Page 74 of The Purest Fake

Isent Cooper a text right after the game to congratulate him, but I didn’t hear back. Now it’s hours later, and I’m about to go to sleep, and there’s still no word. Picking up my phone, I type out another message.

Hey! You played amazing today. You should be proud.

I set my phone down on my nightstand and close my eyes. If he replies, I should hear it, and if not, I’ll catch up with him tomorrow.

The sound of our incessantly ringing doorbell wakes me. I fumble for my phone and look at the screen. It’s after midnight. Who the hell can that be?

Sitting up, I turn on my bedside lamp and rub the sleep from my eyes before I get up. The wooden floors are cold against my bare feet as I make my way through the house. The doorbell rings again as I approach, and I shout, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, I’m coming.” Peering through the glass side panel, I see Cooper and quickly open the door. “Hey, I wasn’t expecting you,” I say before I notice the sling on his arm. “Oh, Coop. Come on in.” I move backward, giving him space to enter, but instead of closing thedoor and walking past, he steps into me. My arms reflexively loop around him, and my hands stroke his back. “Are you okay?” I ask. He shakes his head. “Let’s go sit down.” I take hold of his free hand and lead him to the living room, flipping lights on as we go.

We settle side by side on the couch with our hands still clasped. “Tell me what’s going on,” I encourage.

“I have a minor separation in my shoulder, which means I can’t play football until it’s healed.”

“How long will that take?”

He shrugs his good shoulder. “The team doctor said roughly two weeks, but possibly more.”

“That sucks. I’m sorry.”

“I just got the starting job, and now I’m going to have to sit out some games. What if I lose my spot?”

I’ve never known him to be anything but happy and positive. Seeing him so devastated is proof of just how much football means to him. “Oh, Coop, you won’t. You’re too valuable to the team.”

“That can change quickly, though. What if I’m out for like a month?”

“All you can do is follow the doctor’s instructions so you heal as quickly as possible. You’re healthy and strong. I have no doubt you’ll be back on the field sooner than you think.” I squeeze his hand reassuringly.

“Do you really think that?”

“I do. You excel at everything you put your mind to. Think positively and make it happen.”

He nods. “You’re right. I’m planning for the worst instead of putting my energy toward what I want to happen.”

“Yep. Your positivity is one of your strongest traits. Don’t let this temporary setback take that away.”

He briefly rests his head on my shoulder. “You’re pretty good at giving pep talks, you know that?”

“I’m glad I could help. Now, I have an idea of something that might help even more.”

“I don’t think I’m up for fooling around tonight,” he says.

“Pfft. Get over yourself. Come on.” I tug on his hand and we both stand. I lead him into the kitchen and release hold of him. “Sit,” I say, gesturing to one of the stools at the island. He complies while I move to the freezer.

“What are you doing?” he asks, curiosity in his voice.

“Getting you some dessert. It always seems to help when I’m feeling down.” I pull out the carton of ice cream we got the other night and set it on the counter. I grab two bowls from the cabinet and two spoons from the drawer and carry it all over to the island.

A small smile tugs at his lips. “Ice cream does sound pretty good right now.”

I hold up my finger. “That’s not all.” I grab the leftover cake and a knife and set it down next to the ice cream. “We’ve still got cake too,” I say.

His lips curve slightly. “I can’t believe you haven’t finished it by now.”

“I love sweets but I don’t eat them very often.”

“Lucky for me, I guess,” he says.

I scoop ice cream into the bowls, making sure he has extra, then add a slice of cake on top. “Perfection,” I declare, handing him a spoon. “Dig in.” I carry my bowl around to the other side of the island and sit on a stool next to his.

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