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“She does this a lot?” I ask.
He exhales, rakes his fingers through his hair. “She didn’t used to. She’s been doing it more and more, though. This is the first time she just left him.”
Jace. Poor kid. “Maybe she thought you were home?”
“Yeah. I guess she did. Because I usually am at that time of night.”
It’s hard to believe that I used to think he spent the last nights of his twenties partying like a rock star in the club. That’s not him at all. How wrong I was! I feel terrible for having all those misconceptions about him, so I reach over and put a hand on his thigh. “I’m so sorry.”
He glances over at me. “You didn’t do anything. If anything, you’re saving me from having a meltdown right now. So I should be thanking you.”
“Believe me. I know how it is. I’ve had plenty of family crises.”
“Yeah. Well, all of mine these days seem to circle around one person. I didn’t claw my way out of this shit to have her keep dragging me down. I’m supposed to be lifting her up, to be with me. All I want her is for her to get her act together, but…” He trails off, his fingers tightening around the wheel. “I get it. It’s not easy. I feel like every card she’s ever been dealt has been a bum hand. It sucks.”
I’m silent, stunned by this admission. Now I’m even more sorry. It couldn’t have been easy listening to me bitch about him goofing off and acting like an immature bachelor when he was doing nothing of the kind.
Why didn’t he tell me off? Why didn’t he set me straight? I deserved to be taught a lesson.
He slows to a crawl and scans through the windshield at a broken-down neighborhood. “Where the hell could she be?”
I give his leg a squeeze. “We’ll find her.”
But we don’t. All morning we drive around Portland, looking in places she once frequented, speaking with her friends. No one has seen her. Brooks is visibly upset, but he doesn’t ever lose his temper. He just becomes quieter and sadder.
“Shit,” he says, sitting behind the wheel after yet another strike-out. “I don’t know where else to look.”
“She works, right? Maybe we should go to her employer?”
He nods and starts the engine. “Only two nights a week. But I’m out of ideas.”
He’s pensive and silent as we drive. It’s a totally new side to him, to add to all the new sides of seen of him lately. Every time I look at him, he surprises me, in a good way. Now, he’s the caring family man, a loving brother who’d do anything for his sister, even when she’s being a pain in the ass.
As we’re driving into the lot of Ted’s Pizza, the door of one of the shabby condos across from it opens, and Ellie’s blonde head appears.
“Well, look at that,” he mumbles.
As we drive closer, I notice that Ellie’s limping, and her eyes are bleary, make-up smudged, and she’s wearing a skin-bearing outfit that leaves little up to the imagination. I hate to say it, but this looks like the typical walk of shame.
She doesn’t even notice our car until Brooks pulls right in front of her and powers down his window. “There you are.”
She glares at him. “Why are you here?”
“What do you think? I’m looking for you. Get in.”
Ellie looks up and down the street before starting to walk away. “I don’t need your—”
“Get in,” he says, voice louder, icy.
Rolling her eyes, she does as she’s told. Brooks takes off, tires squealing, glaring at her in the back seat.
She lets out a little laugh. “Oh, so you are tapping that?”
I think she’s referring to me. And if so, that’s the absolute wrong thing to say, because at that moment, Brooks pounds the gas, his arms tight, his knuckles white on the wheel.
I feel like I’m in the middle of a powder keg. I know how this is going to go. He’s going to give her shit for not being responsible, and Ellie’s going to sink deeper, feeling like she’s never going to live up to his expectations for her. No way is this going to end well.
When he opens his mouth to lay into her, I say, quickly, “We were worried about you, Ellie. We thought you were home with Jace?”
Thankfully, it works. Brooks swallows back his damning words and stares into the rear-view mirror, waiting for a response.
She shrugs. “I went out. I had a call from Dylan.”
“So a booty call is more important than your son,” Brooks says, almost to himself.
I glare at him, but she doesn’t seem to have heard. She says, “Can we stop and get coffee? I need it. I think I’m still high.”
He grits his teeth as he points the car toward the nearest cafe. “Your wish is my command.”
