8. Cooper

8

Cooper

W hen I finally let Everly off the ice, she stumbled and fell hard on her knees. I didn't move to help. Instead, I watched her, curious.

She picked herself up without a word and collapsed onto a bench. Her fingers fumbled with the laces of her skates. No complaints. Not even a glance in my direction. I pushed her — hard. Why wasn't she saying anything? What was wrong with her? Was she really going to take my crap?

I walked over and dropped onto the bench across from her, elbows resting on my knees.

"You really going to this frat party next week?"

Her head jerked up, cheeks pink from exertion or embarrassment, maybe both. "How do you know about that?"

I leaned back, stretching my arms over the back of the bench. "Because I was given the wonderful little assignment of keeping an eye on you."

Everly's eyes widened. "What?"

"For someone who's trying so hard to be tough, you sure do have people trying to protect you from every little decision." I shook my head, enjoying her reaction.

"What are you talking about?" Her voice came out sharper than a freshly honed skate blade.

"Oh, yeah." I nodded slowly, letting it sink in. "You mean, you don't know? Now, look, sugar, I don't want to be stuck babysitting you even more than I'm already doing, but it's clear Dean Walker doesn't think you're enough of a big girl to handle this on your own."

Her hands paused on the laces of her skates. Her jaw tightened, and she pulled the skates off with a yank. She didn't look at me as she set them aside.

"Now, I've seen how you can be if I just push you enough," I continued, leaning forward again. "But I don't think he does. Maybe you should show him how capable you are, hmm?"

She clenched her jaw tighter and shot me a glare that could melt ice.

"Why do you care?" Her voice was low, controlled.

"I don't." I shrugged. "Just thought you should know how little faith he has in you. And maybe, I don't know, do something about it."

Her nostrils flared as she stuffed her skates into her bag. She stood up abruptly, slinging the bag over her shoulder.

"You know nothing about me." She spat out the words before turning on her heel and walking away without another glance.

I watched her go, a smirk tugging at my lips. She might be sheltered, but there was fire in her. That was for sure.

The next day, I walked into the rink, a cigarette hanging loosely between my lips. The cold air hit my face, but I didn't bother zipping up my jacket. The burn in my lungs from the smoke felt comforting in a way.

I glanced around the rink, taking in the mess left behind. Popcorn and crumpled programs littered the stands. Some of the trash had found its way onto the ice, tiny bits reflecting off the glass. My jaw clenched. The Titans had their playoff game last night and won, from the looks of it. The thought made my stomach twist.

I took a long drag from the cigarette and exhaled slowly, letting the smoke curl around my face before it dissipated into the chilly air. A win for them meant more work for me, more noise, more people trying to relive their high school glory days by screaming their heads off at every goal.

I flicked ash onto the ground and walked over to the boards. The ice was chewed up, streaked with black marks from puck strikes and skates cutting sharp turns. It would need a lot of work before it was ready for anyone else to use.

I leaned against the boards, taking another drag, and remembered when I was one of those kids out there on the ice. Hungry for wins, thirsty for recognition. But those days were gone, and they weren't coming back.

One of the rink attendants shuffled past me with a broom and trash bag, barely giving me a nod.

"Rough night?" I called out through a cloud of smoke.

"Yeah," he muttered without stopping.

Figures. Winning games meant chaos, which meant more messes for people like him to clean up.

I tossed the cigarette butt onto the concrete floor and crushed it under my heel before heading toward the locker rooms. Each step echoed in the empty space as I tried to shake off memories of old games, old faces—both friends and rivals. The Titans' win shouldn't matter to me anymore, but somehow it did.

Just as I reached for the locker room door, a voice interrupted my thoughts.

" Sinclaire ," a growly voice called.

I ignored it, my mind still tangled in thoughts as I stepped into the locker room. I moved to my locker at the back, the wood a familiar sensation against my fingers. I was just about to sit down when the door swung open again, and in stepped Walker, his face like thunder.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

I looked up from my gear bag, feigning confusion. "What do you mean?" I asked as I tugged on a skate.

"Don't bullshit me," he snapped. "You told Everly about the frat party."

"And?" I challenged, pulling the laces tight.

"Why would you do that?" His eyes bore into me like drills.

I paused, my hands still on my skates. "You know what I get a kick out of?" I asked, locking eyes with him. "The fact that this little girl thinks she's so goddamn tough when no one actually lets her do anything on her own."

Walker's stance stiffened. "I saw the bruises on her knees," he said. "You've been pushing her too hard."

"She hasn't broken yet," I shot back, a smirk tugging at my lips. "Although now that you mention it, having her wait on her knees for me sounds like a plan I can really get behind?—"

"Shut your fucking mouth," Walker growled, stepping closer.

"Why?" I stood up, towering over him slightly. "Everyone is coddling this girl. Let her fucking find out that the world sucks. Why does she get the privilege of protection? Because she has dinner plates for eyeballs and a tight ass?"

Walker's fists clenched at his sides. "Watch it," he warned.

His anger was almost palpable, filling the room with tension thick enough to skate on.

I laughed, a hollow sound echoing off the walls of the locker room. "I didn't realize Hawthorne's daughter was so… protected."

Walker's face tightened, his teeth grinding together. "Why are you drudging up the past?"

"Drudging up?" I asked, leaning back against the cold metal lockers. "It's right in front of my face. It's nice to see that my family wasn't the only one demolished because of it. But I see her, and I see every goddamn thing that's wrong with the world."

"And what's that?" Walker crossed his arms over his chest, challenging me. "Tell me, Coop. Since your life is so damn hard. NHL player. Engaged to a brilliant ER nurse. Yeah, your life was so hard after your parents' divorce."

"Don't deign to know me, old man," I snapped, my voice sharp enough to cut ice. "You weren't there, were you?"

A flicker of guilt crossed Walker's face before he could mask it.

"But I bet you were there for her, weren't you? Why not? She's starry-eyed and innocent. Ripe for the picking, isn't she?"

Walker's fists unclenched slightly but his stance remained rigid. He opened his mouth as if to say something but stopped himself.

I watched him closely, my jaw clenched tight. He didn't know the half of it—none of them did. My life might have looked golden from the outside, but beneath that veneer was a different story altogether.

For a moment, we just stared at each other, tension hanging in the air like a thick fog.

"You need to take responsibility for your own actions," Walker growled, his voice echoing off the cold metal lockers. "You fucked up your own life. Not Everly. You're the one who almost killed Matthews. He's out for the post-season, by the way."

I sneered, leaning back against the lockers. "I'll send him a card."

"This isn't fucking funny, Sinclaire," he snapped. "There are consequences for your actions."

"Don't I know it?" I shot back, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "And there are consequences of ignorance too—something this little girl is going to find out the hard way. Tell me, does she know what her dear daddy did to my family when he and my mom decided to fuck around? Or does she think her father is some saint?"

Walker said nothing, his face a tight mask of controlled fury.

"See?" I continued, my voice growing colder. "Protected. Coddled. You're the ones doing her a disservice. This world is going to rip into her in a way that can't be undone."

"No, Cooper," Walker replied, his voice quieter but no less intense. "The only one who's ripping into her is you. You're so goddamn miserable with your life that you can't stand the thought of anyone being genuinely kind, can you? And you have to dirty them up and bring them down to your level."

I tightened my skates; the leather creaking under my fingers, then stood up slowly.

"Well, boss?" I asked sarcastically, my eyes boring into his. "Am I still going to that fucking party?"

Walker clenched his teeth and looked away, refusing to meet my gaze.

He didn't say anything.

"Good," I muttered, pushing past him with a shoulder bump that sent him stumbling back a step. "I have better shit to do, anyway."

I walked out of the locker room, still fuming from my confrontation with Walker. The last thing I needed was another headache, but there she was, right by the skate counter—Everly Hawthorne.

"For fuck's sake," I muttered under my breath.

I marched over to the counter, my footsteps padding the rubber mats. "Haven't you had enough yet, little girl? Or do you like the pain?"

Everly glared at me, her eyes fierce and unyielding.

I couldn't help but smirk. "Whatever you say, sugar," I said, handing her a pair of hockey skates.

I watched Everly fumble with the laces, her frustration evident. The leather was stiff, resisting her attempts to tighten them properly. She glanced up at me, her eyes narrowed in defiance.

"You're doing it wrong," I repeated, stepping closer. "Let me show you."

She hesitated, then reluctantly handed me one of her skates. I knelt down in front of her, taking the laces in my hands. The cold air stung my face, but I focused on the task at hand.

"First, you need to make sure the tongue is centered," I explained, adjusting the tongue of the skate. "If it's off to one side, you'll never get them tight enough."

She nodded, watching intently as I worked.

"Next," I continued, "you need to pull the laces tight from the bottom up. Don't just yank on them all at once."

I demonstrated, pulling each lace tight in sequence, starting from the bottom and working my way up. The leather creaked under the pressure, but it began to mold to the shape of her foot.

"See?" I said, glancing up at her. "Now they're snug."

Everly nodded again, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She took the skate back from me and began to lace up the other one, mimicking my movements.

"Remember," I said as she worked, "it's all about even pressure. If one part is too loose or too tight, it'll throw off your balance."

She finished lacing up her second skate and looked up at me expectantly. I nodded in approval.

"Good," I said. "Now stand up and see how they feel."

She stood and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Then she nodded and suddenly beamed like the fucking sun had just risen inside this dim rink. Her smile was blinding, striking me in a way I hadn't anticipated.

I stared for a second too long before shaking myself out of it. "Don't smile like that yet," I warned her, my tone rougher than intended. "We haven't even started."

"I know," she said, her voice steady. "But I did it. I tied my skates the right way, Mr. Sinclaire."

I scowled. "Don't call me that," I snapped. "And who the fuck cares? Ten-year-olds can tie their skates too. You don't see them wanting a medal for it."

To my surprise, Everly didn't flinch. She just gave me a calm, steady look, as if my words had bounced off her.

"All right," I said, turning toward the ice. "Let's see what you can do."

We stepped onto the rink, the cold biting at my face. The familiar scrape of blades against ice filled the air as we glided to the center.

"Start with a simple drill," I instructed. "Skate to the blue line and back."

Everly nodded and took off, her movements hesitant but determined. I followed at a distance, keeping a close eye on her form.

"So how long have you been playing hockey?" she asked as she skated back toward me.

"Since I was a kid," I replied curtly.

"What made you want to play?"

I gritted my teeth. "I just did."

"Did you always want to be in the NHL?"

I sighed, trying to keep my irritation in check. "Yes."

"What's it like playing professionally?"

I stopped skating and turned to face her. "Why are you asking so many questions?"

She shrugged, unfazed by my tone. "I'm curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat," I muttered under my breath.

She ignored my comment and kept pushing. "Do you like coaching?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's not what I signed up for," I replied, starting to skate again.

"But you're good at it," she insisted, keeping pace with me.

I shot her a sidelong glance. "What makes you think that?"

"You've been helping me," she said simply.

I snorted. "Don't read too much into it."

She skated in silence for a moment before speaking again. "What's your favorite part of hockey?"

"Winning," I said without hesitation.

"And your least favorite part?"

"Losing," I answered curtly.

Everly seemed to ponder this for a moment before asking another question. "Do you miss playing?"

I paused mid-stride, caught off guard by the question. I didn't answer immediately, letting the silence hang between us like a heavy fog.

"Why the fuck do you ask so many questions?" I snapped, my voice echoing off the rink's walls. "Can't you just shut up and skate?"

Everly jerked back, her eyes wide with surprise. For a moment, she looked like a deer caught in headlights. Her reaction only fueled my frustration. I turned away, trying to focus on anything other than the sting of her questions.

"You know," she said after a moment, her voice softer but steady, "you're not as scary as you think you are."

I whipped around to face her, my expression hardening. "What did you just say?"

She stood her ground, her gaze unwavering. "You're not as scary as you think you are," she repeated, more firmly this time.

My jaw tightened, anger boiling just beneath the surface. How dare she? Who was she to judge me? She didn't know the first thing about my life or what I'd been through.

But instead of lashing out again, I found myself staring at her in silence. Something in her eyes kept me from exploding further.

"Whatever," I muttered finally, turning back toward the center of the rink. "Just keep skating."

Everly didn't respond immediately. She simply resumed skating beside me, her movements more fluid now, less hesitant. As we glided over the ice together, an uneasy truce seemed to settle between us.

The cold air bit at my face, but it felt different this time—less harsh somehow. Maybe it was because of her presence or maybe because for once someone had stood up to me without backing down or running away.

"Why do you keep coming back here?" I asked abruptly.

Everly glanced at me, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Because I want to learn," she replied simply.

I scoffed but didn't push further. Instead, we continued skating in silence—each lost in our own thoughts yet somehow connected by that brief exchange.

For once in a long time, I felt something other than anger or resentment—a flicker of curiosity about this sheltered girl who refused to be intimidated by me.