Page 3 of September’s Bad Boy: Cooper (Bad Boys of Mustang Mountain #9)

COOPER

I knew this would be hard. But I didn’t think it’d punch me in the gut the second I opened my mouth.

Jason’s sitting across from me at a picnic table outside the garage.

I offered to meet anywhere he felt comfortable.

Thought a public place would help, and he’d show up ready to talk.

Instead, he’s got his arms crossed like he’s trying to fold into himself, eyes narrowed in that way he used to look at me as a kid when I told him he couldn’t stay up late.

Only now, that look doesn’t come with a temper tantrum.

It comes with venom. His jaw is locked, tension rippling through his shoulders.

There’s nothing calm about this conversation.

I knew he’d be angry, but I didn’t expect it to hurt this much.

Didn’t expect every word to land like a body blow.

I’ve faced men in prison with less hostility than I see simmering in my son’s eyes right now.

“You kissed her,” he says, each syllable heavy with accusation, with disappointment, like I’ve personally ripped open an old wound and dumped salt inside.

I blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb. You kissed Riley. In the middle of the Merc in front of the whole town. Like it was some damn movie.”

“I didn’t kiss her,” I say evenly. “She kissed me.”

I know that in his eyes it doesn’t make a difference. Just like I know the fact that it wasn’t in front of the whole town doesn’t matter because the gossip mill runs faster than most cars around here. Everyone now knows.

He snorts, shaking his head. “Right. Sure. She kissed you. You expect me to believe she just threw herself at you like that?”

“I don’t expect you to believe anything. But that’s what happened.”

He leans in, voice low and bitter. “You think this is funny? You think this is justice? You showing back up in town, getting cozy with my ex, like this is some kind of revenge fantasy?”

His words light a slow fire in my gut. I push down the flash of anger and answer calmly. “It’s not about revenge. I didn’t come back to get even. I came back to rebuild my life. And yeah, Riley’s part of that.”

Jason’s jaw tightens, and I can practically see the words he wants to say fighting their way out of his throat. I know that rage because I’ve felt it too. We’re too damn similar sometimes, and that scares me more than I’ll ever admit.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” I say, leaning forward, my elbows braced on the wood.

“Bullshit,” he spits. “You didn’t even think. You just did it. Like always. Wrecking shit and pretending it’s progress.”

“Progress doesn’t look like perfection,” I say. “It looks like mistakes and owning up to them. It looks like coming back and trying again. That’s all I’m trying to do.”

He scoffs, shaking his head like he can’t even bear to look at me. “You think just showing up changes anything?”

“No. I think showing up and staying does.”

“You weren’t there, Cooper. You left. You chose violence, and you left.”

My hands tighten into fists, but I don’t rise to the bait. “I didn’t choose prison, Jason. I chose to protect someone who couldn’t protect herself. And I would do it again.”

He leans in, tone cutting. “And what about me? Where was that protector when I needed one? You think that one choice makes up for everything else?”

“No,” I admit, voice raw. “It doesn’t. But I never stopped thinking about you. Never stopped wishing I could go back and do it differently.”

“Well, you can’t,” he says coldly.

Silence stretches between us. I let it. Because I don’t have the right words to fix this, I let him stew in it. I’m not sure words are enough.

I want Riley. Complicated or not. Even though it’s messy. Because she sees me in a way no one else has. And maybe if Jason had, we wouldn’t be here like this.

“You were my hero, you know that?” he says quietly. “Before everything went to hell. Before the trial. Before the whispers. You were everything I wanted to be.”

My heart twists.

“Then suddenly, you weren’t. You were gone. Locked up. And I was just the kid with the felon dad, again.”

I swallow hard. “I know.”

“You can’t just walk back into town and expect me to pretend none of that happened.”

“I don’t want you to pretend. I want you to see me now. The man I’m trying to be.”

He stands abruptly, fury back in his eyes. “I see you. That’s the problem.”

Before I can say another word, he’s gone. Turning on his heel, he stalks down the alley behind the garage, shoulders stiff, and anger rolling off him like smoke.

I watch him disappear, and a hollow ache echoes inside me. There’s so much I want to fix. So much I want to say. But you can’t force someone to see the truth before they’re ready.

Even though I want to repair things with my son more than anything, I won’t lie.

And I won’t give up on this connection that’s growing between me and Riley.

There has always been something there, even when she was dating my son.

Until that kiss the other day, I ignored it. I should just keep ignoring it.

If Jason can’t see who I’ve become, then maybe he’s still seeing the man I used to be—and maybe that’s something he has to work through on his own.

The rest of the day drags. I try to lose myself in work at the gym site, but Jason’s words echo in my head like a hammer banging on steel. By the time Huck’s truck pulls up with Shane in the passenger seat, I’m more than ready for a break from the noise in my head.

They climb out, casual as ever. Huck’s already frowning at my attempt to take this old building down to the studs and start over.

“You serious about this place?” he asks, tilting his head toward the building behind me.

“Dead serious.”

Shane walks the perimeter, eyeing the framing. “You do this all on your own?”

“So far.”

“Well, stop.” Huck folds his arms. “You want it done right, then you need help. I’ve got a gap in my project schedule. Shane too. We can give you time.”

“You’re offering to work for free?”

“I’m offering to build something that matters,” Huck replies, with a rare flicker of a smile. “There’s a difference.”

He pulls out a notepad from his back pocket and starts rattling off measurements, adjustments, and design tweaks.

Shane joins in, already pulling a tape measure and a level from the truck.

It turns into a full walkthrough, the three of us tracing the outlines, checking joists, assessing rooflines, and debating flooring material.

I give them my vision for the gym. The one I tweaked with a fine-tooth comb every day I spent in prison.

We talk sweat equity, drywall timelines, who can donate what, and who still owes Huck a favor. Somehow in the middle of it all, I feel a little less alone. These men don’t care about my past. They care about what I’m building now. That means more than I can put into words.

As the sun sinks, casting long shadows over the lot, we wrap up. Shane claps me on the shoulder, firm and steady.

“We’ll start early,” he says.

“Thanks,” I reply, and I mean it. It’s not just about manpower. It’s about someone choosing to stand beside me. That’s rare. And it’s not something I take for granted.

* * *

I get to the gym site early, just after five. There is something about renovating this building and being a part of its history if only for a short time. The air’s still heavy with morning dew, the sky soft and pale. Everything looks wrong before I even step out of the truck.

Spray paint is scrawled in jagged lines across the front wall. Red. Black. Hate. Slurs. Threats. Broken glass gleaming on the sidewalk like glittering shards of warning. My chest goes tight.

I throw the truck into park and climb out slowly. Every step forward feels like I’m dragging weights behind me. The closer I get, the worse it is. Wood floorboards pried loose. Paint buckets overturned. The bright blue ran like a river across the floor.

It’s not vandalism. It’s a statement.

The town doesn’t want this place here.

I crouch, fingers brushing over the busted remains of a workbench I built last week. One of Huck’s loaned tools is shattered beside it. The damage is calculated. Targeted. Someone came here with intent. This wasn’t random. This wasn’t stupid teenagers.

This was personal.

I stand, breath heaving, fists clenched at my sides. The sting of it burns deep. But underneath that hurt, there’s something stronger.

Determination.

This gym was never just about weights and walls. It was about second chances. About building something when everyone thought I had nothing left. It was about showing the people who whisper behind my back that I’m not going anywhere.

I’ve been broken before. I’ve been doubted, judged, pushed out, and every time, I clawed my way back.

They want me to walk away.

But I won’t.

This isn’t over.

And I’ll be damned if I let them stop me now.