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As if he hears my thoughts, Brooks leans across the table and presses his palm to my cheek. ‘We don’t have to think about that now.’
I lean into his palm and close my eyes, wanting to see and feel nothing but his touch.
* * *
I’m standing by a table in the bistro, my sports bag on a chair, waiting for Brooks to finish up.
My iPhone tells me I have six missed calls and two voice messages from my mother. I hit play.
‘Isabella, we need to talk. This has got out of ha—’
I happily cut her off when Brooks appears through the double doors into reception. Charlie walks by his side. Otherwise, the gym is empty.
Brooks’ lips break into a beam when he sees me. The kind that feels like he has folded me into his big, warm arms.
‘Are you ready?’ he asks.
‘Yep.’ Picking up my bag, I almost skip toward him.
‘I’ll lock up, Charlie,’ he says. ‘You have a good night.’
‘’Night, boss. ’Night, Izzy.’
‘Good night, Charlie.’
I like her so much more now she’s stopped scowling at me all the time.
On the sidewalk, Brooks locks the doors and tucks me under his arm. We walk like this all the way back to our block. When we reach the twelfth floor, he stops outside his apartment and takes my hand. ‘Let’s stay here tonight.’
I feel one eyebrow rise. ‘The secret fortress?’
‘Otherwise known as home.’
I run my hands down his back and bite his shoulder through his T-shirt as he opens the door, all the while I’m feeling like we’ve crossed an invisible barrier.
He flicks on the lights and takes the bag from my shoulder as we both slip out of our training shoes. I pad, barefoot, into the whitewashed space. It’s similar to the apartment I’m staying in but this one feels bigger and cleaner. Homier too, although it does have a single-man feel about it.
I clock three guitar stands in the lounge. One holds an electric guitar, another a bass guitar, and one is empty. Brooks draws the sheer curtains across the floor-to-ceiling windows, hiding us from the apartments in the building opposite. He has a large flat-screen TV opposite an L-shaped sofa. The bright abstract artwork on the walls steals my attention. He has three canvases. One is splatters of bright paint on a white background. Another looks like a pathway to heaven – a long, gray path leading to the sky. Around the path are what look like random items – a guitar, an American football, a hockey stick, boxing gloves – but the more I look, the more I see Brooks.
‘Did you commission this?’ I ask, turning to where Brooks is standing watching me with his arms folded across his chest.
He shakes his head. ‘Actually, Cady painted it.’
Right, his daughter. ‘It’s very impressive.’
I move to the opposite wall, lured by the third piece of artwork: a giant canvas of an eye that looks like a photograph blown up to size. The eye is beautiful. A bright-blue iris with flecks of gray and silver. The pupil is big, making me wonder whether the camera didn’t flash when the photograph was taken. There are no lines around the eye, only soft, pale skin.
‘This is stunning.’
I feel Brooks as he comes to my side, his arm gently grazing mine. ‘That’s Cady’s eye.’
‘She’s a really big part of your life, isn’t she?’ I keep my focus on the image, knowing my words seem peculiar and not understanding why I’m asking the question, except that I’m both jealous and awed. Such a strange mix of emotions.
‘She’s my daughter, Iz.’
Just like that. It’s so simple to him. It should be to me too. If she’s such a huge part of Brooks, I should want to know her.
‘Do you think maybe I could meet her?’ I ask, a small part of me hoping he says no.
