Page 46 of Hooking the Captain
It had beenten long days since Coop had told me he needed time and space to figure shit out, and I was still drowning in misery.
When he first mentioned he was friends with Professor Foster, I should have been honest about my connection to him. But at the time, I didn’t realize they were close friends who had dinners together. I also didn’t know things between Coop and me would turn into more than a vacation fling.
Then I fell for him.
How could I have admitted to Coop—not long after we’d first met—that I’d acted like a fool trying to win back my ex-boyfriend? He would’ve likely stopped seeing me right away. And if by some minor miracle Coop hadn’t been mad, he certainly wouldn’t have wanted to hear about how the guy he was hanging out with had been chasing after an ex shortly before meeting him?
I lay sprawled on my bed, staring at the white ceiling, wondering what could have been if I’d made a different choice after seeing Tyler and Professor Foster at dinner together. Going to the dean had seemed like a good idea, but now I understood how fucked up my plan to get Foster fired really was. Tyler had moved on, so my vendetta against his new man was stupid.
A knock on my bedroom door pulled me from my thoughts. “Ford, darling.” My mom peeked her head inside. “Your dad and I are heading out to dinner. Do you want to come with us? A change of scenery might be nice.”
The night I had come back from Coop’s apartment, my parents had been able to tell something was up right away. I told them my job was sending me to London and I’d split up with the person I was seeing instead of doing the long-distance thing. At one point, I had been tempted to tell them who I’d been dating, but I couldn’t force myself to say the words out loud. When they didn’t press for more details, I was both relieved and disappointed in my inability to be truthful about who I was.
I sighed and shook my head. “No thanks. I need to start packing for my move. If I get hungry, I’ll grab something from the kitchen.”
“All right. We’ll see you later then.” She walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts once again.
Instead of getting up to pack, I grabbed my phone and scrolled through my texts with Coop. The temptation to call him tugged at me, but a wave of fear stopped me. What if he didn’t pick up? What if I tried to apologize again and he said he couldn’t ever forgive me? I didn’t think I could handle another rejection from him.
However, I was leaving in a few days, and it didn’t feel right to go to England without talking to Coop first. I stood, phone in hand, and began pacing my room like a caged animal. Every time I pulled up his contact, I chickened out. I was a coward, incapable of facing the consequences of my own actions.
Consumed with frustration and anger toward myself, I flung my phone across the room. It collided with my dresser, knocking over the bottle of vodka sitting there. I picked it up from the floor, took a large gulp, and sat down on my bed.
Grabbing the remote, I turned on the TV and scrolled past the endless stream of cooking shows and reality TV until I saw it.
The Bruins game.
I raised the volume, and my heart raced as Coop stepped onto the ice. He looked so confident, gliding across the ice with ease. Once the puck dropped, I was mesmerized by how he maneuvered around the opposing players, his strength and agility on full display, and I couldn’t stop watching.
During the second period, Coop was still playing amazingly well, and if it were any indication of how the season would go, he would have an incredible year. I couldn’t help but feel proud of him as I continued to watch, but that feeling quickly changed to worry as the announcers said Coop had been hooked and then slammed into the sideboards.
I bolted off the bed as he crumpled to the ice. Play continued until one of his teammates hit the puck out of the zone and then the referee blew his whistle. Coop’s teammates skated over to check on him as a trainer rushed onto the ice just as the TV switched to show a replay of the incident in slow motion.
As the cameras zoomed in on Coop after the replay, I saw him grimace in pain as he got to his feet and skated toward the bench, holding his left arm close to his body. My heart shattered even more knowing he was in pain.
Panic set in as I imagined the worst. What if he was seriously injured? What if he couldn’t play for the rest of the season?
I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and quickly typed out a text to him:
Hey, I saw what happened. I’m worried about you
My finger hovered over the send button as I debated whether or not sending the message was a good idea. There was a good chance he didn’t want to hear from me, but something deep inside pushed me to hit send. I took a deep breath and hit the button before setting my phone next to me.
I didn’t feel like watching the game anymore. Instead, I took another swig of vodka before flopping back onto my pillows.
At some point, I fell asleep. It was still dark when a notification on my phone woke me. I looked at the screen and saw it was from Coop. I anxiously opened the message.
I’m fine
Are you sure? You looked like you were in a lot of pain
Just a broken collarbone. I’ll be out for a few weeks
Is there anything I can do?
No. But thanks for checking in
It sounded like he was blowing me off, but I couldn’t let the moment pass without trying to see him again.
