Page 5 of September’s Bad Boy: Cooper (Bad Boys of Mustang Mountain #9)

COOPER

Just past noon, I get the call from the sheriff’s office.

I’m at the gym, scrubbing the last of the paint off the exterior wall and trying not to let my fury get the best of me.

I’ve already replaced the broken glass and boarded up the side entrance, but the red slashes of graffiti feel like they’re carved straight into my skin.

My shoulders ache from hours of labor, but it’s the kind of soreness I welcome.

It's a distraction from the questions churning in my mind.

"Cooper," Sheriff Lawson says when I answer, his voice even and unreadable, "I need you to come down to the station. The fire marshal wants to ask you a few questions."

I freeze, water dripping from the brush in my hand. "About the fires?"

"Yeah. Bring yourself, nothing else."

Hanging up, I wipe my hands on a rag, feeling the cold dread already settling in my gut. I’ve only been back in Mustang Mountain for a few weeks and already it feels like the walls are closing in.

On my way out of the gym, I spot Jason crossing the street toward the bakery, paper coffee cup in hand. Our eyes meet, and he stops, arching an eyebrow as if he had been expecting this moment.

"Heard you're wanted at the sheriff's office," he says without preamble. His voice has the same bitter edge it's carried since the day I got back. "What'd you screw up this time?"

"You really think I’m behind the fires?" I ask, my tone flat.

He shrugs. "Doesn’t matter what I think. Town has already decided. You know how quickly they turn."

"I’m trying to fix things," I say, jaw tight. "Trying to fix us."

Jason laughs. It's humorless, sharp. "You think building a gym wipes the slate clean? That it makes you a father again?"

"No," I say quietly. "But showing up every damn day is a start."

He shakes his head and turns toward the bakery. "Showing up now doesn’t erase the years you were gone. Remember that."

Standing there a beat longer, I feel the sting of his words settling into my bones before I force myself to keep walking.

By the time I get to the station, my jaw is rigid. The fire marshal meets me in the back room. Sheriff Lawson stays close, arms folded, his face unreadable but less hostile than I expected.

The Fire Marshall sets down a clear plastic evidence bag on the table. Inside is a crowbar. One I recognize. My initials are scratched into the metal near the grip.

"We found this at the scene of the duplex fire," Durbin says. His tone is clipped and professional.

Fighting to keep my voice calm, I cross my arms defensively. "That crowbar was stolen from me just a few days after I moved back her. I filed a report. It was taken out of my truck while I was helping Huck on a house out on Quarry Lane."

Lawson nods slowly. "We figured as much. The crowbar was placed near the back of the property—after the fire was already out. It’s obvious it was planted."

The Fire Marshall gives a slow grunt. "Still, protocol. Your prints are on it, and we’ve got people sniffing for a scapegoat."

My fingers curl into fists at my sides. "You think I’d risk everything I’m building to burn down someone else’s place? I’ve been out here day and night trying to make something for this town."

Lawson leans against the table, his voice lower. "No, I don’t think you did it. But not everyone in this town thinks logically. They remember your past, not your progress. And they’ll talk."

The Fire Marshall nods. "We’re keeping it quiet while we investigate but brace yourself. Word’s gonna get out. You might want to be ahead of it."

As I wait for the sheriff to wrap up some paperwork, I stare down at the crowbar in the evidence bag. The sharp edges and worn grip bring back a wave of memories I don’t expect.

Concrete walls. The clang of metal doors.

My cellmate’s snores and the distant thud of fists on flesh.

Nights spent staring at the ceiling, jaw clenched, thinking about Jason’s voice on the last voicemail I got before they shut off my privileges.

“You said you’d come to my game. You lied.

” I didn’t get to hear how the game ended. Never got to call him back.

I force the memory back, blinking hard as the sting behind my eyes creeps in. That kid—my kid—deserved a better version of me. Not just now. Then.

And the news about me spreads. Faster than wildfire.

By the time the town meeting rolls around that evening, the community hall is packed to the rafters. Folding chairs scrape. Fans whir overhead. Whispers slither like smoke through the crowd. I stand in the back, hands shoved deep in my pockets, waiting to be called out.

Mayor Nelson starts the meeting with updates on upcoming events, talking about the fall festival and a new mural for the library, but no one’s really listening. Everyone’s waiting for the fireworks.

Finally, he clears his throat. "We’re aware of the recent vandalism and fires targeting reclaimed properties.

We’ve spoken to the fire marshal and local law enforcement.

There are leads, but no formal suspects at this time.

" Orville shoots me an apologetic glance. He knows what he said just started the accusations, though he said nothing but the truth, and I can’t be mad at him for that.

That’s all it takes.

A voice rises from the left side of the room. "What about Cooper? His gym was hit. Looks like a distraction tactic to me."

Buzz spreads through the room. People shift in their seats. Some nod. Some frown. Others look around, unsure.

I take a step forward, my boots heavy against the old wooden floor. "You want to accuse me of something, have the guts to say it to my face."

Mr. Ingram stands. Former hardware store owner. Salt-and-pepper hair, always carries the weight of a grudge like it’s his birthright. "You’ve got motive, a record, and a temper. And now your fingerprints turn up at a fire? This town gave you a second chance. What are you doing with it?"

I stare him down, my voice steady. "I’m building something better. For myself. For the kids who come to that gym. Trying to make sure they don’t end up like I did. That gym isn’t just a place to lift weights. It’s a place to keep kids off the streets, to give them purpose."

The tension in the room crackles like lightning before a storm. A few people murmur. Others scowl or cross their arms.

Then, from the back of the room, Huck rises.

He takes his time, as if every movement carries weight. Dressed in jeans and a flannel, dusty from a day on a job site, he commands attention by simply standing there.

"I’ve worked with Cooper on that gym," he says, voice low and firm. "Donated materials. Swung a hammer beside him. Watched him show up every morning before the sun to build something with his bare hands. You don’t fake that kind of commitment. You don’t fake heart."

A hush falls. Someone claps once, then stops.

Then Ruby walks down the aisle. Red lipstick. Bright blue cardigan. Fierce as ever. She stops beside me and turns to face the room.

"You’re not that man anymore, Cooper," she says loud and proud. "I’ve watched you grow. I’ve watched you hurt. And I’ve watched you choose better every single day. This town needs to stop punishing people for becoming who they were meant to be."

Her voice cracks just slightly on the last word, and my chest tightens.

Orville clears his throat again and swiftly moves the meeting to the next item on the agenda, but the damage is done. The room is divided. The fault lines are visible. Some will never believe in me. But others? Others are starting to see.

When the meeting finally ends, people spill out in small groups, some casting sideways glances, others offering curt nods. I stay behind to stack chairs and sweep up the trash. The solitude is welcome, grounding.

I’m bent over the last row when I hear the soft tread of footsteps.

Riley.

She walks in slowly, her expression unreadable but warm. There’s no judgment in her eyes, just quiet strength.

"Didn’t expect to see you," I say, leaning on the broom handle.

"Thought maybe you could use a friend. I wasn’t able to make the meeting, but a friend told me what happened," she says.

We stand in silence for a while, the hum of the empty room surrounding us.

Then she reaches for me, her fingers brushing mine before slipping between them.

It’s simple, but inevitable

We walk outside together. The parking lot is nearly empty, lit only by the soft amber glow of the streetlamp overhead. My truck waits under the light, the tailgate down from earlier when I unloaded gym mats.

I hop up onto it and gently tug her between my knees. She comes willingly, resting her hands on my chest, her eyes searching mine.

"Thanks for coming," I say.

"You didn’t have to face them alone," she replies.

Instead of answering, I lower my head and kiss her. Her lips are soft against mine, tasting faintly of mint and sweetness. The kiss starts gentle, tentative, like we're both testing the waters. Then she leans into me, her fingers curling into my shirt, and the dam inside me breaks open.

I cup her face in my hands, feeling the warmth of her skin, the way she trembles slightly when I deepen the kiss. The parking lot, the meeting, the accusations—all of it fades away. There's only Riley, only this moment stretching between us like a promise.

When we finally break apart, she rests her forehead against mine, both of us breathing hard. Her fingers are still twisted in my shirt, anchoring us together.

"Cooper," she whispers, and my name sounds different on her lips. Like it belongs there.

I brush a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "Yeah?"

"I believe in you." The words are simple, but they hit me harder than any accusation thrown around that meeting room. "What you're doing with the gym, the way you've changed—I see it."

The tightness in my chest loosens. I've been carrying the weight of this town's doubt for so long, I'd forgotten what it felt like to have someone truly see me. Not the man I used to be, but who I am now.

I brush my thumb across her cheek, memorizing the feel of her skin. "I don't want you getting caught up in this mess. People are going to talk, and?—"

"Let them." Her voice was fierce, surprising me. "I'm not going anywhere."

I lean in and kiss her again. This time it tastes like desperation and hope tangled together, like everything I've been holding back since I came home to Mustang Mountain. She responds with equal intensity, her hands sliding up to tangle in my hair, pulling me closer.

When we break apart this time, we're both breathing like we've run miles. The night air feels cool against my heated skin, and I realize how completely she's managed to make me forget everything else.

"Not here," she whispers. "Not yet."

I rest my forehead against hers. "Okay."

She kisses me once more, sweet and lingering, before slipping away, her fingers trailing down my arm.

Then she’s gone. And I sit on the tailgate, staring after her, the ghost of her touch still warm on my skin.

Maybe the town isn’t ready.

But she is.

And for the first time in a long time, that’s enough to keep me going.

For now.