I was making a scene. I tried to remind myself that this wasnothow I’d planned to approach her after all these years, but this guy and his smug attitude had left me seeing red.
“Sixmonths!” She emphasized six, like that was so much better than what I’d suggested.
“Six months!” I raised my voice slightly, my irritation growing. “Six months! Jeezum Crow, Brooke, it took you six months to name your goldfish!” She caught my eye at the familiar Vermonter swear, and for a moment she was transported back to the young Brooke I used to know.
It was gone in a flicker.
She set her jaw in a grim line. “Well, I’ve grown up. I’m 23 years old, and I am old enough to know what I want,” she told me indignantly, but instead of fire blazing in her eyes, I saw some of the fight already draining out of her. I’d known her a decade—this wasn’t her.
Something was definitely going on with Brooke.
Let it go, I chided myself.
I didn’t listen.
“And him?” I continued, barreling down my disastrous chosen path. “He’s who you want? He’s the perfect man for you?” I practically spat the words. I sounded jealous and insecure, but I couldn’t stop the words tumbling from my mouth.
Finally, a bit of a spark ignited behind her eyes.
“Who said anything about perfect?” she snapped back. “I love Brock and he loves me. And more than that, he’ll take care of me, alright?”
Her words stunned me.
“The Brooke I knew didn’t need anyone to take care of her. She was more than capable of taking care of herself.”
Expecting another retort, I was shocked—and subsequently devastated—at the tears I saw well up in her eyes.
“Yeah well, that Brooke is gone, okay? She’s gone. I’m not some volleyball-captain teenager who makes straight A’s and can’t stop dreaming about wildlife in Africa.” Her shoulders slumped like she was drawing in on herself. She shook her head at me sadly. “You don’t get it, Cade. I’m tired. I’m so,sotired.” Her eyes were glued to the floor.
My voice went soft. “Why, Brooke? Why are you so tired?”
Her posture stiffened suddenly, the emotion wiped from her face. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” I cupped her elbow gently, willing her to meet my eyes again.
Her eyes slowly rose, and she caught sight of something above my shoulder.
“I have to go,” she mumbled, brushing past me.
I watched her walk towards Brock, who slipped a jacket over her shoulders and ushered her outside. I watched her silhouette disappear into the darkness.
And my heart crumbled.
I’d had five years to prepare for this moment—and I had royally fucked it up.
6
BROOKE
Fun Fact #15: John Hemingway, grandson of Ernest Hemingway, once said, “If I have ever seen magic, it has been in Africa.”
When we danced, his fingers had left a trail of heat in their wake. He hadn’t touched me in years. It shook me how much he still affected me. Would anyone else’s simple touch light my skin on fire like that? Had I taken all those stolen touches for granted?
As we drove to the hotel, I glanced over at Brock on the seat beside me. He was solid. Generous. A successful doctor. He might not make me laugh or light a fire under my skin, but this was better. Safer. I knew exactly what I got when it came to Brock.
I’d almost told him—Cade. Poured my heart out while we danced, unburdened all my secrets. Shared my diagnosis, how lonely I’d felt struggling through it. How much it limited my life. It would’ve been so easy to divulge all that to Cade. But what was the point?
He’d mentioned California when everyone was chatting at our table earlier. So that’s where he’d gone. He’d felt the need to flee that far. Across the country, putting thousands of miles between us.
