"Brooke." I hate the way her name comes out of my mouth. It's an embarrassment that there's still so much goddamn emotion tied to it after all these years. She's got a new life. A fucking fiancé?—
Wait. Not a fiancé. She’s got a hus?—
My eyes snap to her left hand as my brain scrambles through all the information I pretend I don’t sit and stew on while I’m alone at night in a dark, empty house. But her thirdfinger is empty. There's no wedding ring to indicate she's now someone's wife.
There's also no engagement ring marking her as someone's fiancée.
I don't have any right to claim ownership of the kernel of hope trying to grow roots in my chest. It's been years since she walked away from me—rightfully. Years since we knew each other in any sort of real way.
Years since I made the biggest mistake of my life by being a goddamned coward. Too uncertain of myself and too afraid of the future to claim what I knew was true.
When her gaze lifts to meet mine, my heart stutters to a stop. I've seen her a handful of times since she left, and done my best to act appropriately in her presence. But I can't even make an attempt at the sight of her red rimmed eyes and irritated nose.
"What's wrong?" I don't have any right to demand answers from her—not after what I did—but if anyone in this world deserves to be happy, it's Brooke.
And right now she is anything but happy.
One hand lifts, immediately scrubbing at her watery eyes while she turns away. "What are you doing here?"
I step closer, drawn to her the way I always have been. "It's my parents’ house. I come here all the time." I tip my head as I take in her slumped posture. The way her shoulders curl in, making her look almost defeated. "What areyoudoing here?"
She sucks in a deep breath before spinning toward me, the fakest smile I've ever seen in my life plastered on her face. "That is a very long story, and I don't really feel like telling it right now."
Fair enough.
My eyes drop pointedly to the hand still wiping the cornerof one eye. "Where's your engagement ring?" It's yet another question I don't have any right to ask. A topic I shouldn't even bring up.
But fuck if I can help it.
Her eyes follow the same direction as mine, shifting to one side as she pulls her hand away and stares at her ringless finger. "On the hand of a very happy woman in Reno."
Reno? I’ve got so many questions right now. Hell, there's so much I want to say to her in general. So many things I don't have any right to declare. Confessions she likely has no interest in hearing.
So instead of telling Brooke everything I've held close since she moved away, I stretch a hand—and the wiggling animal in it—her way. "You want a puppy?"
Brooke’s dark brows pinch together in confusion. "You want to give me a puppy?"
Again, I know I can't answer honestly and tell her I want to give her a hell of a lot more than a puppy, so I go with something I hope is acceptable. "You look like you could use a puppy."
A single tear manages to loosen, driving a betraying path over the soft curve of her cheek as she laughs, the sound a heart wrenching combination of sadness and joy. "You know what? I really could."
I step closer to the woman I've worked hard to stay away from, keeping my arm as straight as I can to ensure an adequate amount of distance stays between us. Because I know I'm weak, and if there’s an opening for the opportunity to have Brooke in my arms again, I'm a big enough asshole to take it.
Even if it's only so I can hold her while she cries over the loss of another man.
Brooke doesn’t reach for the puppy. Her expression isweirdly confused as she looks from the pup to me. “Are you serious?”
“Of course I am.” I’ll joke about a lot of shit, but not this.
Not her.
Brooke’s eyes go back to the curly-furred monster wiggling in my grip. “I can just have him?”
“You can just have him.” I try to stretch the tiny tornado closer, hoping she’ll grab him before he manages to get free. “I owe you one anyway.”
Brooke’s ringless hand slowly lifts to stroke a single finger along the puppy’s soft fur. “What’s his name?”
“Whatever you want it to be.” I smile as the puppy stretches as far as it can reach, attempting to lick Brooke’s face. “I think Mariah named his sister Betty.”
