Page 9 of September's Bad Boy: Cooper
I quietly make my way to the edge of the room and watch. He corrects a boy’s stance, gives another a high five, and claps encouragement to a girl who sinks a perfect basketball shot. The kids light up around him. They trust him, admire him. And I see why.
I see the man beneath the story everyone thinks they know.
After about fifteen minutes, Cooper notices me. His brows lift slightly in surprise, but he doesn’t pause what he’s doing. Instead, he gestures toward a bench where his water bottle and towel are, silently inviting me to stay.
So, I do.
When the session ends, the kids file out, thanking him as they go. One boy lingers a little longer, clearly reluctant to leave. As he grabs his backpack, he glances between Cooper and me. “You, his girlfriend?” he asks me, bold and curious.
I laugh, startled. “No. Just a friend.”
“You should be.” He shrugs, like it’s obvious. “He lit up when he saw you.”
My cheeks warm as the boy jogs out, leaving me speechless and a little off-kilter. Cooper catches the end of it, a brow raised as he approaches.
Walking over to where I sit, he wipes sweat from his forehead. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Kara sent me to drop off books,” I say, standing and gesturing toward the box I left near the entry. “But then I saw you and... I stayed.”
He nods, grabbing a rag and heading toward the benches to clean up the gear. I follow without thinking, scooping up cones and stray basketballs.
“You’ve got a good group,” I say after a moment.
“They’re rough around the edges,” he replies, crouching to pick up a fallen clipboard. “But they show up. That’s more than I can say for half the adults in this town.”
“You’re good with them,” I say. “They listen to you.”
He shrugs but doesn’t look at me. “I see a lot of myself in some of them. Angry and lost. Looking for someone to care whether they show up or not.”
He pauses, resting his hands on his hips, looking out over the empty gym. “You know, when I first got out, I didn’t know if I belonged anywhere. But then these kids started coming around. Some of them don’t say more than two words, but they show up. And that’s enough. If one of them stays out of jail because of this place, because they’ve got somewhere to go, someone who gives a damn... then every critical look, every whisper, every busted window is worth it.”
I study him, my chest tight. There’s so much pain in his voice, but there’s hope too. He’s not just building a gym. He’s building a future—for them, for himself. And suddenly, I want to be part of that.
When I set the cones in the storage bin, I turn to find him closer than I expected. The air thickens instantly. My gaze catches on the sweat on his chest, a bead rolling down the ridge of his collarbone, and my eyes track its path.
He catches me staring. I don’t even pretend to look away.
“You okay?” he asks, voice lower now.
I nod slowly, stuttering. “I just... I never saw you like this before.”
His brows draw together. “Like what?”
“Like someone with a purpose.”
He flinches slightly, and I realize how much that hits him. I step forward, closing the gap.
“I remember that night,” I say forcefully. “The bar, the man. You stepped in when no one else would.”
“You don’t...”
“I’m not. I’m just telling you I haven’t forgotten.”
Our hands brush as we both reach for the same ball, and it’s electric. His fingers close over mine, holding them there. His eyes drop to my mouth.
“Riley...”
“I’m not scared of this,” I whisper. “I’m not scared of you.”
