part two of you reminiscing on your not-so-squeaky-clean journey to your relationship with coop.
SICK. YOU FEEL SICK.
some of the girls enter soon after, but they’re just as quick to leave, wanting to get out and enjoy the celebrations.
you don’t want to leave this room.
the crowd is still roaring when cooper realises you’re gone.
everyone is around him — teammates shouting, hands slapping against his helmet, someone grabbing the back of his shoulder pads like he’s just pulled off something miraculous instead of something he’s done all season. the scoreboard is still lit up, the announcer’s voice echoing across the stadium while his parents lean over the railing, trying to get his attention.
he nods when he supposed to, smiles when someone says something he doesn’t really hear - but his eyes keep drifting back toward the tunnel.
because the second stella grabbed his face and kissed him – too close to his mouth, too public — he saw you.
standing by the sidelines, shoulders dropped, pom-poms in your hands.
you saw. you stood and you watched him. watched the both of them.
he pulls his helmet off now, scanning the field again even though he already knows you’re not there anymore.
“where you going?” someone calls when he starts walking away, but he just lifts a hand without turning back.
his cleats scrape against the ground as he walks down the tunnel, the noise fading the deeper he goes, the team not moving from celebrating.
he knows exactly where you are.
the locker room door swings open with a dull creak. he peeks inside, taking his chances that it’s empty considering he saw majority of the team bounce back out the field on his way, and steps inside.
you’re half out of uniform, back turned from the entrance, your pom-poms dumped on the ground as you shove things into your gym bag.
cooper doesn’t know what to say. he slides his helmet away from him so you can see him when he talks to you, but you don’t turn your head. “hey.” he tries.
nothing.
you pull things out of your bag shove other thing in harder than necessary.
“y/n.”
that takes your attention.
you turn.
your expression is flat — but your eyes are blazing.
for a second, he wants to laugh, because yeah, this is exactly what would happen.
“before you start,” he says, lifting his hands slightly, “just listen to me—”
you grab the nearest thing within reach.
his helmet.
and it’s heavier than it looks.
you swings it once, sharp and sudden, smacking it straight into the side of his shoulder, barely clipping his jaw. it’s not hard enough to do real damage, but enough to make him stagger half a step back.
“WHAT THE!—”
he snatches the helmet from you before you can swing again, setting it down hard on the bench behind him. “are you insane?!”
“are YOU?!”
“you don’t even know what happened—” he starts.
you’re eye twitches, body boiling over with anger. “DONT KNOW WHAT HAPPENED?!” you explode, “I FUCKING SAW WHAT HAPPENED! WITH MY OWN TWO EYES!”
he holds his hands up, trying to play off his flinching of her unexpected rise in tone. “ok, bad way to word it—”
“just go, cooper,” you turn away again, folding your top, “i don’t care what you have to say. just leave.”
“y/n, it wasn’t like that—”
“OH MY GOD!” you stomp your foot, “do you hear yourself?! do you actually hear yourself?”
he stays silent. he’s scared to open his mouth, everything coming out wrong wrong wrong.
you shake your head, brushing your hair back. “you’re nothing but a liar, cooper.”
his brows furrow, and you can see the anger bubbling in him, the pent-up aggression and energy leftover from the game looking for a release, and you know it’s coming straight for you. “i didn’t force you to have sex with me, y/n,” he watches your face fall, but his blood still runs hot, “and if i’m known to be such a liar, why did you still listen to me?”
he silences you, because you don’t know what to say.
“you’re bashing me but i didn’t force you to do anything, yet i’m the bad guy!”
“BECAUSE cooper! I’M the one who going to get their name dragged because you lied about being broken up with your girlfriend!” you yell.
“WE’RE. NOT. TOGETHER!” he yells back, striding closer to you with his arms out with frustration, and it goes like this again, round and round in circles, you don’t know where to go from there.
your breathing is heavy when you look at him, letting a second pass.
“you said that yesterday too.”
“we’re not.”
“STOP LYING!” you cut him off, your voice echoing off the walls. “just STOP. LYING. just—” a frustrated sound leaves you, “i don’t even know why i’m angry at you,” you suddenly start talking more so to yourself than him, straightening your back, “i’m the idiot here, i don’t know why —WHY— i keep believing you. why i actually thought you would be honest with me. mean what you say. i don’t know why—” your palm hits your forehead, “what the fuck is wrong with me? this is my fault,” you tap your fingers to your chest as if explaining to someone else when really it’s you you’re talking to. “i brought this on myself. i know exactly who you were and still thought—”
cooper is freaked out, but also — it hits him in the heart. guilt riddles him. “y/n don’t say that.”
“cooper it’s fine,” you finally look at him, eyes glazed but your face is still. “just go. i learned my lesson. you can go, i won’t be near you—”
“don’t be like that,” he steps closer.
“no, no, you don’t need to explain anything,” you gesture to the field with a dismiss of her hand, “go. you won. go celebrate. go find stella.”
his jaw tightens.
“we’re not—”
the slam of the locker and look in your eyes silences him.
you grab your bag off the bench and sling it over your shoulder, shoving past him to get out of this hellhole. cooper stands still, dropping his head to hit the wall behind him as the locker stops its rattling and leaves him in silence.
weeks pass, summer is on its way and you’re more focused on essays and deadlines more than ever. you don’t have time for anything else.
time passes in that strange, stretched way where one day can feels like three and the week drags like a month. you’re in the trenches of routine now — lectures, practice, late nights in the library, results coming back better than you expected. the football team keeps winning, talk of finals getting louder by the week, and cheer follows right behind it, busier, snappier, more intense.
you avoid cooper like the plague. cross the street, leave early, don’t go where you know he’ll be, it becomes instinct. you know when he’s around before you even see him – there’s a shift in the air, a spike of irritation you can’t ignore. at parties, he’s everywhere but also nowhere, always surrounded, always touching someone, laughing too loud, leaning too close. you catch him watching you sometimes, across rooms, over shoulders, and every time, there’s something off about it - he’s not smug, not amused – annoyed. like you’re the one who did something wrong.
you don’t understand it, and it makes him even more infuriating, because who does he think he is?
he’s not worth your time. you don’t care what people have to say or the stories from them, so long as cooper keeps his mouth shut, you don’t care what he gets up to, that he’s breaking records, that he’s the one leading the football team to victory, that he’s sniffing around girls more than ever.
at the end of the day — you do not want to be near or have anything to do ever again with cooper dejean.
the library becomes your safe place: calm, quiet, only the low hum of people working, pages turning and keyboards clicking. you sit tucked in a corner, one headphone in, music low enough to think clearly. you move your pen steadily across your page, rewriting notes in a neater manner compared to the scraggly words you jotted down in a rush.
pausing in thought, trying to remember where you were going with that sentence, you suddenly feel a tap on your shoulder, and turn your head to look over you shoulder.
stella.
stella?
your brows furrow and you take your earphone out, trying to ignore the sickening wave of anxiety as you wonder what she wants with you.
“i need to ask you something.”
you sit up straighter, fingers curling around your pen, pulse picking up in a way you can’t control. your mind runs ahead of you, already trying to piece together how - who told her? what she’s about to say? you try not to hold your breath, fighting to keep a straight face, but my god, you can already see the slandering that’s about to go down on social media about you if this is what you think it is.
but stella doesn’t look angry.
she lets out a sigh, and you notice her stance. she’s not uptight like she usually is, her arms aren’t crossed judgementally, her brows furrowed on default. if anything, she looks the total opposite. her shoulders are slumped, her arms are folded in a way more so to comfort herself. she’s barely looking at you, her eyes fixed on the carpet floor; clearly annoyed and looking fed up more than anything.
“did — did cooper ever cheat when you were together?”
she looks at you when she says it, and your completely taken back.
you proceed to look at her like she has five heads, not believing she’s asking you this right now.
“just answer, y/n,” she snaps, brows furrowing slightly. “i’m sick of stories and rumours and . . just tell me.”
you blink, narrowing your own brows as your feel your face begin to harden. it’s insane how you actually felt sympathy seeping in but now you’re not feeling soft at all. “the fact that you’ve come to ask me that is an answer in itself.”
you’re not trying to be mean, no matter how much the girl annoys you, it seems like the gentlest way of letting her down without saying the words outright — as in — you are delusional if you don’t think your boyfriend is plotting on every girl he comes into contact with.
“did he ever cheat on you? or like . . . could’ve treated you better?”
you look at her, and you see the discomfort creeping through her features, the way she shifts on her feet, bites her lip slightly — and you can’t fight the pity you feel for her - because it is, it is shitty of him.
it’s especially shitty because you know he’s not like that at all.
cooper never made you second guess yourself, never made you feel like you had to snoop through his phone, not a single time did you feel like any other girl was competition to you. you understand that some guys grow up to be like that - guys - and as disheartening as it was to see it, you put it down to the nature of guys.
they’re all dogs.
you hesitate for a second, looking up at her, then shake your head slightly. “no,” you say, softer this time. “not that i know of, anyway.”
stella pulls her lips to the side, “oh.”
“i never really had doubts like that,” you feel bad meeting her eyes. “i never second-guessed him or wondered where he was or who he was with . . .” you shrug a little. “it just wasn’t like that.”
her eyes drop from you to the floor, clearly getting the reply she didn’t want.
“but you’re dating a different cooper than i did, stella,” you quickly save, “this cooper is difficult, he’s more intense, has more stress on his shoulders and . . is a guy at the end of the day, you should be a little apprehensive being in a relationship at this age. you know what they say – a golden retriever is still a dog,” you feel the female urge to comfort and look out for her shine through. “and it’s nothing on you. he’s a popular guy and if i was dating him, i’m sure i’d be the one feeling uncertain.”
she nods a little.
“as girls, you kind of know when something’s off . .” you add, glancing at her, “even if you can’t prove it, you just . . feel it.”
that one lands.
stella’s expression shifts, just slightly. her mouth presses into a thin line, eyes flicking away from you for a second like she needs a break from being looked at.
“—so if your gut is pushing that feeling, it’s up to you on how you’re gonna deal with it. at the end of the day, no guy should make you feel like you’re crazy, no matter the age. just because it’s normal, doesn’t mean it’s right. if he affects your mental health like that, to the point you feel insane and stressed about these ‘stories’ you’re hearing, then maybe you should take a step back . . .”
she’s still, daydreaming into the distance, rubbing her arm, you’re scared she hasn’t heard a word you’ve said.
“. . but it’s cooper.”
that makes your shoulders drop. you know what she means.
“he’s not a bad guy, y/n—”
“yeah, but . . you know . . some people can be really good people but they just don’t make a good match together,” you try to be careful with your words. “and that’s ok, you can be friends. you know i loved cooper in high school but college cooper is somebody i would definitely not want as my boyfriend,” you’re honest with that. “for reason number one — you’re not going to be his number one priority so long he has football . .”
football is always gonna love him a the end of the day.
she nods again, another one of those small, accepting movements, like she’s heard it before. “yeah.”
a pause.
then, she straightens slightly, pulling herself back together in front of you, neat and composed. “anyway,” she says lightly, like she hasn’t just admitted something real, “thanks y/n. sorry for interrupting your studying.”
“it’s fine.”
she leaves after that, ponytail swishing as she turns on her heel without another word.
you let out a breath and get lost in your thoughts. it’s weird, how drained you feel from the conversation, and how you feel like there’s a slight shift in your attitude towards the whole situation - towards cooper.
you realise, you don’t have to like him, you don’t have to be his friend, but you don’t need to let so much of her energy be drained on disliking that much. you hate that as little as cooper’s name rubs you the wrong way, that you let it.
he’s a fucking jerk, but you’re tired of the drama. you’re tired of feeing like this, of sitting here with that ball of grief and disappointment and even the strip of shame it’s wrapped with. you’re tired of the heaviness of the whole situation and you just want to forget about it, because ignoring cooper takes more energy than being civil and allowing him to walk past you without a hundred things running through your mind.
you decide the anxiety’s not worth it, and you need to establish some peace so you can stop getting so affected by his lifestyle and dragging into his fucked up relationship. you’ve learned your lesson, you just want to be able to live with it without that hollow feeling in your chest.
it’s raining. it’s a friday afternoon with summer sneaking up on you and it’s raining. the football team wrapped up training and are collecting their things when you make it to the field, hoping to catch them before they head to the locker room.
cooper has some cones in his hands, the rain soaking him through to his skin, his hair is drenched and scattered across his head. you hesitate to jog onto the field, but realise you have to shower anyway and the rain isn’t going to make you melt. so, you call him.
he doesn’t flinch.
trying again, you take a further few steps out onto the grass and call him again, “cooper!”
he lifts his head, looking over his shoulder at the voice and you see the shift on his face, the confusion switching to recognition to dismissal in a span of seconds, settling with that familiar grumpiness his face is known to hold.
“cooper,” you say, approaching him a few steps away. he has a stack of mini orange cones in his hand and some rope thing in the other. his shoulders raise in a questioning sense as he fully turns to face you, not seeming happy about it at all. “what do you want?”
surprised by his tone, you suddenly mirror his defensive expression, brows pulled forward, mouth frowning. “i came to talk to you.”
“there is no talking to you.”
you look at him confused. “what?”
“you heard me. now go inside, you’re soaked.” he nods dismissively to the tunnel.
“i—” you pause, “no, i came to talk to you now,” you try to catch his eyes.
he stands tall, his clothes sticking to him in the rain, subconsciously emphasising how broad he is, how tight his muscles are. rain falls from his hair, right past the bridge of his nose. it looks as dark as his eyes, the darkest shade of brown you’ve seen. “now? you need to talk to me right now?” he rolls up the rope ladder thing in his arm, “talk about what? i thought you said you were staying away from me.”
“oh i plan on still staying away from you,” you look up at him, shielding your face from the rain with your hand. “i just . . i saw stella. i was talking to her the other day in the library.”
his face remains hard, like he doesn’t care.
“and . . it made me think, and we need to talk.”
his jaw tightens slightly, eyes flicking away for a second before coming back to you. “you don’t actually want to hear anything, so what’s the point?”
“i don’t want to hear you out when you’re just going to lie to me to cover your own back,” you feel your back get up again and your temper begin to brew. “that’s the facts, you know it is.”
“is it?” he tilts his head, something sharper creeping into his tone, “or have you just decided what you think happened and stuck with it?”
you let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “are you joking? i literally walked in—”
“—and didn’t let me say a word after,” he cuts in, quick, like he’s been waiting to say it.
you pause, thrown off for half a second before scoffing, “because there was nothing you could’ve said that would’ve made that okay.”
“that’s exactly what i mean,” he says, voice rising. “you don’t let me talk. you always have your mind made up and to be honest, i don’t care anymore y/n, because i know the facts at the end of the day and you don’t. you don’t want to hear me out? fine. you want to talk to be civil so you don’t have to hate my guts? we don’t have to. it’s cool. you can get going now.”
you stand and look up at him, a little deflated now you had all this adrenaline and even a bit of argument in you to knuckle down on, but now he’s just . . dismissing you left, right and centre. “cooper . . hearing you out isn’t going to change anything. you’re with stella an—”
“—oh my fucking god,” he throws his head back, throwing the equipment to the ground in a huff, “i’m NOT with stella! for the 100th fucking time! i’m not fucking with her! i haven’t been with her since fuckin—months! from i was in your house with your brothers, i have not been with stella, and i know that might be hard for you to believe but i haven’t. yeah, i lied to your brothers about being with her in front do you but i was hardly going to turn around and tell them i was actually trying to get off with their sister in a bathroom a week or two before.”
you shrink a little as he explodes, not even aggressively, he’s not even shouting that much, but you suddenly feel guilty when you see how much this has been nagging at him - especially when he’s got football to worry about.
“stella’s annoying, but i don’t hate her. i know she loves me, and it sucks because i know i’m not on her level, and the only way i can imagine how she feels toward me is by comparing it to how i felt about you.”
your mouth runs dry.
he stares at you, heavy breathing.
you just look back at him, mouth almost open.
“i don’t want to be with her, i don’t want to hurt her any more than i’ve probably already done, but i’m not that selfless. i’ve tried to let her down gently, tried not to distance myself so quick and even allowed room for a friendship but it’s not working,” he spills, raindrops cascading down his chiselled face, “i know it’s not, but i don’t want to have to straight up tell her she needs to back off because it would destroy her. our relationship is her whole world, and the friends thing is hard and i don’t know how to draw the line with her but i’m being patient in hoping she figures it out herself — i try not to feed delusions by being nice or pay her any mind when she comes to practices. i don’t ask her to come. i tell her not to. and the day of the semi-finals spot, she—” he shakes his head because the memory is absurdly annoying to him, he still doesn’t know if he’s more angry at stella or himself. “my parents were in town, her parents were in town — she didn’t tell them we broke up.”
you blink. “so you kissed her anyway.”
“i didn’t kiss her.”
“she kissed you.”
“—and i didn’t push her away in front of a stadium full of people! yeah! congratulations, you caught me being a coward.”
the honesty in it lands heavier than excuses.
you swallow.
he pauses for a minute. “stella deserves better than me because i’m not in it. i’m not in it the way i was with you. i’m different when i’m with her. i know i’m a jackass - i don’t care — but since you stepped back into my life, i know one thing for sure is that i’d tell stella to back off if it means she’s messing with any opportunity that involves you coming back into my life.”
you close your eyes at that, letting out a sigh. “cooper—”
“no i’m serious, y/n,” his eyes find yours, holding them with all the sincerity he can muster up, “i know you you think i’m a liar. i’m untrustworthy. i’m a jerk and the worst boyfriend in the world — but i swear to you, none of those apply when it comes to you. i love you—i’ll still love you when i’m 80 and married to someone else with 12 grandkids - i don’t care. i want you always and i swear on my life,” he crossed his chest, “i have never lied to you. i would never lie to you,” his hands grip your arms, “even when you hate my guts, even when you irritate the hell outta me — i would never hurt or disrespect you. i—,” his eyes drown in yours, “i would do anything for you, y/n . . . together or not.”
you shake your head, trying to pry his strong hands off you as you feel your facade start to soften. “copper—don’t do that.”
“i’m not lying to you. if you take anything away from this conversation is that i have never lied to you. i want what we had before shit got messy - i liked the healthy break up we had. i . . . i liked the idea of . . you know, you still being able to come watch me when i make it in the nfl, because it starts to feel like a little more like reality than just a dream now, and . . you’d be there and we’d be cool ‘cause we always been on good terms . . . the media’d probably talk about it, make a story ‘bout it—”
“coop.”
“—and i hate that that’s ruined. i want you there. i want your friendship - i value that more than any relationship in my life - probably any future relationship i’ll ever have in my life too—”
“cooper,” you almost scold, avoiding his gaze as he holds your hands, “you can’t say that, that’s toxic.”
“i don’t care.”
you give him a look, tilting your head. “and what happens when your number 1 woman comes into your life?”
“you are the number 1 woman in my life, that’s the problem,” he snickers a little laugh, “. . . mm, maybe don’t tell my mom that.”
you both look at each other, a little unimpressed, him unashamed.
you let out a breath, freeing your hands from his. “i don’t know what to say . . . i don’t hate you coop, and i’m sorry i didn’t let you speak sooner,” you blink away the rain that has your lashes clumping together. you’re grateful it’s that warm rain and not the freezing, miserable one. “i . . appreciate the honesty.”
“oh, you do, do you?”
“shut up,” you push his arm. “look, i don’t want you to be distracted by anything other than football. you got a big game coming up and i don’t want anything other than that taking up your thoughts - at least until it’s over. i’m done being your hater,” you playfully roll your eyes. “we’ll talk when you and the guys lift the trophy, but, for what it’s worth, i can’t be mad at your approach with stella. you haven’t been the best boyfriend to her, and if i were i’d probably break your legs ten times over to forfeit any chance of you making the nfl, so she’s a better woman than me,” you shrug. “you two should talk, see where you guys stand and . . where she will stand in the future. i’m not trying to break you guys up for good so i can take her place - i talked to her the other day and she does deserve better than you.”
“yeah.”
“you need to take a long look at yourself in the mirror.”
“yeah.”
“it makes you really ugly—”
“ok.”
you pick up the equipment he threw down, and he joins you, collecting the cones. “cooper, i’ll support you wherever you go, but only as the cooper i know - as the cooper who deserves it. the second you start acting too good for anyone or anything, like a lot of people in your life - you’re gonna start losing ‘em,” you hand him the stuff. “don’t be that guy.”
“never.”
you nod, “good.”
he smiles. “cool.”
it’s not perfect, what you build. it’s not easy either - there are still arguments, stubborn silences, moments when past choices are thrown in his face, but he never lets them win - not really, not when it comes to you on the line.
it’s slow. slower than anything you’ve ever had before. you don’t rush back into anything, don’t pretend the past didn’t happen just because it would be easier. you rebuild it from the ground up — conversations that last too long, easy silences that don’t need filling, stupid jokes that start to feel like yours again. the friendship comes first this time, real and steady, clicking back in all its old, familiar slots.
people start to talk about him differently - no longer the one everyone warned you about, but as someone who had turned an utter 180. there were no more rumours, no more whispers - cooper gave them nothing to talk about other than his football ability.
cooper goes on to earn top honors - named unanimous the all-american and top DB + return specialist in conference. the team win the final and you’re there on the sidelines, cheering with your pom poms in hand, heart bursting with pride.
it’s nice being on the same team.
your picture makes it in the paper, standing alongside him, you on one arm, trophy secured in the other.
it’s the photo they always use on those WAG accounts when they start talking about eagles players and their ‘childhood sweethearts’. you keep it framed in your apartment, the one just 20 minutes away from the stadium, on a rack full of cooper’s greatest achievements.
you half expected him to prove you right, to slip back into old habits, to become just another version of the boy everyone warned you about, but he doesn’t, not when it matters. never with you.
and stood in a stadium that feels too big to be real, lights blinding, noise deafening, you watch it all play out exactly how it was always supposed to.
you, him, a stadium roaring his name, something silver and heavy lifted above his head - and still, somehow, it’s the quiet moments after, when it’s just you two, whether on the field at the superbowl or in the home you both made, it’s the way he looks at you like none of it means half as much — just him and you still choosing each other, every single time.
the biggest win of all.
