Breakaway (Beyond the Play, #2)(102)

Sebastian sets Mia down—she’s been struggling to get out of his arms this whole time like a wildcat—and says, “For fuck’s sake, Mia, stay put!” before jumping into the fray right alongside Cooper.

The guy is still struggling, kicking and punching everywhere he can reach. He catches Sebastian in the throat with his fist. Sebastian stumbles back, gasping for air, and Cooper’s rage hits a new level; he grabs the guy around the waist and drags him through the crowd. Evan and Remmy help shove him onto the sidewalk. Someone shuts off the music, finally, which is good because my ears are ringing, and we all hear loud and clear when Cooper shouts, “If you want to keep your eyes, scumbag, you’ll get the fuck out of here.”

I shove past everyone until I see him. His eyes are wild and dark and he’s trembling. There’s blood on his face, running into his eyes, his beard, the collar of his shirt. I stifle a hysterical giggle as I grab a rag off the top of the bar and press it to his temple.

Maybe another girl would be mad, but I don’t feel anything but satisfaction and awe. He fought for me. He fucking fought for me. “Baby. Baby—

”

He pulls me close, burying his face against my hair. He’s getting it bloody, but I don’t give a shit. “Are you okay?” he demands.

I pull back, swallowing as I nod. “Yeah. Thank you.”

He laughs. “Thank you?”

“No one’s ever stood up like that for me.” I press a kiss to his lips, even though I can taste copper. “No one’s ever fought for me.”

“Since I can’t beat up your ex, this is the best I could do.”

Blake walks over, a grim look on his face. “Get yourself to urgent care,” he says. “You’re going to need stitches. I’ll smooth things over here.”





61





COOPER





Trying to write a paper hungover is bad enough, but add in the stitches, and I can barely focus on my computer screen. Still, this paper is due tomorrow, and despite the upcoming playoffs, I need to keep my grades steady. I’m glancing down at Daisy Miller again, trying to remember the point I was trying to make about the nighttime stroll through the Roman ruins, when the doorbell rings.

Izzy is upstairs with Tangy, working on her own homework, and Sebastian is in his room too, as far as I know. We had each other’s backs during the bar fight, sure, but things are still icy between us. He didn’t thank Uncle Blake for convincing Red’s to forget about the whole fight—in fact, he got them to agree to ban the guy who tried to take the video of Penny and Mia—and the only time we interacted today was when he tried to convince me, again, not to transfer the money to Uncle Blake’s account. I did it already, but I don’t plan on telling him that. Not when it makes him react like Uncle Blake asked me to give him a kidney.

Which I would do if he needed it. Especially after last night. He even called Coach and explained the whole situation while Penny went to urgent care with me. I haven’t spoken to Coach yet, because however justified I was in protecting and defending Penny, I’ve been keeping my temper in check, and the bar fight blew that all out of the water. Since it’s not related to hockey and the other guy started it, I think I’m in the clear, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a loss of control with bad fucking timing.

The doorbell rings again. I heave myself to my feet from my place on the living room floor, books and my laptop spread out in front of the television, and pull open the door. I suppose it’s too much to hope it’s Penny. She would have texted if she was on her way over, and I think she’s at her dad’s house right now, anyway.

It’s my father.

I gulp as I take a step back. The energy radiating off him feels like a bomb—sparking, smoking, right on the edge of going off. He walks in without saying a word. I shove my hands into my sweatshirt pocket as he brushes past me. He stands right in the middle of the living room, glancing around for what feels like the longest moment ever before he finally meets my eyes. The suit, the expensive peacoat, and the watch gleaming on his wrist all feel out of place in our college house. Why is he here? When I texted him to say we won Hockey East, he replied with the thumbs up emoji and a reminder not to get complacent, as well as to be quicker on the forecheck.

Maybe that sort of pressure works for James, but I’m ashamed to know I need more than that. Even an ‘atta boy’ would have made me smile instead of wanting to throw my phone across the room.

His face twists in disapproval as he examines me. I know I look awful; the stitches and the surrounding bruise are disgusting. I’m sure I’m pale, too, hungover and exhausted, my hair greasy and in need of a wash. With the mood I’ve been in today, you’d think we just learned we wouldn’t be making the playoffs at all instead of winning our conference.

He sniffs as he takes off his coat and drapes it on the back of the couch. He’s in a suit jacket, no tie; he takes off the jacket too, then methodically rolls his sleeves to his elbows. “Cooper.”

“Sir.”

He gestures to my face. “Why the fuck did I hear about this from your brother?”

I swallow down the outrage I feel as I glance at the stairs. Fucking Sebastian. Of course he had to bring Dad into this. “Why did you even come here? You could have just called.”