I’ve been a ten-sided die with Cooper, rolled daily to determine my feelings. Anger, annoyance, confusion, insecurity, resentment, jealousy, disappointment, bitterness, loneliness, and longing. Most of the time, it was him rolling the dice.
But he’s never wavered from me. I’ve been coming to the conclusion and it’s overwhelming. Cooper has always found a way to choose me, care for me, maybe even love me, in big and small ways. I’ve been too blind, ignorant, to see it.
“Remind me what time?” I ask.
“Noon.”
My face falls.Shit.
Elliot notices and pauses applying the extra deodorant we keep in our junk drawer. “Everything okay?”
“I’m supposed to be meeting Cooper at 12:30. But—” An idea crosses my mind.
“What’s that look for?”
“What look?”
A manicured finger—one layer of funny bunny and two layers of bubble bath—swirls around my face. “That one. You are up to something, Sutton Elizabeth. Now, I want in.”
“How many spots are available in the class?”
She counts on her fingers. “The room holds forty. Minus you. Minus the girls. Twenty-nine.”
“Save them.” I sit up, check the calendar on my phone. “I’ve gotta go. See you in an hour!”
I’m about to fold in on myself when I make it to the arena. My shoes were already ridiculous for this outfit, even more so for running. I look down at the loafers, the only shoes by the door that I hastily slipped on before taking off, paired with my leggings and oversized crewneck. At least my hair is pulled back with a thick headband.
The team is scheduled for lifting this morning. In—I check my phone—fifteen minutes.
The air conditioning that’s blasting in the building is a nice reprieve. That’s until my pace picks up, ankles aching with the start of blisters, sprinting down the hallway when I see Coach Mathieson dip into the locker room.
I pause in front of the door, music drifting out from the bottom. Am I really about to walk into the men’s locker room?
Apparently.
Gripping the metal handles, I tug the door open. Celine Dion and a scented plug-in that probably needs replaced hits me. There’s a small hallway decorated with posters of players before the main part of the locker room.
As I’m about to turn the corner, I stop and lean against the wall.
We can turn around and go to Coach’s office. We can…no we can’t. Elliot needs this, and you aren’t letting her down. You aren’t giving her a reason to—I let the irrational thoughts go.
If their coach is in here, this is the quickest way to speak to him. And see Cooper, my traitorous heart beats.
Again, apparently we are doing this. I start to turn the corner, and have to slap a hand over my mouth to stop myself from hysteria.
On a bench are a shirtless Jaxon and Dawson, swaying. Two hip pops to the right before doing the same on the left. It must be Jaxon’s solo because he’s singing into a deodorant microphone. Their shoulders start to mirror their hips.
I creep a step forward, hug the wall. No one has spotted me yet, and luckily, I’ve only spotted shirtless versions of them.
I inch another step inward as Jaxon belts the verse of Celine Dion’s “Alive” perfectly. With a wave of the deodorant in his hand, the remainder of the room joins in for the chorus. Some singing into their lockers. Some dancing while pulling on shirts, others waving them above their head.
From where my feet are glued to the floor, I can see two-thirds of the locker room. I weave my gaze around players till I land on him in the corner. Leaning back with his hood up, eyes closed, legs stretched on the bench.
Dawson takes over the bridge. Jaxon mouthing along.
I go to slip my phone from my leggings pocket, Elliot and Jordan have to see this, but it’s snatched before I can take a discreet video.
“What are you doing here, Dave?” Cooper asks, one brow arched and the smile I’ve come to expect, the one I think he only reserves for me nowhere to be found. Replaced with a scowl and tight shoulders, I don’t recognize the frustration he’s greeting me with. “You can’t just walk into the locker room. You shouldn’t be here. You aren’t allowed to be here.”
