But Alise has never feared the messy parts of love. She stayed anyway.
Now they’ve got a place a few blocks from the rink back home, near Aunt Peggy’s. Small house, crooked fence, front porch that needs repainting. It fits them—quiet, solid, lived-in. He walks her to work when he’s not coaching. She brings him lunch like she knows he’ll forget to eat if she doesn’t. They’re proof that sometimes the thing that almost breaks you is the same thing that stitches you back together.
It’s still weird sometimes, seeing the girl I grew up calling my sister living with my big brother. The same girl who used to race me through the park and steal my popsicles now argues with Beau about grocery lists and paint colors. But they balance each other. He steadies her. She reminds him to breathe.
I’ll never say it out loud, but I’m grateful for her.
Beau is quiet again now, gazing at his mug. There’sa new kind of peace in him, a looseness in his shoulders that wasn’t there before.
Cooper watches us from behind his desk, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to smile. It’s strange to see him this relaxed. A few years ago, he’d have been pacing, jaw tight, already planning three moves ahead for all of us. That’s who he’s always been. The fixer. The one who grabbed the wheel when Dad died and decided the only way to keep us together was to hold on so tight none of us could move.
He drove me insane with his lectures, his constant need to control everything. He thought he was protecting us, but half the time, it felt like he didn’t trust us to stand on our own. Then Ramona happened. She came in like a storm and somehow made him laugh when he was certain he’d forgotten how.
She doesn’t let him carry everything alone anymore. He still tries—because he’s Cooper—but now he knows when to pass the load. They’re good together. A quiet kind of love that doesn’t need fireworks, just steady light.
But he’s still him, which means he still thinks it’s his job to keep the rest of us in line. Most days, it works. Beau, Cole, Momma—they’ve all carved out their lanes. With me? I’m not sure he’s ready to loosen his grip yet.
He leans forward and clears his throat, and just like that, the air shifts. The warmth drains from his face until all that’s left is the head coach. It’s subtle, a flip of a switch I’ve watched my whole life. Game mode. No room for a little brother here.
“We’re not fighting,” he says finally, tone steady but clipped. “We’re talking about expectations.”
I swear I can feel the shift ripple through the room. Beau straightens a little in his seat; Cole sinks back in his chair like he’s settling in for a show. I keep my expression easy, but my pulse kicks up anyway.
“You’ve got the skill,” Cooper continues, eyes locked on mine. “But the league doesn’t care about your last name. You’ve got to prove you belong here.”
I nod, the words familiar and heavy. I’ve heard variations of this speech since I could tie my own skates.Work harder. Focus. Don’t screw up.Coming from him, it’s not advice. It’s a line I’m either on the right side of or not. Despite my best efforts to act unfazed, the same weight that’s been sitting on my chest since draft day presses down.
“I know,” I mumble.
He studies me for a beat, like he’s trying to read everything I’m not saying. He’s always been annoyingly good at that. Instead of digging, he just nods and leans back, satisfied enough for now. I can feel all three of them watching me. Pride. Pressure. Worry. It’s a familiar cocktail. So, I reach for the one thing I know how to use.
“Don’t worry, Coach. I’ll try not to embarrass the family name.”
“That’ll be a first.” Cole snorts because, in his mind, I’ve been embarrassing them since birth.
The tension breaks, but underneath the laughter,something in me stays wound tight. No matter how much I joke, there’s still that part of me that wants Cooper to be both coach and brother. Critic and biggest fan. Maybe one day he will be, but today is not that day.
Cooper exhales, the moment hanging fragile between us. “I’ve already spoken with the PR intern in charge of rookie media prep this year. I let her know you’ll be starting tomorrow, and what she might be walking into.”
I try not to wince. They’re not wrong. My reputation still walks into a room before I do.
“Poor woman. Hope she signed a waiver.” Cole snorts, lifting his coffee.
Beau chokes on his coffee, coughing into his sleeve while I grin.
“Wow, thanks for the faith, guys.”
“I’m just saying, she’s distractingly cute. If Kyle thinks so, too, we might have another headline on our hands.”
Beau shakes his head, fighting a laugh. “Yeah, she’s got that PR polish, but she’s sharp. You might wanna keep your flirting to a minimum, Kyle.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like,” Cole fires back.
I bark out a laugh, Beau following right behind me.
Cooper’s glare snaps us into silence. It’s the same one he used to give us when we were kids, and he caught us swearing in front of Momma. “You done?”
