My mother attempts to duck out behind them, but I manage to block her path. “Take a deep breath and decide if it’s worth the cleanup required.”
My mother looks at me like I just said the dumbest thing she’s ever heard. “Of course it’s worth the cleanup.”
“You’re only saying that because you don’t know how involved that process can be.” I shiver at the memory of retrieving a sample of dead Dan from the detonation site. “Because I can promise you, it’s not as fun as it sounds.”
Brooke seems to wobble a little on her feet, drawing my attention to where she’s standing on the other side of my mother, looking small and pale and sad.
“Take her home.” My mother’s tone is soft now. As gentle as her hands are when she takes Brooke by the shoulders and urges her to my side. “She’s going to need a nap.”
I think we’re all going to need a nap after that bullshit.
Brooke is silent as I take her through the house, leading her in the opposite direction my dad corralled her parents. She doesn’t say a word—might not even blink—as I drive us back to my place. I stick to the more hidden pathways that cut through the trees, keeping us out of sight in case anyone has lingered in the hope of having a second go at convincing her to go back to California.
It’s not until I have her back in my house, all the way upstairs, and tucked into my bed that Brooke finally seems to move past the shock of the exchange. She reaches out and grabs my hand before I can leave her side.
“Wait.” Her eyes are red rimmed and puffy even though she hasn’t cried. Her lips are a little chapped, and the spot under her nose is dry and flaky from all the times she’s wiped across that area with a tissue the past couple of days.
Seeing Brooke like this makes one thing abundantly clear—I would crawl naked through broken glass for the chance to look at her face every day for the rest of my life.
“I’m so sorry.” Her chin quivers but she doesn’t cry. “I didn’t mean to bring them?—”
“You haven’t done anything wrong.” I sit down beside her, needing to be just a little closer. “You came to the place you knew you would be safe.” I reach up with my free hand, smoothing a little of her wavy hair back from her face. “And you were right.” I can’t seem to pull my hand away, so after leaving her hair, the tips of my fingers gently trace a path down her cheek. “You tried your best to do right by your parents, but never once have they tried to do right by you.” I follow the line of her jaw. “I know it’s hard to face the truth because you want them to be better than they are.” I shake my head, hating what I have to say next. “But it’s not gonna happen. They don’t see you as someone to take care of. They see you as someone to exploit.”
She sniffs, giving me a small nod of agreement. “I know. I don’t want to hope they’re going to change, but it’s hard.”
“I know, and if I could make it happen for you I would.” I smooth across her forehead, tracing a path down the center of her nose, wishing I could track every square centimeter of her skin. “But some people can’t change. They don’t want to.”
Brooke’s eyes move over my face. “What about you? Did you change because you wanted to?”
I chuckle, because I feel like the reason for my change should be pretty obvious. And maybe it would be if she didn’t have so much of her own shit to wade through. “I changed because I had to. And because I knew if I ever had the opportunity to get what I want in life, I was going to have to prove I’m a better man.”
Brooke’s voice is barely a whisper when she asks, “What is it you want?”
I wish so much I could answer her honestly.Specifically. But she’s not ready. Hearing she’s the only thing I’ve ever longed for would add to the pile of emotional garbage she’s already struggling to sift through.
So I get as close as I can without quite touching the truth. “I want to be happy.”
Her eyes are glassy as they look up at me. A single tear tracks from the corner of her eye, down her temple, and into her hair. She takes a shuddering breath, releasing it before giving me the tiniest bit of a branch to stand on. “Me too.”
14
Brooke
It feels good to be back at work. Not only because I was so sick of being sick, but also because I genuinely like having a job. Doing what I love.
In at least one small way, it makes me feel like I’m moving toward being who I want to be. And I need that. Especially after seeing my parents three days ago.
I spent the whole weekend and all day yesterday trying to come to terms with what happened. What it meant for me going forward.
How that made me feel.
I didn’t come up with many answers, which is another reason I’m so happy to be in the office. Doing something besides sitting next to Tobias, pretending my brain isn’t bouncing back and forth between thinking about how my parents will never change, and all the ways he has.
So much about Tobias is exactly like I remember. His sense of humor. His laid-back nature. The way he laughs. The way he smells. But he’s also very different. There’s a maturity to him that wasn’t there when we were together. A seriousness.
A focus.
And unfortunately, those changes make me wonder what else is different. I already know the way he kisses is nothing like it was. And I’ve spent more than a few minutes of my time imagining how that change might translate into other—more intimate—acts.
