Page 10

CHAPTER 10

COOPER

T he locker room is somber as we file in after the loss. No one speaks as we start peeling off our sweat-soaked uniforms. The disappointment is palpable, hanging heavy in the air.

I slump down on the bench in front of my locker, replaying the game in my mind. We had such a strong start, but it all fell apart in the second half. I can’t help feeling like I could have done more—made one more catch, gained a few more yards.

“Tough break today, rookie,” Thor says, clapping me on the shoulder as he walks by. “But that touchdown catch in the first quarter was sick.”

I nod, appreciating his attempt at positivity.

Rogan takes a seat on the bench beside me. “Don’t beat yourself up, Cooper. We win as a team and we lose as a team.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak yet. The sting of defeat is still fresh, and I’m still replaying every missed opportunity in my head.

“Hey.” Rogan nudges my shoulder. “You played your ass off out there.”

“We all did,” I say, finally finding my voice. “It sucks that it wasn’t enough.”

“We'll bounce back next week. Can't win ’em all, right?"

I run a hand through my damp hair. “I fucking hate losing like that, especially at home.”

“Me too, man. But we’ve got film to study and plenty to work on in practice. We’ll be ready for the next one.”

I nod, trying to take Rogan’s words to heart. He’s right, of course. We can’t dwell on this loss. We need to learn from it and move forward.

“You’re right,” I say, standing up. “Thanks, man.”

Rogan gives me a fist bump. “Anytime. Now, go home and get some rest. We’ve got a long week ahead of us.”

After showering and changing into street clothes, I gather my things, heading out of the locker room. As I walk through the hallways, I can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment that Scarlett isn’t waiting for me. But why would she be? She has no obligation to stick around after a loss.

Still, a small part of me had hoped to see her face, to get a reassuring smile, or maybe even a hug. As I reach my car, I pull out my phone and see a text.

Scarlett: Great game today, despite the outcome. That touchdown catch was amazing! Hope you’re not beating yourself up too much.

I smile, feeling a warmth spread through my chest at her words. It’s nice to know she was paying attention and cared enough to reach out. I type out a quick reply.

Thanks, Scarlett. Means a lot. Still bummed about the loss, but your message helps.

I hit send and start my car, ready to head home and put this game behind me. As I pull out of the parking lot, my phone buzzes again.

Glad I could help a little. If you need anything or just want to talk, I’m here.

Her thoughtfulness warms me, easing some of the stinging that comes with defeat. I consider her offer for a moment.

Actually, I could use a distraction. Want to grab a late dinner?

I send the message before I can change my mind. A few moments later, my phone lights up.

Why don’t you come over here. I’ve got the house to myself, and I was about to make tacos.

Her suggestion already has the disappointed feeling in the pit of my stomach lessening.

I’d like that. What time?

Head on over. I’ll get cooking.

See you soon.

Scarlett is sitting on the front stoop when I pull into her driveway. Smiling, she waves at me as I shut down the engine and climb from my car. I push the door closed and walk the path that leads to her. “Hey,” she says, rising.

“Hi.” I smile, joining her on the top step.

Her arms slip around my waist, surprising me. I wrap her up in my hold, taking advantage of the comfort she’s offering. Her embrace is warm, and I allow myself to relax into it. I breathe in her soft floral scent mingling with the salty tang of the sea breeze. For a moment, I forget about the game; it’s only her body against mine and the feeling of being held.

“You played really well today,” she says softly, pulling back to look at me. Her blue eyes are full of sincerity. “That touchdown catch was incredible.”

I manage a small smile. “Thanks. I wish it had been enough to win the game.”

She nods sympathetically. “I know. Losses are tough. But you can’t win them all, right?”

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me,” I say with a wry chuckle.

“Come on,” she says, taking my hand. “Let’s get inside. I’ve got tacos waiting, and I’m starving.”

I follow her inside, and the smell of seasoned meat and warm tortillas fills the air. She releases my hand, wandering across the kitchen to the stove, and I instantly miss the contact.

“Thanks for inviting me over.”

“Of course,” she replies.

“Can I help out in any way?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I’ve got it all under control.”

As I watch her move around the kitchen, effortlessly preparing our meal, I’m struck by how comfortable this feels, like I belong here in her home after a tough game.

“So,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at me. “Tell me what’s going through your head right now. About the game, I mean.”

I lean against the counter, running a hand through my hair. “Honestly? I’m replaying every mistake, every missed opportunity. Wondering what I could have done differently.”

She nods, understanding in her eyes. “That’s natural. But you can’t dwell on it too much. You’ll drive yourself crazy.”

“I know,” I sigh. “It’s just... we started so strong. That first quarter felt amazing. And then…”

“And then the other team adjusted,” she finishes for me.

I nod, impressed by her understanding of the game. “Exactly. They figured out our offensive scheme, and we couldn’t adapt quickly enough.”

Scarlett hands me a plate loaded with tacos. “Well, now you and the team know what to work on for next time. Every game is a learning experience, right?”

“You’re right,” I say, following her to the living room. We settle on the couch, our plates balanced on our laps. “Thanks for this, by the way. It’s nice to have someone to talk to about the game who isn’t on the team.”

She smiles, taking a bite of her taco. “Anytime. Venting is a necessary part of life. You think I’m good at listening, you should hear me vent.”

I chuckle, feeling some of the tension from the day start to ease. “Well, you’re right, you’re a great listener. And I’m here for you whenever you need to let loose and vent away.”

“Be careful what you ask for.” Scarlett laughs, and it lights up her whole face. “Poor Autumn is usually the recipient of my venting. Actually, it’s more like a ranting session.”

“Well, now I’m an option too. Since this is my first girlfriend ranting rodeo, is there anything I should know?”

Her expression turns thoughtful. “You’ve never had a girlfriend just go off and rant at you over whatever is pissing her off?”

Fuck. Why did I say that?

“Nope.”

Please don’t ask me why.

“How is that possible?” she asks.

Fuck me.

“I’ve never had a girlfriend,” I say, watching her reaction.

Her eyebrows briefly rise as she takes a moment to think over my confession. “How is that possible?”

I take a bite of my taco. “These are delicious, by the way.”

She smiles at the compliment. “Thanks. It’s my grandmother’s recipe. She always said food was the best comfort after a tough day.”

“Smart woman,” I reply, taking another bite.

We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the crunching of taco shells and the soft music that’s been playing since I arrived. It’s peaceful, and the last of my game-day tension melts away.

“So,” Scarlett says, setting her empty plate on the coffee table. “Tell me something that has nothing to do with football.”

“That might be a tall order. Football is my life.”

“I’m sure there’s more to you. What else are you passionate about?”

“Well, I grew up a preacher’s son, so I guess I was passionate about my faith.”

“You said ‘was.’ Does that mean you no longer are?”

“My faith hasn’t changed, but I no longer attend church—unless I’m visiting my parents. Then I feel obligated to attend.”

“What made you stop going?”

I pause, considering how to answer. It’s not something I often talk about, especially with someone I haven’t known for long. But there’s something about Scarlett that makes me feel comfortable opening up.

“It’s complicated,” I begin, setting my plate down. “I still believe in God, but I started questioning some things. The rigid structure, the judgment I sometimes saw and also felt myself. It didn’t always align with the loving, accepting God I believed in. The more I learned about the world, the more I realized that things aren’t as black and white as I was led to believe.”

Scarlett nods thoughtfully. “That makes sense. It’s normal to question and evolve in your beliefs as you grow up.”

“Right,” I agree. “Plus, now with my current schedule, Sundays are usually game days. But I still pray and try to live by the core values I was raised with.”

“That’s admirable,” she says with a smile. “It’s not easy to forge your own path while still honoring your upbringing. Especially being the preacher’s son.”

I feel a sense of relief that she understands so well.

I nod. “It was. There was a lot of pressure to be the perfect son. I think that’s the main reason why football became such an outlet for me. Out on the field, I could be myself without worrying about living up to anyone’s expectations.”

Scarlett leans back on the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. “That makes a lot of sense. Did your parents support your football dreams?”

I smile, remembering. “They did, actually. My dad especially. He saw how passionate I was about the game, and he always encouraged me to pursue my goals. He’d say that God gives us talents for a reason, and it was up to us to make the most of them.”

“That's beautiful,” she says. “It sounds like you have a good relationship with your parents.”

“I do.” I nod. “We don’t always see eye to eye on everything, but I’ve never questioned their love for me or their desire to see me succeed.”

Scarlett’s smile is warm. “You’re lucky. Not everyone has that kind of support from their family.”

I’ve always known how fortunate I am. “You’re right, and I’m grateful for them. So what about you? Are you close with your family?”

Her smile falters slightly. “It’s... complicated. My parents and I have a strained relationship. They’re very focused on appearances and success, and I think they’ve always been a bit disappointed that I didn’t follow a more traditional career path.”

The area between my eyebrows wrinkles as I frown. “I’m sorry to hear that. It must be tough not having their full support.”

She shrugs, trying to appear unaffected. “It is what it is. I’ve learned to find my own path and surround myself with people who do support me. Like Autumn, and as strange as this may sound, my podcast listeners. They’re like members of my extended family. They support me by showing up week after week, and they encourage me when I need it most.”

“I understand that more than you realize. The fans of every team I’ve played on have done the same for me.”

“Would you like some more tacos?” she asks.

I glance down and notice there’s still half of one on my plate. I finish it in two bites, and when I’ve swallowed it down, I say, “No, thanks.”

She scoots to the edge of the couch and angles her body toward me. “You didn’t really think I was going to let you get away with not answering my question, did you?”

No, but I was hoping.

“What question would that be?” I say, trying to stall.

She presses her lips together and tips her head, silently saying really? “Why you never had a girlfriend.”

Placing my plate on the coffee table, I shift to face her. “With my dad being a preacher, there was a lot of importance placed on saving yourself for the person you marry. As a result, I didn’t really date in high school. I focused on football and getting a scholarship.”

“What about in college?” she asks.

“I focused on football. All I’ve ever wanted to do is play for the pros.”

“And now you’re living out your dream,” she says, her lips curving in a soft smile.

I nod slowly. “I am, and it’s even better than I imagined.”

She rises to her feet with a groan. “I think I ate too much.”

Laughing, I collect our plates and stand. “I have no regrets about the eight tacos I devoured.”

“Maybe we should take a walk and work off some of this food,” she suggests with a hopeful expression. “Or are you too tired after the game?”

“I’d love to take a walk. Let me put these in the sink.”

“I’m gonna get my sneakers on,” she tells me as I carry the plates to the kitchen and deposit them in the sink.