Low Blow (Shots On Goal Standalone Series Book 4)

by Kristen Hope Mazzola

  Michael “Mic” Cooper, 45, passed away in a tragic accident this past Saturday in New York, New York. He was born January 14th, 1962 to Albert and Virginia Reed Cooper in Jamaica, New York. Mic enjoyed hunting, fishing, and mechanics.

  Survivors include his wife, Hilary, and his daughter, Olive “Liv” Cooper, 14, as well as many nieces, nephews, other relatives, and friends.

  He was preceded in death by his mother-in-law Judy Waters, his brother, Bobby Cooper, and his sister, Maggie Stewart.

  “Hey Griff, are you doing okay?” Myla’s sweet voice came from behind me. She was walking outside with Jordan at her side.

  “Yeah, I’m good. Just needed to get a little bit of fresh air.” I really wanted to be left alone, but that was just how Myla was—a little ray of sunshine in the dark cloud of our family. Amidst all the drama, all the bullshit, Myla was the one that really kept us moving forward. I guess I couldn’t really be surprised that she’d followed me outside and Jordan was always one to spring into action when one of the guys was upset or having a rough time. I hastily shoved Mic’s obituary back into my wallet and turned to them, trying to hide the fact that I had gotten choked up reading the short article.

  “Something’s bothering you, Griffin. I can tell. I can always tell.” Myla put her hands on her hips, smiling sweetly at me. “Why don't you ever just talk to us?”

  I sighed, leaning against the metal fencing around the marble patio. “I just don't know how to not take my life for granted,” I confessed. The crap Gavin had said the night before had really started to sink in, and it had gotten me thinking. I hated to admit it, but my brother was right—I needed to find more substance in my life.

  Taking a seat in one of the patio chairs, Myla patted the one next to her. “Come on, let’s talk this out.”

  I reluctantly slunk down into the empty seat, wiping my nose with the back of my hand.

  “You know you can talk to us about anything.” Jordan added, taking the seat across from me at the table. Jordan had been around for all of the crap with my surgery when I was younger—watched the damage it had done to my family. She was always to there to lend a sympathetic ear when I really needed one.

  “What is actually on your mind, the real weight? Not the having no friends think, not the being dumped thing. There’s something bigger than that.” Myla was going for the big guns right off the bat.

  “Gavin told you about last night, didn’t he?” I cocked my head to the side as Myla bit her lip.

  “He is my husband, but I thought that maybe since you’d had some time to think about it, there could be more to the story.”

  I took a deep breath in before bluntly stating, “A man died for me to live, and what do I have to show for his sacrifice?”

  Myla’s brow furrowed as her lips parted a bit, and it took her a few seconds to respond. “That man died and donated his organs so that his death wouldn’t be in vain.”

  Jordan jumped right in to add, “Remember, Griff, you’re probably not the only one that lives because that man passed away from an accident you had nothing to do with and no control over. It’s not like you were there at his jobsite and ran him over. That’s someone else’s burden. Think about it, since he was an organ donor, his could have lungs gone to someone, and same thing with his liver, kidneys, and perhaps even his skin. Think about it.” Jordan leaned across the metal table to put her hand on my arm and I let my gaze wander up to her kind, round eyes. “Just take peace in knowing that he was most likely able to help so many people.”

  Myla went on further, “He’s probably smiling down at you, so proud of the life you lead because of his generosity. Do you know how incredible you are? Please don't forget how many titles you’ve won, how many charities you’ve been able to support, how much work you’ve done raising money for all that medical research! Think about it—you’re doing amazing things with your second chance. Everything that anyone ever could hope for, you’ve done it!”

  “It doesn’t feel good enough,” I whisper, clearing my throat. “It doesn’t feel like I’m doing enough. There’s something I need to do.” Right as the words left my lips, it clicked. “His daughter was left behind. A young girl lost her father that day because of me.”

  Myla started shaking her head. “Not because of you. You did not cause that accident. You didn’t make that forklift driver fuck up. You did not make him forget to wear his protective gear. That’s not your fault.”

  I threw my hands onto the table. “The stars sure damn well aligned for it to feel like my fucking fault.”

  Jordan’s face got stern as she reminded me once again of the facts, like she had done countless times when I was younger. “Griffin, you were sixteen. You had an infection that destroyed your heart. How could that possibly be your fault?”

  That fight had played in my head over and over again ever since it happened. “I should have been faster. I should have anticipated where he was going next, staying two steps ahead like I was taught.” Tears started to well up in my eyes.

  “You need to let yourself off the hook. No one wants a badass boxer with an oh-poor-me attitude.” Myla winked at me as her lips perked up a bit.

  “Maybe I need closure?” It came out as a question, but it should have been a statement. I needed closure—it was a fact of my life that I had been searching for for ten years, and I was finally admitting it to myself.

  “So, fucking get it.” Myla crossed her arms over her chest as she tapped her foot. “Go meet his daughter.”

  “That’s a fucking fantastic idea.” Jordan slapped the table as a small smirk played on her lips.

  I rubbed my hand frantically over my face. “That is so much easier said than done.”

  “How? You know her name and where they lived when the accident happened. It can’t be that hard. If you need this bad enough, you’ll find a way.” Myla really did have a point.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” I glanced up at my sister-in-law as a look of satisfaction settled in.

  “Now, how about we go in and have an awkward-as-hell dinner like always?” Myla grabbed a bottle of water and took a swig. “Don’t worry, I’m going to take all the pressure off of you in about two minutes.”

  “Thanks for everything, you two.” I hooked one arm around each of their necks as we walked into the dining room where the rest of my family was already sitting.

  “Nice of you to join us.” Gavin teased his wife dramatically as we all took our seats.

  “Oh hush.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Myla, your brother and his family couldn’t attend this evening?” Mom asked sternly. She was trying to make conversation but her disapproval of Myla and her brother was palpable. It all stemmed from way back in the day when our father was teammates with Reggie Cox—Myla’s old man. It was a stupid blood feud at this point—one that my folks were to only ones that gave two flying fucks about anymore. It was extremely childish in my book.

  Gavin glared at his mother as he answered for his wife. “Karla and Brayden have their hands full with their little ones. They felt like it would be too much to have them come.”

  “Hopefully, by the next family dinner their children will have learned some manners and their parents won’t be embarrassed to bring them out of the house.” My mother’s nose was so high in the fucking air, I half expected her to have a nosebleed at any second.

  “Mom, drop it.” I growled.

  Sean and Jessica started to drum up a little bit of small talk with my mom about their decision to not have a wedding.

  “It just seems to me that you deprived your loved ones of celebrating your new life together.”

  I was about to lose my shit on my mom, her comments were getting out of hand on so many levels. Right as I was about to combust, Myla shot a quick wink from across the table and grabbed Gavin’s hand. “Well, there’s no sense in waiting any longer,” Myla started, but Gavin cut her off.

  “Are you sure this is the right time? It’s Griffin’s birthday.”<
br />
  I leaned back in my chair, grabbing the full wine glass in front of me. “Oh, please don’t hold back on my account.”

  Myla bounced in her seat as she smirked at me. “See!”

  Gavin rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

  “Dammit, just get it out,” Dad grunted from the head of the table. They were the first words he’d graced us with all night.

  “We’re going to have a baby!” Gavin yelled, and my mother gasped next to me.

  Jordan squealed. “I fucking knew it!”

  Flying to her feet, my mom chortled. “It’s about time someone gave me a grandbaby.”

  Even my father was smiling. “Holy shit, Gavin…a father.”

  “Thanks Pop.” Gavin shoved up from the table to hug Mom as she cried all of the happy tears.

  “Congrats guys.” I raised my glass to them.

  Myla’s grin was larger than her face. “See, I told you I would take the attention away from you,” she said under her breath, leaning over the table.

  “Thank you,” I mouthed to her before taking a bite of Brussels sprouts.

  Chapter 7

  Olive

  Sliding my running shoes off, I made my way into the kitchen where Otis was noshing away at his kibble.

  “Is that good boy?” I purred at my pup as I grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator.

  “It is quite delicious, I must say.” Shaw’s voice came from behind me and I whipped around, holding my hand over my chest.

  “Holy fuck! Shaw!” I shouted. “When did you come home? I thought you were still playing with your boy toy from last night.”

  “You know how I don’t like to sleep over. My bed is too comfortable to not sleep in,” he slurred with his mouth full of cereal.

  “So? How’d it go?” I sat across from Shaw, chomping at the bit to hear all the nasty details from his scandalous hookup.

  He shrugged. “Could have been better. He doesn’t know what he is doing with his mouth, that’s for damn sure.” Shaw rolled his eyes before taking another bite.

  “Gah, that’s disappointing.”

  “His friend gave me his number to pass along to you.” Shaw pulled out a bar napkin from the pocket of his jeans then slid it across the table slowly, and I snatched it out from under his hand.

  I glanced down to see the ten digits scribbled with Willie and a heart next to it. “No, thank you.” I wadded the napkin up and tossed it into the wastebasket next to the fridge.

  “Are you enjoying the cobwebs that are taking over your lady parts?” Shaw scoffed.

  I threw my hands in the air. “What the fuck? Just because I don’t jump the bones of every guy who shows interest in me does not mean I have cobwebs covering my vagina.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Name the last person you slept with.”

  I tapped my finger to my lips. “Fuck, it has been a while.”

  Shaw got up to rinse his bowl out. “See? You need to get laid. Have a one-night stand, get a fuck buddy, whatever—just do something.”

  “At least I have a battery-powered boyfriend. It gets me by during these dry spells.”

  Shaw waggled his finger at me. “Not the same.”

  “Sometimes it’s better alone with my vibrator and it’s not like I have a lot of time to date.”

  “You cannot tell me that an electric O-maker is better than getting it from a dude.”

  “Sometimes it really is.” I argued.

  “Whatever you say, Liv.” He leaned against the counter. “There is also more to life than work and the occasional spicy time alone. You need to enjoy yourself. Otis and I won’t be around forever.”

  Otis whimpered at the back door, and I let him out. I watched as he trudged down the steps and into the fenced yard behind the shop. I knew Shaw was right, but I didn’t want to admit it.

  “We live above our damn work for crying out loud.” Shaw was starting to get on my nerves.

  “I’m sorry, are you complaining about free rent?” Deflection was my saving grace in that moment.

  He shrugged. “Not what I am saying and you know that, but I will butt out for now.”

  I grabbed the wadded-up napkin from top of the trash and stared at it. I knew I was closed off, but I liked my little bubble. I couldn’t get hurt again from within my safe zone. With my heart shielded, there was no chance of it breaking.

  I couldn’t handle losing someone again.

  I wouldn’t be able to pick the pieces back up off the floor.

  I wouldn’t survive it.

  No way in hell.

  Chapter 8

  Griffin

  Slow.

  Deep.

  Breaths.

  This is it.

  After a few weeks of digging and using the best private investigation firm money could buy, I was on my Harley heading toward Olive Cooper. I had no idea what to expect or what I was going to say, but my mind was set on at least meeting her.

  Riding along the open freeway at the ass-crack of dawn toward the unknown was more liberating than I had expected. The cool fall air whipped around me as the miles passed by. A calm I hadn’t known for far too long settled in deep. My bike rumbled under me as the minutes passed, an excitement consumed me—buzzed in every cell. It was different than the feeling I got before a fight, it was more like liberation. And for the first time in a very long time, my mind was peaceful.

  Rounding the corner, my destination was finally in sight—Mic’s Garage. A lump formed in my throat. This was it. It was now or never.

  I pulled into the gravel parking lot and sat for a few seconds as my nerves started to get the better of me.

  What if this was a bad idea?

  What if I do more harm than good?

  What if she doesn’t want to talk to me?

  I pushed all the doubt and fear of rejection to the back of my mind. I had come too far to chicken out now.

  “Are you Olive?” I asked, walking into the large open workshop.

  The young woman only paces away from me spun around quickly. Her emerald eyes were wide as her head tilted a little, grease and dirt covering her jeans and flannel shirt. She shoved her long, red bangs away from her face. “Yeah. Who’s asking?”

  I rubbed the back of my neck, completely tongue-tied. Her brow furrowed as she started to make her way to the entry I was standing against. I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to immediately divulge all the reasons I had come up there, but I froze. She looked at me again, frustration starting to blanket her soft complexion. “Can I help you?”

  “Y-Yeah,” I stuttered. “I’m Griffin, um…is there somewhere we could talk?” I shoved my shaking hands into my pockets.

  Get a grip on yourself, man.

  You’re acting like a crazy person.

  She pointed to a closed door next to us. “All right. Come on into my office, I guess.”

  I followed her and then heard a low grumble come from the back of the room.

  “Oh hush, Otis.” She snickered as she took a seat at her desk.

  I stood paralyzed, staring at a giant black dog with cropped ears and a mean-ass snarl.

  “He’s harmless.” She waved her hand at her dog dismissively. “He’s all talk. He's never actually attacked anybody. Don’t worry, come on in.”

  I took a seat, pulling my wallet out of my back pocket. Staring down at my hands, I fought for the right words. “I really don’t know where to begin.” My voice was shaky. I sounded like a fucking pansy, but I didn’t really know what to do.

  I had played this scenario over and over in my head increasingly often over the years, but now there I was, actually staring at the daughter of the man who had died to save my life. I shouldn’t have known who she was—donors’ families were supposed to be anonymous—but I had figured it out. Now I kind of wished I hadn’t.

  To add insult to injury, Olive was absolutely gorgeous—long auburn hair, large round emerald eyes, and a light dusting of freckles over her dimpled cheeks, not to mention s
he was a female mechanic. Talk about a badass. I was immediately struck by her beauty and grit; she was not my usual type, but for some reason I was completely drunk with infatuation. I usually went for the model, blonde, superficial types while she was more downhome girl with an edge and a chip on her shoulder, but today I couldn’t get enough of looking at her.

  I pulled out her father’s obituary and laid it on the table between us before continuing. “Ten years ago, your father passed away, and he saved countless lives with the organs he donated, mine included.”

  Her jaw hung open as she stuttered. “I-I don’t… What?”

  I exhaled a long breath. “I have your dad’s heart. He saved my life when an infection destroyed my own, and it’s taken me all this time to get up the guts to come see you.” I felt like a weight had been lifted off of my chest instantly.

  “I don’t know what to say.” She bit her lip as tears started to well up in her eyes. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.” I lifted up my shirt to reveal the long scar on my chest. “I was sixteen. Because of your father, I was able to follow my dreams.”

  “What were they?” she asked as she gripped the laminated clipping in her tiny hands.

  “My dreams?” I confirmed, nervous that they weren’t going to be good enough.

  She blinked back tears as she nodded. “Yeah, what dreams did you follow?”

  I swallowed hard. “I am a professional boxer and because of my success, I have been able to help a lot of charities.” I felt like I had to prove to her why I deserved to have her father’s heart beating in my chest.

  Olive unbuttoned her flannel shirt, throwing the dirty garment into the corner of her office and revealing a light gray t-shirt with Ollie is my homeboy and the New York Otters’ logo.

  A lightbulb went off. “Are you a hockey fan?” I questioned, raising my eyebrow.

  Otis grunted next to me, so I put my hand on his head as Olive dramatically rolled her eyes, pulling the end of her shirt down to stretch out the design. “What gave it away?” she sarcastically asked.