“That’s not what I’m doing,” he says, frustration bleeding into his words. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re safe.”
“Iamsafe,” I say, pushing the words past the knot in my throat. Even though part of me doesn’t entirely believe it to betrue. “And I need you to stop treating me like I’m incapable of taking care of myself.”
I shift my bag over my shoulder. “Thank you,” I say again —because I mean it, and because I don’t know how else to end this without fracturing whatever this is between us permanently.
Then I turn and walk out of the student center.
Halfway down the hallway, something nags at me to look back at him, and I do. His last name and number are printed across the back.
Rowden. #87.
I exhale a heavy breath, confirming what I already suspected to be true.
Cooper is Rowdy87.
My only thought as I walk down the hallway, through the doors, and out toward the parking lot is that he isn’t wrong.
And I hate that part of me knows it too.
Hate that the safest place I’ve felt in weeks, maybe even years, was when I chose to stay with him. Hate that walking away from him now feels less like choosing my own independence and more like I’m choosing uncertainty.
Hate that even now, my instincts are pulling me back toward him.
No matter how hard I push it down, I can’t shake the feeling that what happened that night wasn’t random.
And pretending it was won’t make it any easier.
Chapter Eleven
Cooper
I don’t let her get far.
She’s already halfway across the parking lot when I catch up to her. She’s moving fast, like she can outrun me if she doesn’t look back. The breeze sends her hair flying in all directions. She’s digging through her bag for her keys, shoulders hunched in defeat.
I call her name once, but she doesn’t slow down.
She quickly shoves her keys into the lock on the door and fights against the wind to pull the door open.
When I’m only a few steps out, that’s when I notice her car.
It’s parked crooked in the space. Rust covers the floorboard and around the edge of the doors. The side mirror is cracked, and the bumper looks like it’s being held on by duct tape.
“Brinley—” I say again, this time sharper than before.
She whirls around. Tears fill the brim of her eyes, but she blinks them away. She holds her hand up in the air, trying to block out the wind, and I tell myself that’s what’s causing her eyes to water.
“What, Cooper?”
I gesture toward her car before I can stop myself. “You mean to tell me you’re living above the bar, alone. And to top it off, this is what you’re driving?”
Her jaw clenches, and her eyes flash in anger. “It gets me where I need to go. It brought me here to Rixton, didn’t it?”
“That’s not the point,” I say, heat creeping into my voice despite my best efforts. “The point is I don’t like it.”
She scoffs. “You don’t get to like it or not like it. And guess what? I don’t care one way or the other.”
“I know Dave,” I say, forcing myself to slow down. “I trust him. He’s a good guy and would do everything he could to keep that place safe. But it’s still a bar. People drink and get stupid, and you—” I stop myself before I say something I can’t take back. “You shouldn’t be there, dealing with it by yourself.”
