Chapter Thirty-Four
Coop
Coop Vale had said I love you.
Frankie Callahan had said it back.
Twice.
Technically three times if he counted the text she sent after he got home, which he absolutely did because he was not an idiot.
He woke up the next morning with his phone on his chest, the conversation still open.
FRANKIE: Good.
That was all she had sent after his last text.
Just good.
No qualifier. No yours, no mine, no shared.
Just good.
Somehow, it was the most Frankie thing she could have done.
And Coop had stared at it until he fell asleep with a smile on his face so wide Mara would have mocked him for months if she had witnessed it.
His alarm went off at seven.
He silenced it.
Then immediately checked the text again.
Still there.
Still real.
Frankie loved him.
Coop pressed the heel of his hand over his chest.
“Get it together,” he told the ceiling.
The ceiling offered no help.
His phone buzzed.
Mara.
MARA: Did you say it?
Coop sat up.
How.
Absolutely not.
COOP: Why would you ask that at 7:02 a.m.?
MARA: Because Mom said you sounded “different” in your goodnight text and I know things.
COOP: You know crimes.
MARA: Did you say it?
Coop stared at the screen.
Then typed:
COOP: Yes.
Mara’s response came instantly.
MARA: DID SHE SAY IT BACK?
He smiled like a fool.
COOP: Yes.
There was a long pause.
Then:
MARA: Current evidence: I am emotional.
Another pause.
MARA: Tell no one.
Then:
MARA: I love this for you. Don’t be dumb.
Coop laughed softly.
COOP: Trying.
MARA: Try harder. Love makes men stupid.
COOP: Men?
MARA: People. But especially men.
Fair.
He got out of bed, showered, and dressed for breakfast with the kind of care that would have embarrassed him two weeks ago.
Now he accepted it.
He loved Frankie Callahan.
He could wear a sweater without making it weird.
Probably.
At 8:11, he texted her.
COOP: Breakfast? Love-included?
Her reply came four minutes later.
FRANKIE: Too cheerful.
He smiled.
COOP: Accurate.
FRANKIE: O’Malley’s. 9. No pastry before breakfast.
COOP: Mrs. O’Malley will handle that.
FRANKIE: Unfortunately.
Then, after a beat:
FRANKIE: I love you. Still true this morning. Annoying.
Coop sat down on the edge of his bed.
Hard.
He read the message twice.
Then a third time.
His throat tightened.
Still true this morning.
He typed carefully because if he let his hands do what his heart wanted, he would send twelve messages and possibly a sonnet, which Frankie would reject on procedural grounds.
COOP: I love you too. Also still true. Extremely annoying.
Her reply:
FRANKIE: Better.
He laughed.
At O’Malley’s, Frankie was already in the back booth when he arrived at 8:58.
Early.
Not because she was trying to beat him.
Because she had wanted to be there.
He could tell.
She had black coffee in front of her, hair pulled back loosely, one sleeve covering half her hand. Her eyes lifted when he walked in.
The room did not disappear.
That was too dramatic.
But everything important narrowed to her.
Frankie saw his face and immediately pointed at him.
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re saying it with your whole head.”
“I love you.”
Her finger lowered.
A faint pink rose in her cheeks.
Very faint.
Enough.
She looked down at her coffee.
“Bad public behavior.”
“Technically low volume.”
“Emotionally loud.”
He slid into the booth across from her.
“Good morning.”
She looked up.
The pink was still there.
“Hi.”
“Ban status?”
“Suspended for love-related administrative processing.”
He smiled.
“Thank you for the update.”
“I run a clean department.”
“Debatable.”
“Careful.”
Mrs. O’Malley arrived with coffee for him and the look of a woman who had known before either of them did.
Coop feared her deeply.
“Pancakes?” she asked Frankie.
“Yes.”
“Burger?” she asked Coop.
“It’s nine in the morning.”
Mrs. O’Malley stared.
Coop folded. “Yes.”
Frankie’s mouth twitched.
Mrs. O’Malley looked between them.
Then said, “Good.”
Frankie’s head snapped up.
Coop froze.
Mrs. O’Malley smiled and walked away.
Frankie stared after her. “She knows.”
“She’s supernatural.”
“She knows.”
“Probably.”
Frankie picked up her coffee and looked into it like the answer might be floating there.
“I don’t want everyone to know yet.”
Coop’s smile softened.
“Okay.”
Her eyes lifted.
“Not because I regret it.”
“I know.”
“Because it’s ours.”
His chest tightened.
“Yeah.”
“And because Birdie will become impossible.”
“She was already impossible.”
“She’ll find another level.”
“True.”
“And Nolan will say weather.”
“He may not survive it.”
Frankie nodded once. “Agreed.”
Coop reached across the table, palm up.
Not taking.
Offering.
Frankie looked at his hand.
Then placed hers in it.
Just for a second.
Enough.
Then she pulled back before Mrs. O’Malley returned with food and possibly prophecy.
Breakfast was quieter than usual.
No team takeover.
No foam fingers.
No victory chant.
Just the two of them in the back booth, eating too much food and learning what the morning after love felt like.
It felt normal.
And not normal at all.
Frankie told him about her assignment.
He told her about Landry’s practice schedule.
She said Birdie had texted Asher three times before eight.
He said Mara had already interrogated him.
Frankie paused with her fork halfway to her mouth.
“You told Mara?”
“She guessed.”
“She’s dangerous.”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“Current evidence: emotional. Tell no one. Don’t be dumb.”
Frankie considered. “Solid advice.”
“Which part?”
“All.”
He laughed.
Frankie looked pleased with herself and tried to hide it behind coffee.
Failed.
After breakfast, they walked back toward campus together. Not hand in hand at first, because the sidewalk was busy and Frankie was still deciding how much of the morning belonged to the outside world.
Then, halfway past the bookstore, she reached for him.
No announcement.
No warning.
Just her hand sliding into his.
Coop looked down.
Then at her.
She kept her eyes forward.
“Do not make it a thing.”
“It is already a thing.”
“Quiet thing.”
He nodded.
“Quiet thing.”
They walked that way to the rink.
The trophy case hallway was busy when they arrived. Reese was there with Hayes, Wren, Dani, and Birdie, all gathered around the display while Claire pointed at something on a printed schedule.
Showcase follow-up.
Program future.
The work did not stop because love had arrived.
Frankie’s hand slipped from his before they reached the group.
Coop let it go.
Not because it was gone.
Because she had chosen the timing.
Wren saw anyway.
Of course.
Her eyes narrowed.
Frankie stared back.
Wren’s eyes moved to Coop.
Then back to Frankie.
She said nothing.
Bless her.
Birdie, however, spun around with the alertness of a raccoon hearing a cabinet open.
“Why do both of you look like—”
Wren clapped one hand over Birdie’s mouth.
“No,” Wren said.
Birdie made muffled sounds.
“No,” Wren repeated.
Frankie’s face went very still.
Coop held his breath.
Reese looked between them, expression softening.
Hayes looked at Coop and smiled like a traitor.
Dani’s eyes widened, then filled.
Oh no.
Frankie pointed at everyone. “No one is doing anything.”
Birdie removed Wren’s hand with great dignity.
“I wasn’t going to do anything.”
“You were.”
“I was going to observe.”
“Worse.”
Birdie looked at Coop.
Then at Frankie.
Then pressed both hands over her heart.
Frankie said, “Nguyen.”
Birdie whispered, “I knew it.”
“You knew nothing.”
“I knew weather.”
“Nolan language is banned.”
Birdie swallowed hard. “I knew emotionally.”
Wren sighed. “That is somehow worse.”
Reese stepped closer, eyes on Frankie. “Good?”
Frankie looked ready to flee.
Then she looked at Coop.
He gave her nothing but steady.
No announcement.
No pressure.
Just again.
Frankie took a breath.
Then nodded once.
“Good.”
Reese’s smile warmed.
“Yours?”
Frankie glanced at Coop.
Then said, “Ours.”
The hallway went very quiet.
Birdie made a strangled sound.
Dani started crying.
Wren turned away like she needed to inspect the wall.
Hayes put a hand on Coop’s shoulder and squeezed once.
Frankie looked mildly horrified by the consequences of honesty.
Coop loved her so much he almost said it again in public.
He did not.
Growth.
Birdie launched herself at Frankie.
Frankie caught her with the reflexes of an elite goalie and the expression of a woman accepting her fate.
“No violins,” Birdie sobbed.
“You are the violin,” Frankie said.
“I know.”
Dani hugged them both.
Reese joined.
Wren muttered, “This is inefficient,” and joined anyway.
Frankie disappeared into the Spitfires’ arms.
Coop stepped back.
This was theirs.
Then Frankie’s hand shot out from the hug and grabbed his sleeve.
He froze.
The team looked at her.
Frankie did not look at him, face still trapped somewhere between Birdie’s shoulder and Dani’s hair.
“Don’t hover outside like a martyr,” she said.
Coop’s throat tightened.
Birdie gasped. “Group hug expansion.”
“No naming it,” Frankie said.
Coop stepped in.
Carefully.
Hayes laughed behind him.
Nolan appeared at the far end of the hallway, saw the group, and shouted, “WHAT IS THE EMOTIONAL FORMATION?”
Wren lifted her head. “Run.”
Nolan ran the other direction.
Smart.
The hug ended eventually.
Frankie’s hair was messier.
Birdie’s eyes were red.
Dani looked delighted.
Reese looked like a proud captain and a dangerous friend.
Wren looked at Coop and said, “You hurt her, I ruin your digital life.”
Coop nodded solemnly. “Understood.”
Frankie said, “I can ruin him myself.”
Wren looked at her.
Then nodded. “Fair.”
Coop smiled.
He could not help it.
Frankie saw.
This time, she did not tell him to fix his face.
Classes pulled everyone apart after that, but the hallway felt changed.
Not because everyone knew exactly.
Not yet.
But the inner circle knew.
The people who had earned the truth.
That felt right.