights.
Coop took it gently.
Frankie’s grip was firm.
Her eyes stayed on the display.
“Ask,” she said quietly.
His pulse jumped.
“Can I kiss you?”
“No.”
He froze.
She looked at him.
Her mouth curved.
“Public hallway.”
He exhaled, laughing softly. “Right.”
“But later,” she said.
His smile returned.
Slow.
Helpless.
“Later?”
“Yes.”
“Private?”
“Semi-private.”
“Conditionally approved?”
“For dating purposes.”
He squeezed her hand once.
“Good.”
She shook her head.
But she did not let go.
Then Wren came around the corner with Claire and stopped dead.
Her eyes dropped to their hands.
Then rose to their faces.
Claire’s eyebrows lifted with delighted professionalism.
Frankie muttered, “No.”
Wren looked at Coop.
Then at Frankie.
Then said, “Does not affect media strategy.”
Claire smiled. “Congratulations?”
Frankie closed her eyes.
Coop coughed into his free hand.
“Thank you,” he said.
Frankie’s head snapped toward him.
“What?” he asked.
“She asked.”
“You didn’t answer.”
“I was enduring.”
Claire’s smile widened.
Wren looked almost amused, which on her face was alarming.
“Glad we cleared that up,” Wren said.
Frankie lifted their joined hands slightly. “Do not make this content.”
Wren’s expression sharpened.
“Never.”
Simple.
Firm.
Frankie nodded.
Claire softened. “And for what it’s worth, you two look very sweet.”
Frankie went still.
Coop braced.
Claire added, “In a terrifying, highly scheduled way.”
Frankie considered.
“It’ll do.”
Claire laughed.
Wren pointed at the media room. “We have donor name tags to alphabetize.”
Frankie blinked. “That’s not my job.”
“It is now. You need something to glare at.”
Frankie looked at Coop.
He smiled.
“Useful,” he said.
“Shut up.”
“Professionally?”
“Globally.”
Still holding his hand, she tugged him toward the media room.
Coop followed.
Because he was dating Frankie Callahan.
Because his face was weird.
Because later was promised.
Because the showcase was coming, and Westbridge after that, and neither of them could stop the shots from coming.
They could only read.
Adjust.
Ask again.
Hold on.
And for now, in a public hallway that had not ended the world, Frankie did not let go.