Page 33 of Cheap Shot (Portland Timberwolves #2)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Michele

T he smell of garlic and toasted bread lingers in the air, clinging to the walls like laughter. Cole is barefoot in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, swaying just a little to the Stevie Wonder vinyl spinning softly in the background. His hips move with unconscious ease, and there's flour dusted across one cheekbone like a kiss he forgot to wipe off.

I lean in the doorway, a mug of ginger tea warming my palms, and wonder for the thousandth time how the hell this is my life. A few months ago, Cole was angry and unraveling. Addicted to pain medication and illegal Valium, and running from everything that hurt too much to face. Now he’s here in our kitchen, healing and trying to remember how to smile like it doesn’t hurt.

We both needed a clean break from the team and my dad. I resigned from my physiotherapist position with the Timberwolves, as well, but not before recommending Stacey for the job. I figured it was the least I could do since I basically kicked her out of our apartment so Cole could move in. She wasn't too upset. Apparently, she and Parker had been trying for months to tell me she was planning to move out at the end of our lease.

I was worried for a little while about finding a job, but Parker pulled a few strings after Jensen was ousted for player misconduct, and I’m now the head athletic trainer for the Timberwolves’ sister AHL team—not the big league, but a stepping stone. A chance to do what I love without the weight of the past pressing into every breath.

“Captain D, the enemy’s almost here. You ready?” Cole asks as Darius barrels into the kitchen, rushing to stir the pot of spaghetti sauce he’s been working on all day.

Darius throws a fist in the air. “Born ready.”

We’re expecting Cooper and his fiancée tonight—first time we’re all going to be in a room together that isn’t a press conference or a hockey rink. And Darius, who is technically Ramona’s nephew, has declared Cole his “forever uncle” and Cooper his “sometimes uncle, who needs to not be so serious all the time,” much to Cooper’s dismay.

I smooth the front of my shirt, ignoring the flutter in my chest. “You sure you’re okay with this?”

Cole glances at me as he drains the pasta, steam fogging the air between us. “Honestly? No. But I love you. And I want to try.”

There’s more he’s not saying. I see it in the way his fingers curl tighter around the strainer. How he hasn’t told Cooper yet that he’s stepping away next season. That his shoulder isn’t healing right, and rehab didn’t take the first time because he pushed too fast, too hard. That this time, he’s doing it differently.

The doorbell rings, and Darius gasps. “It’s them!”

Before I can stop him, he darts for the front door, swinging it open before throwing himself into his aunt's arms.

Cole stands at the entrance to the kitchen, tension sliding down his spine like a thick rope being pulled too tight as I wrap my arm around his waist. “It’s going to be okay.”

“But what if he?—”

“No what-ifs. Cooper is your brother, and he loves you. No matter what.”

Cooper stands there, tall and stiff, like he’s wearing every bit of hurt and sadness like a suit of armor. These two have a long road ahead of them. I’m not sure if they will ever be close, but they are willing to try. For Darius and each other. His fiancée, Ramona, stands beside him—warm brown skin, braids twisted into a low bun, and a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She’s holding a box of pastries, like a peace offering.

“Hi,” she says first, gently.

“Hi,” I say back.

Cooper’s eyes land on Cole. “So.”

“So,” Cole replies flatly.

Then Darius wriggles out of my arms and launches himself at Cooper, breaking the tension in the room. “Hey! It’s my second-favorite uncle.”

“When did you become such an enthusiastic hugger, Big D?” Cooper chuckles, wrapping his arms around Darius.

“When you four needed a buffer to not be so awkward. We’re family, you know.” Darius rolls his eyes, and we all laugh. The air lightens just enough for everyone to relax.

Dinner is loud and chaotic and burnt in places. Cole accidentally drops a dish. Cooper makes a face at the overcooked broccoli. Darius tells them both they “need to chill” and ends up wearing a spaghetti noodle as a mustache to keep the feeling over dinner light and entertaining.

With everything cleaned up and leftovers sorted into Tupperware for Ramona and Cooper to take back to their place when they leave, I sit curled into the arm of the couch, watching Cole pace the living room like the floor’s on fire.

Ramona’s perched on the edge of the ottoman, arms folded, expression tight. Darius leans against Cooper's side, probably to help him stay calm. He has that effect on all the Hendrix men, it seems.

“What’s this big announcement, Cole? Don’t you think you’ve kept us waiting long enough?” Cooper gives Cole an encouraging smile, eyes locked on his little brother like he’s afraid to breathe the wrong way and break him.

Cole runs a hand through his hair. His fingers shake.

“Look,” he starts, then stops and tries again. “I wasn’t gonna say anything until the official press release went out, but… I owe you more than that.”

My heart squeezes. He’s trying so hard to hold it together, but I can see the seams. The way his jaw keeps tightening. The way his voice barely holds shape.

“I’m not playing this season.”

Ramona and Cooper blink, responding to him in unison. “What?”

“My shoulder’s not right. I’ve been pushing through for months, and it’s making everything worse. Parker threatened to call the surgeon and put me back under the knife again if I didn’t slow down.”

“Why didn’t you just take the time you needed? You have a contract for two years. That’s more than enough time to heal the right way,” Cooper says, his eyebrows pulled down in confusion.

“Pot, meet kettle.” Ramona giggles, placing her hand on Coop’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “You know a thing or two about pushing yourself too hard, old man.”

“I’m not old,” Cooper grumbles, causing all of us to laugh loudly.

“Fair point. It was the same way for me. I was afraid of what not playing would mean.” He pauses, looking down at his hands like he doesn’t recognize them. “And that fear—the way it grabs you by the throat, makes you think you’re only worth something if you’re on the ice—I know where that leads. I’ve been there before.”

Cooper leans forward slightly. “Cole…”

Cole meets his eyes. “I’m an addict.”

The words land like stones in a quiet lake. No splash. Just a ripple that seems to reach every corner of the room.

“I’ve been clean for a few months now,” Cole adds quickly. “That’s part of the reason I was able to push myself so hard. I was abusing painkillers and illegal Valium. I know it hasn’t been long, but I work every day to stay clean. Some days are harder than others. Any kind of stress or heightened anxiety is a trigger for me and increases my desire to use.”

He exhales hard, and the room seems to shrink.

“I’m not okay. And I want to be. So, I’m stepping back. I’m doing rehab right. I’m going to meetings. I started therapy. I’m not losing everything again. I can’t.”

I glance at Cooper. His face doesn’t move, but something in his eyes softens. Cracks. Then he nods, responding quietly and steadily, “Good.”

Ramona turns to him, incredulous. “That’s it? You’re okay with him being around Darius like this?”

Cooper doesn’t look away from his brother. “He just told us the hardest truth a person can say. He’s not hiding anymore. That’s the kind of man we both should want Darius to look up to, isn’t it?”

“But—”

“He’s family, Mona,” Darius implores, reaching across Cooper to grasp her hand. “Cole told me before anyone else. He’s worried I wouldn’t want to be around him anymore, but it just shows me he’s the type of man I want to be.”

Ramona’s shoulders sag just a bit, but she nods her head. I can’t imagine what is going through her mind right now, the need to protect Darius outweighing everything else, but I’m so happy she is willing to give it a try.

Cole’s eyes shine, his mouth parting like he doesn’t know what to do with that kind of grace. “Thanks, Captain D. But I’m not finished yet.”

No one says a word. They all sit there quietly, waiting for him to find the words to finish telling his story. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had issues with substance abuse. Remember when I had to take a pay cut with the Wolverines, and they started actively looking to get rid of me?”

Cooper nods.

“It’s because I was drinking more than I’d like to admit. I came to games loaded and even beat one of my teammates to a bloody pulp, costing the team a chance at the Championship.”

“How did we not know about this?”

“No one did, not even Remy.”

“Well, since we are making announcements, I’ll be coaching next year. It was part of my contract negotiations from last season,” Cooper adds.“ I know both of you want nothing to do with Coach Mercer right now, but if I’m gonna lead this team, I want my brothers on it. But not broken. I want you to be healthy, Cole. Whole. Even if it takes time.”

Cole lets out a shaky laugh. “I don’t know how I’m going to handle you being my boss.”

“Scared?”

“A little,” Cole admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “But mostly just shocked we’re not yelling.”

“Give us five minutes,” Cooper mutters. “We’ll get there.”

Laughter ripples through the room—small, real. Cole looks at me, then. His eyes land like a question. Like he’s afraid of what I see.

But all I feel is pride. So much of it, I think I might come undone. He’s standing in front of the people who have hurt him, disappointed him, and somehow, he’s still choosing vulnerability. He’s letting his brother in, and for once, his brother’s meeting him there.

Darius claps. “Okay. Everyone hug now.”

The brothers don’t hug. Not yet, but they both lean toward Darius, wrapping their arm around him, shoulders bumping. It’s messy and far from being fixed, but at least this is a start.

Cole glances at me over Darius’s curls. His eyes are glassy, lips parted like he’s trying to find words for a feeling too big to name. And I know the word he’s looking for: home.