BEING the coach’s daughter comes with its own set of privileges—such as access to pretty much anywhere in Markley Center. When the guard posted in front of the player area sees me, he just nods and says, “Go right ahead, Miss Ryder.” Of course, he thinks I’m going to talk to my dad, but my real mission involves a certain newly-minted captain.
As I approach the locker room, I’m hit with a wave of Déjà vu. Things were never at this level when I was with Preston—a high school travel team, no matter how talented, has nothing on Division I hockey—but I can feel the memory pressing at the edges of my mind. The frigid air conditioner, the rush of humid air whenever the door opened. The wooden benches in the locker room, the raucous laughter of the team as the girlfriends snuck in. Preston spinning me around in his arms, still in pads and skates, whispering in my ear about the party at Jordan’s. His parents are in Salt Lake. He’s inviting everyone. We can watch the sunset and smoke, please, it’ll be out of my system by the next game, and you’re not back on the competition circuit for weeks.
I brace myself against the wall as my breath quickens. I shake my head and remind myself: I’m not in Tempe, about to sneak to a party in Alta Mira. I’m in Moorbridge, at Markley Center. I just watched the Royals play, not the Nighthawks. Cooper was on the ice, not Preston. Cooper is who I’m about to kiss.
I tuck myself into an alcove, balling my hands into the sleeves of my jacket, and take a couple of deep breaths.
“Red? You okay?”
I look up and meet Cooper’s gaze. His deep blue eyes are full of concern. I bite the inside of my cheek, focusing on the bead of sweat running down the side of his face, and manage what I hope is a semi-normal smile. “I wanted to see you,” I say. “Real quick.”
He glances around the hallway. “Your dad is around here somewhere. Is everything good with you two? I don’t want to make things worse.”
“It’s whatever.”
“You sure?”
It’s not, but I don’t want to think about that right now. I resist the urge to stomp my foot, settling for crossing my arms over my chest. “Shut up and get over here.”
He grins, and it knocks the air from my lungs. This is what I was looking for. Not Preston, not a tower of memories that I’ve fought to blast to pieces. Dr. Faber has had a lot of advice for me since she became my therapist, but one of my favorites has always been that making good memories helps make the old ones hurt less. I’ll never sneak into that locker room to see Preston again, and I can make the memory fade just a little more with one good kiss from Cooper.
When he has me in his arms, he cups my face with both hands and kisses me tenderly. I can smell the sweat on his skin mixing with his deodorant, and I love it as much as I loved finishing my routine right on beat, listening to the last strain of music fading as I froze like a perfect statue. We can’t go further than this, not here, but that doesn’t mean my body doesn’t respond, waking up thanks to his touch. When he pulls away, I make a soft noise.
He tucks my hair behind my ear. “You sure you’re good, gummy bear?”
He says it to make me smile, I’m sure, and it works. He looks pleased, like it took him a while to think up that one, and it’s cuter than it has any right to be.
I clear my throat. “Great game. And no penalties.”
“Yeah.” He shakes his head, a wondering sort of expression on his face. He must still be dazed that he made captain. I reach out and tug on the laces at the collar of his sweater. I just want to keep touching him, and if I can’t get to my knees right here in the hallway to mouth at his cock, I suppose this will have to do. “I feel so clear-headed right now. It’s… well, not to bring up your dad again, but it’s like he said. Getting back to basics, reminding myself why I do it…”
I nod. “You have pure love for what you just did.”
“Do you miss it?” he asks. “Competing?”
“Sometimes.” I move on to tracing the stitching. “But sometimes I think what I really miss is my mom.”
He nods. “I wish I could’ve met her.”
My breath sticks in my throat. Only Cooper could say something like that so casually and make it sound so heartfelt. “Did you talk to your dad yet? Was he excited?”
I expect to see his smile again, so the frown is disconcerting. He glances around, but we’re alone. “Something’s going on.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. It was weird. He was all distracted and left to take a phone call before we got to talk much.”
I squeeze his arm. We spent an hour on the phone last night, just chatting, and he brought up his excitement about his family coming to see the game at least three times. He didn’t say it outright, but I could tell how much his dad’s approval means to him. I’m just as familiar with it, but for completely different reasons. “I’m sure he’s thrilled for you.”
“Maybe.”
“Of course he is.”
He worries his front teeth over his lip. “It always seems so easy for him when it comes to James. Izzy and Sebastian, too. They get everything, and I can’t always manage a measly hug. Because apparently, it’s such a hardship to be my father. Even when I do something cool, it doesn’t matter, because James did it first.”
I frown. “But that’s football. It’s not even the same sport.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“I doubt—”
“He’s always been like this,” he interrupts. “It’s like… James is the son he wanted, and I’m the extra one he has to put up with.”
His voice cracks at the end of the sentence. I can see in the slump of his shoulders how much that cost him to admit. He played an entire hockey game, a beautiful one, and he ought to be celebrating with his teammates right now, not worrying about what his father thinks. Even when my relationship with my dad was fractured, I never doubted his love.
“That can’t be what he thinks.” I wrap my arms around his middle, swaying us back and forth. I don’t care that he stinks. I nuzzle my face against his chest anyway. “It’s not like it’s a competition.”
“No offense, but you don’t get it,” he says, pulling out of my grasp. “You don’t have siblings. You don’t know what it’s like to always be behind.”
“But you’re not behind. You’re just a bit younger. And doing something totally different, anyway.”
“It’s not about—” He stops, working his jaw. “It’s whatever. I’ll see you later.”
I resist the urge to reach out; something tells me he’s going to pull away again, and I don’t want to experience his rejection. I’ve never seen him like this, so defeated. It makes my heart hurt. “Cooper, wait. I’m sorry.”
He just shakes his head as he strides down the hallway to the locker room.
