Somewhere along the way, it stopped being about me figuring things out and started being about him. Now I’m sitting on the side of the road before sunrise, wiping my face with the sleeve of my jacket so I don’t have to admit I’m crying.
This feels like a sign from the universe that my time in Rixton is up. Maybe I misread what was happening between Cooper and me and let myself lean into him more than I should’ve. I wanted what I felt for him to mean something to him too.
But some things aren’t meant to last. Maybe Rixton and Cooper were never meant to be home and, instead, were just another stop along the way.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cooper
I slept like absolute shit.
For most of the night, I just stared at the ceiling, flipping onto my side, then my back, then the other side again, fighting the urge to reach for my phone.
After I left the arena, I didn’t go straight home. I sat in my truck in the parking lot for a long time, engine off, hands on the wheel, replaying everything.
The time we’ve spent together. The way it didn’t start out easy, but it still became more than I ever expected.
The conversation with Kade and Talon when I found out who her father was. The look on her face when I told her I knew. Like she’d been bracing for me to walk away.
Then Dawson’s office.
The way he stood there like he was protecting something bigger than one of his star players or his program. The way he watched me like he was measuring how much control he still had.
I saw him leave not long after I walked outside. For a second, I thought about following him. Catching him somewhere off campus, somewhere he couldn’t hide behind his desk or the title on his door. I figured if I pressed hard enough, he’d slip.
Because something about that conversation didn’t sit right.
If he’s watching her… if someone really did approach her behind the bar that night to scare her out of town… I didn’t want to make this worse for her by going against his orders.
And if I push back, I don’t know what he’ll do.
But I can’t leave her hanging either. Not when it already feels like everyone in her life has.
I don’t want to be another person who disappears or withholds the truth from her.
I’m still holding out hope that she went back to the farm when she left the party last night. When I climb out of bed, I tell myself I’ll explain everything to her when I get there.
The morning air is crisp when I pull up. The sun is barely over the trees. I grab my gloves from my truck and head toward the barn, running through my usual checklist of chores in my head.
When I’m finished, I stop short outside and check for any signs of her. Her car isn’t here. I go around to the other side of the barn, hoping maybe I missed it. But the gravel drive leading to the other side of the property is empty.
There’s a tightness in my chest as I turn to head upstairs toward the apartment.
“Brinley?” I call out, stepping inside.
Everything about the space feels wrong. The first thing I notice is that her blanket, which she kept on the couch, is missing, and her shoes are no longer by the door.
It feels empty and cold here, like all the warmth that once filled the room is gone.
Like someone decided they were leaving and not coming back.
My eyes land on the note left on the counter, and my stomach bottoms out.
I don’t touch it at first. I’m almost scared to read it, out of fear of what it could say.
Has she spoken to her father again?
Did he give her the same warning he gave me?
