Page 21 of September's Bad Boy: Cooper
He leans back in his chair and looks between the two of us. “You just saved yourself a lot of grief, Cooper. And maybe stopped this from happening to someone else.”
He officially clears me two days later.
Word spreads fast.
The way people look at me shifts. Though, not everyone. But enough. The suspicious glances turn into nods. A few even say thanks.
The morning after the news spreads about the video from the sheriff, I’m back at the community center cleaning up the equipment I used this morning when Jason walks in.
He doesn’t speak, just lingers by the punching bags, his eyes fixed on me.
At last, he breaks the silence. "I saw what you did. With the fire."
I nod. "It wasn’t just me. Shane and his guys, Riley, the firefighters—everyone helped."
Jason lowers his gaze, as if gathering himself, then back up to me. His eyes are guarded, shuttered, but not cold.
"You were never like that before. Not that I saw."
Wiping my hands on a towel, I walk toward him. "I wasn't. Not for a long time."
He swallows. "You scared the hell out of me. Going into that barn."
"Scared myself too."
We stand there for a long moment.
"I don’t know if I can forgive everything," he admits, barely audible.
"You don’t have to. I just want you to see who I am now. Not who I was."
Jason gives a single nod. "I’ll try."
As he walks away, he stops, looking over his shoulder. “You know, I used to think you didn’t care. About me. About anything. But after the other night…”
He shakes his head, searching to find the words, and then tries again. “I saw you run into that barn like your life didn’t matter if it meant saving that calf. I don’t get it. But I saw it.”
I nod. “It wasn’t about the calf. It was about doing what was right. About being the kind of man you would be proud of and not ashamed to claim.”
Jason’s jaw tightens, not meeting my eyes. “You’re not who I thought you were. I didn’t know you at all.”
“I hope not,” I say. “I’ve worked hard not to be.”
He inclines his head, then turns toward the door. “See you around, Dad.”
When he walks out, I’m left choking on a lump in my throat so big it hurts to breathe.
Closing my eyes, I press a hand to my chest, where the word lingers like an echo. Dad.
He said it. Meant it.
The weight of it crashes over me all at once, harder than the fire, sharper than any accusation I’ve ever endured. For the first time in years, I don’t push it away. I stop fighting, letting the emotion wash over me. It isn’t just pride or relief. It’s healing.
My son called me Dad.
And it’s enough. It’s everything.
CHAPTER 9
