Eric Cocker (Cocker Brothers Book 12)

by Faleena Hopkins

  “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

  G inny 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

  T he 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.”

  Dad’s eyes flicker, eyebrows flying up before they relax and he hooks thumbs in his jeans pockets. “Well shit, I never expected this was gonna be over a woman. At least not with you.”

  Reacting I ask, “You think I’m gay?”

  Dad laughs, “No, Eric, I don’t think you’re gay. I think you’re obsessed with football and fucking anonymously, that’s what I think.”

  Frowning I stare at the asphalt. “Fair assessment.”

  “Yep.”

  “But not anymore.”

  “Tell me about her.”

  Biting my lip I squint at him. “At first I thought she was a badass, and I’ll admit it—I just wanted to nail her. She’s hot, like real hot. Has a few tats. Wears black a lot. No makeup except for this bright lipstick. Not trashy, just cool, you know? She’s got these copper eyes, Dad, and they always look like they’re laughing, you know what I mean?”

  “Yeah.”

  I grumble, “Until she met me. I don’t know, guess it’s not all my fault she stopped smiling. She was dating this drummer when I met her, real punk, cheated on her, so I beat him up and outed the affair. That’s when things got serious between us. For about two seconds. But I felt like it was going to last!”

  Concentrating he jogs his chin up. “What changed?”

  “Her. Me. Both? That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. I don’t think she took me seriously, at first. And she shouldn’t have. I was just after sex. She knew it—I didn’t make it a secret. But then we had this moment after Mott knocked her tray and drenche
d us…it’s a long story. But we were in the bathroom cleaning up, laughing our asses off. And it felt good. Real good. I know that’s when I started thinking about her for real. Then we ran into each other outside of O’Neal’s—that’s where she worked at the time. Ethan was with me, one of ‘em. Ask him! He’ll tell you he liked her, too. For months I went in and hung out on weekend nights drinking cranberry juice and hoping to make her laugh. I did, too, all the time! But as soon as we slept together she shut down. Told me she didn’t want to see me again. I’ve been trying to get her outta my mind. You’d think I could since she quit the bar—she’s not in there when we go, so it should be easy, right? It’s not. I miss her. I want to know what happened. But she won’t answer my texts, calls go through to voicemail like her phone is off. I think she blocked me!” Shaking my head at the ground I mutter, “Can you believe this shit? I’m in love and she hates my guts. Fucking hilarious, right?”

  Dad frowns at the clouds, the sheen of grey in his hair making him look older, wiser. “Right after sex this happened?”

  “Almost right after, yeah.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Wren.”

  “This the girl with the poison ivy?”

  “Yeah, you were watching that game?”

  He eyes me. “I watch all your games, Eric. You fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

  I switch the helmet to my other hip. “Sorry.”

  “After we saw that, your mom and I were expecting you to call a family BBQ so we could meet her. It was a pretty big deal for you to do that on live television.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  Sucking on his teeth Dad cautiously asks, “Was the sex bad?”

  “Best of my life! Hers, too, she said.”

  “You believe her?”

  Glaring at him I bark, “We were in bed for two days! I only left because I had a game! That one, with my hand fucked up!”

  “Calm down! I’m just askin’!”

  “I’m very good in bed, Dad.”

  A grin spreads on his lips. “Good to know.” Settling down, he stares into the brewing storm again, like there he’ll find answers for all problems women-related. “Your mom gave me a run for my money, I pined after her every night until we worked it out. Most fuckin’ miserable time in my life.” He claps a hand on my shoulder, “Eric, if you think she’s the one, ask yourself how to get through to her. Because if she’s your girl, she’s hurting right now, where she is. Trust me on that, I know from experience. So what’s it gonna take?”