Cooper Clay

Cooper Clay had spent years trying to be the version of himself everyone wanted.

Perfect baseball player.

Perfect son.

Perfect friend.

Now he was finally just Cooper.

Things in Bayview had calmed down after everything with Simon. The truth came out, the accusations stopped, and somehow the “Bayview Four” became real friends instead of four people tied together by trauma.

Addy was herself again. Loud, funny, confident. She stopped caring so much about what everyone thought and finally acted like her instead of Jake’s girlfriend.

Bronwyn had grown a backbone sharp enough to rival Nate’s sarcasm. She spoke her mind now and didn’t let people push her around anymore.

Nate still acted tough, but he’d softened in ways people only noticed if they paid attention. His drug business was gone after Bronwyn asked him to stop, and he actually listened. The two of them were dating now, constantly teasing each other but somehow making it work.

And Cooper?

Cooper was happy.

He still played baseball. Still wore varsity jackets and spent hours practicing under the stadium lights. But he stopped trying to force himself into the “golden boy” image everyone expected.

No more pretending.

No more lying about who he was.

At least not entirely.

Because there was still one thing he kept private.

Kris Becker.

His boyfriend.

The relationship wasn’t hidden out of shame. Cooper loved Kris more openly than he probably realized. It showed every time his expression softened at a text message or every time he instinctively looked for him in a crowded room.

But after everything Bayview had already put him through, Cooper wanted one thing that belonged only to him.

Tonight, the baseball field lights glowed against the darkening sky as practice ended. Players filtered toward the parking lot while Coach shouted reminders about next week’s game.

Cooper adjusted the strap of his duffel bag and glanced toward the fence automatically.

The second he spotted Kris waiting nearby, his entire posture relaxed.

Nate noticed immediately. “Oh my God,” he muttered while leaning against Bronwyn’s car. “There’s the look again.”

Bronwyn looked up from her phone. “The pathetic one?”

“The insanely in love one.”

Cooper rolled his eyes, though the slight flush on his face gave him away instantly.

“Shut up.”

Addy laughed from the passenger seat. “Seriously, Clay, it’s embarrassing. You look like you’re in a romance movie.”

“I hate all of you.”

“No you don’t,” Bronwyn said calmly.

Unfortunately, she was right.

The group already knew about Kris. They figured it out months ago after catching Cooper sneaking out during movie night with the world’s worst excuse about “helping with homework.”

Nobody bought it.

Now they mostly just enjoyed making fun of him for it.

Cooper walked over toward Kris near the edge of the parking lot, exhaustion fading almost immediately. The evening air was cool against his skin, his hair still messy from practice.

“You waited.”

A small smile pulled at his mouth while he spoke, softer than the tone he used with everyone else. Behind him, Addy gagged dramatically.

“Oh, that’s awful.”

“Addy,” Bronwyn sighed.

“What? He’s smiling at him like a Disney prince.”

Nate snorted loudly.

Cooper ignored them, though his face turned red.

Eventually the others pulled out of the parking lot, leaving the area quieter. Stadium lights buzzed overhead while the last few players headed home.

Cooper leaned against the hood of his truck beside Kris, shoulders relaxing fully for the first time all day.

“You know,” he murmured, “they’ve somehow gotten more annoying.” But there was no real irritation in his voice.

If anything, Cooper liked this. The normalcy of it.

Friends teasing him. Baseball practice ending without reporters waiting nearby. Quiet nights where nobody looked at him like a suspect.

For the first time in a long while, life felt steady.

Later that night, Cooper sat cross-legged on his bed while Kris lounged nearby. His room was dim except for the soft glow of string lights stretched across the wall.

Baseball gear sat abandoned near the closet. A hoodie hung off his desk chair. The room actually looked lived in now instead of carefully curated for appearances.

Cooper glanced over and smiled without thinking.

It happened constantly around Kris.

That automatic softness.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I used to think if people knew the real me, everything would fall apart.”

His fingers toyed absentmindedly with the bracelet around his wrist.

“But it didn’t.”

Outside, crickets chirped in the warm California night.

Cooper leaned back against the wall, looking calmer than he ever used to.

No pressure.

No pretending.

Just him.