“I don’t know.”
I grab my T-shirt off the back of the couch, where I left it when I came downstairs, and shove my protein shake in the fridge. My shoulder protests as I drag my arm through the sleeve, a sharp reminder of what I don’t have time to deal with right now.
“I’m heading out.”
Talon clenches his jaw. “You sure that’s a good idea?”
“No,” I say honestly. “But I don’t like this, and I need to see her.”
I jog upstairs, changing out of my gym shorts into a pair of jeans. I shove my feet into my boots, my keys already in my hand.
“Take it easy. If you need anything, hit me up,” Talon calls out.
I nod. If she approached Coach about him being her father and it didn’t go well, I don’t want to think about what this could mean for her future in Rixton.
No matter what, I’m not letting her carry whatever happened in that office alone.
I get to the bar before the dinner rush sets in. The lights feel brighter without so many people crowding the space. The music is low, and a strange calm fills the air.
I see Brinley immediately.
She stands behind the bar, going through the motions like she always does, but I can tell something is off about her. I clock it from across the room.
Her shoulders are tight. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s not wearing a speck of makeup, and there’s a faint redness to her skin, like she’s been crying recently.
My chest aches.
I slide onto a stool at the far end of the bar. Close enough to see her but far enough away that I’m not crowding her space. I don’t wave or call out her name to get her attention. I just sit there like any other customer waiting to order a drink.
She looks up and spots me, and for a split second, I see it.
The surprise, and then it’s gone.
“What can I get you?” she asks, her voice staying calm.
Like I’m not Cooper.
Like she didn’t fall asleep in my arms and wake up under the same roof this morning.
Like nothing’s wrong.
“Water’s fine,” I say. Then, because I’m me, I add, “Unless you’ll secretly judge me for not ordering a beer.”
The corner of her mouth twitches. Just barely, but it’s there. “I won’t judge you.”
“You don’t have to lie,” I say mildly. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. Everyone judges someone at one time or another.”
She smirks before she can stop herself, then turns to grab a glass. It’s small, almost nothing. But I’d give anything to see her smile, so I take it.
She sets the water down in front of me, avoiding my gaze when she asks, “Anything else?”
“Nope,” I say. “I’m easy.”
She gives me a look that saysdon’t start right nowand moves down the bar to help another customer.
I don’t move for the rest of her shift.
I don’t check my phone. Don’t pretend I’m not watching her. I sit there and nurse my water like I have nowhere in the world to be because I don’t.
