Breakaway (Beyond the Play, #2)(81)

Of course that’s what gets you excited





I literally have a sword tattooed on my body





Just get over here and kiss me





49





COOPER





There he is again.

He’s sitting in the stands, watching the practice from the shadows. I’ve made a couple mistakes during our drills because I can’t stop staring. Black leather jacket, Yankees cap pulled low over his face, plenty of scruff—it’s my Uncle Blake.

But what the hell is he doing here? Watching me skate like I’m five again and on my first pee wee team, all without even a text to let me know he’s in town?

Evan squints at him when I point him out. “Are you sure?” he says. “He’s your uncle?”

“Yeah. Don’t know why he couldn’t just text.” I clap Evan on the shoulder. “I’m going to go ask Coach if I can take a break to talk to him.”

“Whatever Cooper wants, Cooper gets,” Brandon mocks as I skate by. “I guess that’s how it is when you’ve put your dick in—”

I skate back around to him. “You want to finish that sentence?” I lean in, glancing over at Coach deliberately before settling my gaze on Brandon. “Because if I need to kick your ass, I will. And then I’ll tell Coach exactly who dared disrespect his daughter.”

Brandon swallows but doesn’t say another word.

“That’s what I thought.” I shake my head. “Watch your fucking mouth. And next time you see Penny, you’re going to apologize for that stunt you pulled in Vermont. You understand?”

His expression wavers, like he’s considering telling me to fuck off. I just raise an eyebrow.

“Fine,” he snaps.

Coach gives me permission to talk to Uncle Blake—at least I hope it’s him, because if not, this will be awkward—so I head up the stairs. When I get to the row he’s sitting in, he raises his hand into a little wave.

If I wasn’t sure before, I am now: it’s my uncle. A little older, a little more worn looking, but definitely him.

“Hey, Cooper,” he says as I sit down next to him on the bench. It’s casual as anything, like I just saw him last week for Sunday dinner.

“Uncle Blake.” I accept his sideways hug. He smells like cigarette smoke and cheap soap, but that’s familiar when it comes to him. “What are you doing here? I called you.”

“Business brought me back to New York,” he says. “Thought I’d see my nephews, and Eagles tickets are too damn expensive.”

My face falls. Of course, he’s hoping to see James. Everyone always does. “You can just ask him for tickets,” I say coldly. “I’ve got practice.”

He reaches out and punches me in the arm before I can get up. “Just kidding, Coop. Thought you knew how to take a joke. Sorry I didn’t respond to your message, I thought this would be easier.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I just want to catch up, like you. Maybe I could take you out for dinner? When you’re finished, of course.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Um, sure?”

“Birthday’s soon, right?” he says. “Call it a gift.”

It’s been so long since I’ve seen him, I’m almost surprised he remembers. He hasn’t been in town since I was seventeen, and that was only for a short time before he went away to rehab again. I wonder if he’s clean, then feel guilty for thinking it. He’s doing his best, I’m sure, and he mentioned getting dinner, not a drink. Dad is the one who’s judgmental about him and his struggles, and if there’s anyone I don’t want to be like, it’s him.

“Thanks.” I look down at the ice, where the team is still practicing. Coach Ryder blows his whistle, and the boys stop, giving him their attention. “I’ll get changed.”

“Atta boy.” He slaps me on the back before he gets up. “I’m excited to see what my favorite nephew has been up to.”

When practice ends, I change as quickly as I can, say goodbye to the guys and Coach Ryder, and book it. Part of me, a tiny little irrational part, wonders if Uncle Blake will be gone, but he’s leaning against the building, having a smoke. Wintertime means the sun has already slipped below the horizon, but an overhead light illuminates him, making the black leather of his jacket shine.

When he sees me, his eyes light up. They’re like mine—like Dad’s—that deep blue. Callahan blue, my mother used to tease. She’s always been nicer when she talks about Uncle Blake, even though she’s not the one related to him.

“Know anywhere good around here to grab a bite?” he asks.

“Pizza okay?”

“Come on, kid. I can do better for your twenty-first birthday.”

“There’s a good burger place not too far away.” I hitch my bag onto my shoulder. “Did you drive here?”

He scrubs his hand through his hair. “Had a buddy drop me off.”

“No problem,” I say, rummaging around in my pocket for my keys as we cross the parking lot. “Remember that truck I bought after saving all summer? Last time you were in town? I’ve been working on it this whole time.”