Cocky Quarterback: Eric Cocker (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 12)

by Faleena Hopkins

  Wiping down the bar I agree, “That’s what I told him. He argued it but we’ve seen it happen how many times?”

  Holding up her pretty nails, Eleanor counts, “Grant, Kate, Shawn, Dwayne, Rodrigo, Holly.”

  She and I stare at each other, each cocking an eyebrow before I snort, “Sounds like a trend to me.”

  Ruefully she mutters, “It’s like they think you’re dumping them so they have to dump you first. I mean, I’m working for you—I didn’t know we were fucking!”

  “Exactly.” The room goes quiet while she and I clean up. While I’ll miss her, and I enjoy being back here with someone as fast and skilled as Mike is, I’m glad this is my last night at O’Neal’s. With the Falcons back in town for a home game this weekend, they’ll come here afterward. I will not put myself through that again.

  He got under my skin.

  And maybe into my heart.

  The jerk.

  I haven’t talked with Eleanor about the bet, because I’m embarrassed. She thinks Eric and I are still seeing each other. It’s been hard to handle on my own. I don’t want Eleanor telling Mike about the bet. She’s not the best with secrets.

  Or maybe I’m just jaded.

  “Peter still calling you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Block his ass!”

  “You can do that?”

  Eleanor turns the last chair upside down and throws her hands on her hips. “Are you kidding me—you’ve never blocked anyone?”

  “Never had the need I guess.”

  Rolling her eyes she says, “Lucky. Open the contact in your phone and scroll down. You’ll see the button to happiness right there. Block his ass!” She grabs her purse and heads for the bathroom. “Be out in a minute!”

  Everything is as it should be. The register has been counted. Plastic-wrap on the sweet liquor bottles to protect them from bugs. Grabbing my bag I lean against the counter and wait for her, so I can lock up and we can walk to our cars together, safely. Opening the contact page in my address book, I stare at my ex’s name and scroll for the blocking option. Without hesitation I hit it.

  Then I go to Eric’s name.

  My thumb hovers over the block button.

  Staring at it, I feel pain shooting through my arm.

  But I let gravity do what it’s meant to do.

  My thumb drops. It’s done.

  Taking a deep breath I glance over as the bathroom door opens. Eleanor walks out with fresh lipstick on, her hair out of the ponytail. “This look too kinked to you?”

  “No, you look pretty. Are you going out?”

  A sneaky smile curves her lips. “Dion’s place. He and the team got back today, as I’m sure you know. Since I hired a babysitter, I asked her to stay later. Can’t spend the night but who needs that much time? I just want a taste!”

  I turn out the lights and set the alarm. “So this is becoming a thing with you guys?”

  Her eyes cloud a little like she doesn’t want to think in those terms just yet. “He’s a big teddy bear. Who knows? We’re having fun. Just like you and Eric, right?”

  I haven’t said anything about he and I, but that’s not lying. It’s just withholding information until I’m ready. If I lie to Eleanor now, I won’t be able to live with myself. Guess I hoped time would help me.

  Biting my lip I lock up while she waits. “Eric and I aren’t seeing each other. It was just a short fling to help me get over Peter. Why is this key fighting me tonight?”

  “Because it knows you’re leaving it.”

  “Yeah right,” I mutter, wrestling with the damn thing until I win. “There.”

  “It just feels like it’s too quick, Wren. We’ve been working together two years now, right?”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t matter. We’re still going to be friends.” Biting my lip I stare at her pretty face, feeling just as sad as she looks, and maybe more. An involuntary confession jumps off my tongue. “Eric bet Tony Sanchez he could get me to fuck him.”

  Eleanor’s eyes go wide. “What?!”

  Pressing my fingers into my eyelids I tell her, “I can’t be here when he comes in with the team.”

  She grabs my hands and makes me look at her. “I don’t blame you!” We stare at each other and I know what she’s thinking, that the team is the reason we’re so busy. The owners need them, and so does the staff. If anyone’s gotta go, it’s me. “Is that why you got another job? Wren, why didn’t you tell me?”

  Shrugging I glance to the keys in my hand. “Why do you think?”

  She sighs, “Embarrassed.”

  “Yup.”

  “What an asshole!”

  “Yup again.”

  I glance up and hold her eyes, evaporating into sadness. “I thought maybe he was one of the good ones.”

  Her eyes flash, “Oh honey, he’s a man. They don’t make good ones. Excuse me.” She pulls out her phone and dials.

  “What are you doing?”

  Holding up her finger for me to be quiet, she waits and then says, “Dion, I can’t make it tonight. In fact, why don’t you just keep waiting for me.” I hear a low rumble of his objections, but she cuts him off. “Baby, it was fun but I have a girlfriend who just got fucked over by one of your friends and it takes one to know one, if you know what I mean. Go after some other babe with gorgeous tits and a perfect ass because this one is off limits. No hard feelings. Bye bye.” Hanging up she stares at me with eyebrows high on her forehead. Grabbing my arm she steers me to the parking lot. “You have any popcorn at home?”

  “Are you sure, El?”

  She eyes me. “Did you just hear what I told him? That was a fine cock I just dropped because you are my friend and you need me. Do I look sure to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have popcorn?”

  “No.”

  “Then we are stopping at a store and getting some, because it is time for you and me to watch some sweet-as-fuck romantic comedy movies and cry our little hearts out. You drive me back here tomorrow morning to get my car?”

  “Of course!” We both climb in mine. This key slides right in. “Can we see a horror movie instead?”

  Eleanor’s head whips around in a huge grin, “Oh hell yes! Screaming over crying any day!”

  “I’ve done enough crying.”

  She whoops and turns on the music. As Gabriel Cocker’s famous voice pours out of the speakers, my all-knowing friend glances my way. “Were you torturing yourself?”

  “Guilty,” I mumble, keeping my eyes on the road.

  “Mmhmm,” she hums, unceremoniously switching it over to someone who doesn’t share Eric’s last name.

  As we drive toward a store that’s open twenty-four hours, I challenge, “Were you ending things with Dion in case you might get hurt?”

  She shifts in her seat. “Guilty.”

  Chapter 34

  WREN

  Ginny holds the mic with sheer joy igniting her big-toothed smile, wild mass of curls showcased to perfection by the pink spotlight. “Thank you so much for coming out, everyone! We’re Phoenix and we’re doing a show at Terminal West in two months!” The audience increases their applause knowing what an enormous step-up that venue is for any up and coming band. She holds up her hand and grins, “See you there!”

  The lighting engineer takes his cue and the stage goes dark, the main house-lights switching on, bringing everyone back to ‘real life.’ While they gather their things people discuss how far the band has come. Eavesdropping on their appreciation only deepens the ache that persisted during the show. Like my soul is throbbing with grief, yet there’s nothing I can do about it.

  Terminal West is a coveted space for a new band. It’s not a huge stadium but it’s the step before one. Perfect sound system, large playing room, great stage and lights, even outdoor patio areas so people can hang out with their friends, bars in each. Concert-goers happily pay top dollar for amenities like those. And that translates to the band earning some money for once. Too often they
want us to play for free just because we’re artists and love what we do. It’s not fair or right. Nobody asks them to punch into their office jobs without a paycheck. They wouldn’t show up.

  “Wren!” Ginny calls out as she heads my way. “You came!”

  I don’t have to fake the smile I give her as we hurry in for a hug. “God, you guys were great.”

  She squeezes me and pulls back to see my face, hers beaming. “Yeah? You thought so?”

  I run my hands down her arms. “I loved it. You should have been singing this whole time.”

  Clucking her tongue like it’s not true, but she’s secretly glad to hear me say it, Ginny objects, “You would have been so much better than I ever could be.”

  “No.”

  “It’s true!”

  “You mean if I didn’t black out when the spotlights hit me? Sing off key as if aliens had taken over my body?”

  Spinning her bracelet she offers, her voice kind, “Maybe you could see somebody about it. Stage fright is normal for a lot of people.”

  “I don’t think I’m supposed to be in actual terror, Ginny. But stop, you are incredible and it’s obvious. It was supposed to be you this whole time.”

  “Hi Wren!” Lauren calls as she heaves sections of her drum set out to where their cars wait patiently in the back parking lot. Her black hair waves from side to side as she grunts.

  “Oh shit, that’s Wren!” Shriana cries out, clipping the case shut on her upright bass. She runs to us and practically lifts me off the stained cement floor with a huge hug.

  The new back-up guitarist has figured out who I am, and she stays in the background to carry the instruments and give our sad reunion space.

  “We didn’t think you’d come!” Shriana says, squeezing me.

  Laughing as we separate I drag my hand through my hair and blink away tears. My old bandmates spot them, and both crumble, each reaching for one of my arms, hanging lifelessly at my sides.

  “I’m sorry, I’m very happy for you. I’m just feeling a little lost is all. Seeing you guys up there and knowing how much I love music and yet I can’t do anything about it, it’s just…it’s killing me. I can’t seem to find a solution. It just sucks, you know? But I’m so proud of you guys! I want this for you, I do.”

  Their nods are coupled with compassion and helplessness.

  Shriana scratches her shaved head with all ten of her fingers, “We know you do,” blue nail polish matching the dyed blue, shorn locks.

  Lauren walks inside with empty hands ready to grab lighter percussion parts. Frowning, she strolls over. “Are you still writing?”

  “Yeah, every day. Well, almost.”

  “We need some new songs.”

  I blink at her, and Ginny and Shriana look over, too, their troubled expressions clearing at the same time.

  Ginny explodes, “That’s it! Write for us! You don’t have to be on stage to do music!”

  Shriana agrees, “Of course! It’s perfect! None of us are as good as you at writing lyrics! Hell, most of our songs are ones you wrote!”

  Tucking long black hair behind her ear, Lauren bobs her head. “All the good ones anyway.”

  They exchange guilty glances like they’ve been all too aware their newer numbers were lacking that special quality that makes a song stand out from other people’s.

  I didn’t want to say anything, but I’d noticed during the set. They play so well together I felt it didn’t matter, and clearly booking agents agree. But I could make them shine.

  “You really want me to?”

  Melting at the hope in my voice, the three of them give an emphatic, “Yes!”

  Lauren’s already in overdrive. “We can put your name on the website as our writer, and give you a page on there, and you can use that to help sell your songs outside of the band, too!”

  Ginny holds her hand out, palm down. “But we get your best stuff!”

  Shriana runs a hand over her shaved head again as she nods several times, “Oh fuck yeah, we get first dibs. That’s a must.”

  “Of course!” I grin.

  Ginny flips around, “Oh, you need to meet Kate!” And from here I see her Phoenix tattoo on her back peeking out from the black dress.

  The new guitarist walks over looking excited but tentative since she doesn’t have the history we all share. “Hi,” she smiles, holding out her hand.

  I shake it and notice stars working their way down her middle finger. “Hey, look!”

  Her eyes warm as we inspect each other’s ink. “Are these Wren birds then?”

  “Yeah, I’m that cheesy,” I grin. “What are the stars for?”

  Kate confesses with a shrug, “I just like them, knew I’d never get tired of them.”

  “Did you get a Phoenix yet?”

  Biting her lips she shakes her head, eyes shining. “That’s next. I guess yours wasn’t for nothing then.”

  A happy laugh rushes out of me as I comb my hair back with my fingers. “Out of the ashes here I come.” Addressing them all I shake my head in disbelief. “I think you just saved my life.”

  Ginny grabs and hugs me. “You started this. I wouldn’t be able to sing without you.”

  Lauren agrees, “We never would have met if you hadn’t placed that ad.”

  Shriana’s speechless, face scrunched up with emotion as she nods. She pats her back where her tat is. Lauren does the same.

  Inhaling sharply I grin, “Then let’s make some music!”

  Chapter 35

  ERIC

  The air in the locker room is thick with sweat and disillusionment. “You wanted to see me, Coach?”

  I’m waiting for the ax to fall.

  Let it.

  Keeping his volume low he demands, “The fuck is the matter with you, Cocker?”

  Banging my helmet against my thigh I answer, “Dunno.”

  “Hell you don’t. Something changed and I want to know what it is.” He leans in, pissed off and impatient. “Someone die or somethin’?”

  “No.”

  “Then what’s goin’ on with you?”

  “Just not in the zone, Coach,” I shrug.

  Amidst the conversation I hear extremely familiar voices drifting into my consciousness. I glance over to my parents. Mom’s face first, then flick to Dad’s. Embarrassed they had to watch me play like I did out there today, I yank a hand through my hair.

  Coach clears his throat. “Drew, good to see you. Hey Jake. You need something?”

  “You reading my son the riot act?” Dad gravely asks, reading the situation as he crosses his arms.

  “Can you give us a minute?” I ask them.

  Mom starts to leave but Dad doesn’t budge. “Nah, I think we’ll stay. I want to hear this.”

  “Fuck,” I mutter.

  Her sweet southern drawl is impatient. “Eric, don’t swear at your father!”

  “Wasn’t swearing at him,” I grumble, “Just cussing in general. Look, I had an off game. It’s not a big deal.”

  “You’ve been dropping off for the past three, and now we’re nearly edged out of the playoffs,”Coach growls, eyebrows shooting up, “so I want answers! Your sheer talent has gotten us here, but not your enthusiasm, I can tell you that! There’s no skating to the Super Bowl. You either play big or lose! And you’re telling me to my face that it’s no biggie?!”

  “Did you really just use air-quotes?” I mutter, eyes dull.

  Coach’s face goes red at my mocking him, especially with witnesses he respects. “You’re sitting on the bench next game, Cocker!”

  Fuck that hurts. My soul shouts no, but my hatred of authority and broken heart snarl, “Fine.”

  He glares at me, throws his leathery hands in the air and storms off. Following his exit I discover Mott, Tony and Dion eavesdropping, half out of their uniforms and stretching the seconds before they had to hit the showers. My back hunches as I read their disappointment.

  Glancing back to my grim parents I blink a few times. “You guys here
to tell me how much I suck, too?”

  Dad drops his arms, and Mom’s lips part. Neither of them speaks, so I head past them, mumbling, “I need to get out of this uniform. I’ll call you later.” Only instead I grab my keys from my locker and stride out.

  I hear my father calling my name in the hallway as reporters try in vain to get a statement from me. Heavy footsteps jog up—him in his work boots as usual—until he’s at my side, matching my quick pace.

  “You okay?”

  Pain shoots into my chest. It’s the first time someone’s asked. “No.”

  Walking backward he tells the insistent reporter who’s following us, “Hey, back off.”

  “Who’re you?”

  “I’m Jake Cocker, you nosy fuck. I’m his father, now beat it before I call yours!” He flips back around as the guy sulks off.

  A smile flashes, and under my breath I tell him, “Thanks, Dad.”

  “I got your back, little man. You know that.”

  Chuckling I glance over to him, our steps echoing off the walls. “You haven’t called me that since I was a kid.”

  “Since you grew taller than me you mean? Didn’t seem right…until now.”

  I frown, “You saying I’m acting like a child?”

  “No, I’m saying you need more love than normal. I can tell you’re hurting.”

  Pushing the door open we walk out into a private parking lot, December sky thick with charcoal grey clouds. I chose the exit that the masses don’t know about. Press and players do, but since they’re all back there wanting to get the story about our loss, we’re alone. No fans rushing over. Just me and Dad.

  After a beat of silence he adds, “It’s not easy for us men to talk, but so what? I’m here and I wanna listen. Confide in me, Eric. What’s goin’ on?”

  I stop walking and struggle for how to explain it to him, and maybe understand it better myself. Tucking my helmet under my arm I confess what I can’t deny anymore, “I’m in love.”