14. Cooper

CHAPTER 14

COOPER

I wasn't going to be one of those boyfriends who got all weird about my man texting me. Or not texting, as it were. We were both busy with demanding careers, and sometimes there just wasn't a spare moment to spend sending goofy texts.

Or, apparently, answering them.

Practice had been rough but ultimately good, all of us exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. Preseason would be starting soon. Like every team in the league, we had our eyes on the ultimate prize. The Superbowl. Yeah, yeah, a solid season would be great too, but The Superbowl... I sent a few texts to Lucas during the day, asking him what we'd do to celebrate when it happened.

Nothing. Not even a teasing comment about my huge head or keep dreaming .

Nothing when I asked how his day was going.

Not even a blip when I asked if he wanted me to pick up dinner. We'd spent last night at his place, so tonight we were at mine. When his sister returned from visiting family up north, we'd have to sort something else out but for now, this worked.

Why not just ask him to move in with you?

Welp, hello impulsive thought that bore looking into later...

But no, really? Why not? You've spent every night together for over a week now. And you know in your gu—he's the one. Or he could be, anyway...

I closed my eyes, scolding myself. One week was not enough time. But it had been more than that, really. Almost two years of pining, and now almost a month of whatever we were, even before the sleepovers.

I tapped my phone against my palm, leaning against my locker as I tried to decide whether or not I should freak out. One more try, I decided. Then I'd really worry.

Me: Hey, just wanted to check before heading out. How do you feel about Thai? I have zero desire to cook. HBU?

Not even a bouncing gray dot telling me he was starting and stopping a response.

"You good?" Matty asked, pausing mid-stride as he headed for the door. "You look constipated."

"Gross, man."

"I'm just saying some fiber would clear that look right up." Grinning, he gave my arm a backhanded slap. "Seriously, though. You good?"

"Yeah, just... long day, you know?"

Matty eyed me with suspicion but slowly nodded. "Sure, man. I get it. If you need to talk or something, you know how to find me, right?"

"Of course. Yeah, yeah." I smiled, knowing it didn't reach my eyes. But Matty gave me another nod and, after a brief pause, thumped my arm with his fist again. "Later." He trailed out of the locker room with a few of the other guys.

Lucas didn't answer when I called. He didn't answer when I texted again. And then when I decided I would come off as desperate but didn't care, he didn't answer an email.

I thought about contacting Liesel, asking if he was working with the nonprofit today, if I'd missed a meeting. Maybe I could call the studio, I mused, getting into my truck, but dismissed that idea quickly.

If I threw our personal life out in the open like that, Lucas would never forgive me. I owed it to him to keep things quiet for as long as we could, to protect both our careers and reputations.

Hell, I owed it to myself, too, but those needs felt like a distant second to ensuring Lucas was okay, that he was thriving. With a sigh, I backed out of my spot and headed back towards my place across town, half-hoping Lucas would already be there but knowing he wouldn't.

I was so wrapped up in worry about him I almost ignored Phil's call. Instead, one ring before the call went to voicemail, I hit the button on my steering wheel to send it to the speakers. "Hey, man, what's up?"

Phil's sigh filled the cab. "Shit has hit the fan in a major way. You got a minute?"

"I'm heading back to my place. What's going on? It can't be the team—I just left those guys, and no one was up to shady shit as far as I know. And I'm not a free agent, and it's not trade season."

"Just stop yammering for a sec, man. You talk to Lucas today?"

I pulled over onto the shoulder of MoPac, ignoring the blaring horns from the people behind me. Setting the brake and flipping on my hazards, I answered. "No. What happened? Is he okay? Why are you calling me about him? You don't rep him. Phil?—"

"Stop. Talking. Let me finish," he huffed. "Cass, the squad's PR lead, called me because she doesn't have your direct contact info. She and Liesel decided I'm the best person to talk to you about what's going on."

"Oh my god..." There'd been an accident. He'd fallen. Or one of those horror stories of undiagnosed heart problems just like his brother-in-law, a vibrant light snuffed out by some quiet little defects you think happens to someone else, somewhere else.

"Get it together," he ordered sharply, pulling out his old quarterback voice. "Lucas is... fine, as far as I know. No injuries or anything. The problem is Jameson Creel. He went public about having dated Lucas and claimed some... let's just say unflattering things about him. Normally, it wouldn't be a huge deal, and the squad would handle it quietly. But Creel made it look like Lucas was up to some manipulative tactic." He paused, heaved a heavy, tired sigh. "Long and short of it, management views this as a violation of a few clauses in his contract. Cass assured me Dani—the cheer coach—and her team are working with management to clear things up, but..."

"But Lucas is toast," I groaned, eyes prickling. "Goddammit."

"If I were Lucas," Phil said softly, "I'd be holed up and licking my wounds right now."

Even though he couldn't see me, I nodded. I knew him. He was in pain; he was angry and torn and sad. And he wouldn't want me to see him like that.

All because Jameson Creel needed to be the center of attention. Because he needed to run others down to make himself appear important.

"And where would you be if you were Creel?" I asked lightly. "Just out of curiosity."

A sharp, cold silence met my words. After several heartbeats, Phil replied, "No, Coop. No. You do not want to fuck your career over for this guy."

"Lucas isn't some guy," I started, but Phil's sharp bark of no cut me short.

"Not Lucas. Creel. You don't want to end your career because you think popping him one is the thing to do. I'm not saying he doesn't deserve it, but Cooper, this isn't a movie. You can't defend your man's honor like that. You need to sit tight and let this go through the legal and professional channels, then make a statement later."

"Statement?" I sat up straighter. "I thought... Ah."

Phil hummed his acknowledgement as I realized what this meant. "He's off the squad. He's no longer a cheerleader, so he's not stuck with that clause."

"But if we come out as a couple, we'd be admitting he broke it twice now."

He snorted. "What're they gonna do? Fire him twice? Look, let me worry about this end of things, okay? I'm not his agent, but I am yours, and if this affects you, I'm gonna be on it. Right?"

"Right, right..." Traffic whizzed by in a rumbling blur. My stomach felt hollow. The need to go to Lucas, to comfort him, to absolutely rock Creel's shit, all jumbled together in an uncomfortable and heavy lump. "Do I need to worry about management?"

He huffed. "I don't see why. No one names you in any of this. I'll deal with things that need dealing with. And for the love of god, keep your mouth shut , got me? No talking about this to friends, family, the little old lady in the produce section, no one. Byrne is a slimeball looking to make it big, and he's decided this exposé bullshit is the way to go. Creel's just the same, scrambling for relevancy since he's not a big shot anymore. So keep your nose clean, keep your head down, and go see Lucas if you can. Otherwise, go home and act like nothing's going on. Got it?"

"Got it," I sighed. And after a few more warnings, he let me go. I don't remember pulling back out into traffic, but I made it home in one piece. The guard behind the desk at the side entrance gave me a cautious nod, likely due to the thundercloud that was my expression, but it was hard not to think he had formed some idea about Lucas, about how he went after players or something. I strode to the elevator, tamping that idea down—Phil warned me about avoiding the article and online comments, PR 101 for anyone on the team and simply good life advice, really. Avoid comment sections, avoid online chats about the subject, anywhere I'd find armchair coaches, shrinks, and agents.

But I knew, in my heart of hearts, Lucas would be glued to his feeds, watching what people said about him. About us.

The elevator doors opened, but I didn't get on.

Lucas was out there, marinating in his grief and anger, and I was about to start a damn fine mope session on my own, bemoaning how awful he must feel.

Shit. Way to make it all about me . I turned on my heel and strode back towards the door.

"Everything alright, Mr. Howard?" the security guy called out , frowning slightly as I marched straight past him again.

"Nope. Just decided to go see my boyfriend."

Lucas didn't answer the door when I buzzed the bell. Or when I knocked. Or when I called.

"I know you're in there," I called softly. "I can hear music."

The music shut off.

"Lucas, it's me. Can you open the door before the neighbors think I'm here to rob it or something?"

There was a soft shuffling on the other side and then his voice, muffled. "No. Take a hint."

Sighing, I turned my back to the door, sliding down until I sat on the floor. "I know what happened. Baby, I just want to make sure you're okay."

A thump and slide on the other side of the door told me he was mirroring my position. "I'm not okay. But I need to not be okay for a bit and then I'll... I'll be a little bit less not okay. I have to do this, okay?"

No, not really.

We were both quiet for a long while. He might have fallen asleep on the other side of the door. But then he spoke again. "This floor is cold, and I hate it."

"Go sit on the sofa," I said quietly. "Or your bed."

"But you're here."

I almost asked him to let me in again, but I swallowed that down and asked, "Do you want me to go for a while?"

"Would you hate me if I said yes?"

"Never. I want to give you what you need."

"I need a time machine," he grumbled. Then there was the sound of movement. A second later, the door at my back moved. I shot to my feet before I could fall into the apartment, meeting Lucas' puffy-eyed, tear-streaked face with a concerned gaze. "This isn't an invitation. I just... I wanted a hug," he admitted, breath hitching.

I swooped in, gathering him to my chest as he pressed his face against me. His body trembled in my arms, breath hitching. He let me kiss the top of his head, his cheek, the shell of his ear, before pushing away. "Can I help?" I asked, knowing it was futile. "It hurts to see you like this. I want to do something."

Shaking his head again, he smiled thinly, then paused. "You know what? The fundraiser. Make sure you make a post or something tonight, keep the interest going. But I really just... I need to rot for a bit, okay?"

Reluctantly, I dropped my hands from his hips and nodded. "Promise me you'll call when you're less...rotty?"

He snorted softly. "You'll be the first."

After he closed the door and I heard the music come back on, I stood there for a long minute.

"He in there?"

Three women stood at the end of the hall, just past the elevator lobby. "Marisol, right?" I asked. "Liz and Tori?"

"We figured it was bad when he didn't come back to practice," Liz sighed, striding towards me. "They wouldn't tell us details, but it was all over the place by the time I got my phone out."

Marisol and Tori hurried to join us. "I called my brother—he's a lawyer, and I work at his firm so sometimes I can weasel a favor out of him. He said if Lucas wants, he can get the ball rolling on a defamation suit and a cease and desist. Which means I'll start the paperwork, since I'm his para," she added with a roll of her eyes.

Shrugging one shoulder, Tori sniffed. "He's one of us, you know? We're tight, the four of us. Ride or die for each other."

"He said he needs to rot," I offered. "He wants to be alone for now."

Marisol straightened her shoulders and tightened her ponytail. "We'll see about that. No offense, but sometimes you don't need a boyfriend. You need your besties."

Tori nudged me with her elbow, drawing my attention down to her mischievous expression. "Look, I'm not saying you need to leave, but I am saying if you did leave, you might want to go to the Hotel Lavolin and get a drink at the bar. Because I'm not saying that's where Creel's been hanging out this week, but my sister's a bartender there, and she may have mentioned seeing him."

Marisol and Liz gasped. Marisol gave her a light shove that bounced her off my arm. "That's encouraging violence!" she hissed. "Or whatever the law is!"

"I'm not going to hurt him," I promised, though I wasn't entirely sure if I was lying. "I want to talk to him, though. He hurt Lucas more than once, and now he's cost Lucas something he loves dearly—there's no way in hell I'm letting him smarm his way through life with Lucas as an acceptable casualty."

Liz pushed me towards the elevator. "Go. And swear to god, if you get arrested, Lucas is going to kill you."

I nodded firmly, glancing back at the door. "Don't tell him..."

"We're not stupid. We never saw you," Marisol said shortly. "Get out of here before he hears us. And don't do anything actionable!"