46. Brooks
46
brOOKS
“News from small-town America tonight, where rock star Brooks Kent has once again been spotted with his former flame, Madison Yardley?—”
Brooks jerked his head up from where he sat at the small beachfront bar. The place was quiet and clean, a great spot to stop after his run and to grab tacos for lunch when he didn’t feel like eating another bite of quinoa salad, and, most importantly, not open until dinnertime.
Fortunately, the owner, Jose, who was currently working behind the bar, always accommodated Brooks.
“Can you turn that up?” Brooks asked, gesturing to the television on the wall. He usually avoided the entertainment shows, but this one caught his attention. “Volumen,” he added in Spanish. Sometimes he wasn’t sure if Jose spoke any Spanish.
Jose smiled and turned the volume up.
The screen switched from the newscaster, a pretty blonde with a well-practiced smile, to a montage of still, somewhat blurry shots.
Brooks didn’t have to look closely to recognize Main Street in Brandywood.
His heart constricted, and he leaned forward.
“We’ve all been following the riveting love story between the rock-star legend, who had a hot and heavy romance with Miss Yardley in September only for things to come to a devastating conclusion in October . . .”
The screen switched to a photograph of Maddie on the ground, sobbing, Naomi holding her.
Brooks’s stomach lurched.
Yeah. You did that, asshole.
“ . . . but now, it appears there might be a reconciliation in sight after all. As Brooks’s new single ‘Ever With Me’ continues to climb the charts, smashing records, it’s raised speculation that this budding romance may not quite be as concluded as we thought. What’s more, we’ve had a steady stream of Brooks sightings in Brandywood, Maryland, where the happy couple appears to have picked up right where they left off . . .”
The video cut to footage of Bunny behind the counter of her shop. “Yeah, they were in here yesterday. Like regular lovebirds,” Bunny said, a smile on her face.
What?
Brooks stood, inching closer to the television, his appetite vanishing.
“It’s disgusting, really.” The footage switched to Fred Strickland, who shook his head. “I went to the drive-in last night with my wife. Those two? All over each other. This is a family town. There needs to be some respect for the kids, you know?”
“I think it’s great.” Brian Pearson’s voice came in, and the footage switched to him and Millie Price, who were seated on a park bench in the middle of the town square. “Brooks brings business. People want to see him, and they stay and spend their money here. And our girl gets a happy ending if you know what I mean.” He winked lewdly.
“Schtooping. Lots of schtooping,” Millie added with a laugh.
If the interview had been about any other topic, he almost would have laughed.
Except none of this made sense.
Why would all of them lie like this?
“Not everyone in town is as happy with the return of Brooks Kent, though. A few concerned citizens have started a petition to ban the star from the town. We’ll report directly from Brandywood’s town hall, where the issue will be voted on at noon. So happiness for Brooks in Brandywood may be short-lived. But he sure looks happy for now.”
Another montage of still shots and Brooks felt the floor drop out from under him. The woman in the photos was clearly Maddie—he’d recognize her in a second—but the man in question was less clear. He had dark hair, wore a baseball cap similar to the one Brooks had left in Maddie’s apartment . . . holy shit, those are my clothes.
The photos weren’t particularly over-the-top, though there was a lot of intimate embracing, maybe even kisses—their arms blocked a good view—which made Brooks’s blood boil.
The camera froze on one last photo of Maddie wrapped up in the man’s arms, standing near the window of the Depot. As the camera zoomed in, he couldn’t get any clearer look at the man’s face.
But he’d recognize the tattoo on the hand, just above the wrist, from anywhere. He had the same damn one on his left hand, and it unironically read “Lefty” in a fancy script. He’d gotten it at the same time as Cormac Doyle one night when they’d gotten drunk in New York City ten years earlier.
They were both lefties, so they’d both gotten one.
Because they were like brothers.
What. The. Fuck.
Why in the hell was Cormac making out with Brooks’s woman?
She’s not your woman. You let her go, you moron.
I need to get out of this bar before I make a mistake.
He paid for his tab, then left the bar, feeling like the walls were going to cave in on him.
A sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead.
Cormac had made a move on Madison?
Nausea burned a hole in his gut.
Was she doing this to punish him?
You deserve it. You should be punished. You don’t deserve her after what you did to her.
But what about Cormac? Why would Cormac do this? Sure, he hadn’t answered his friend’s calls or texts the last month, but surely, Cormac had known he just wasn’t ready to talk yet.
The weeks after returning to LA from Brandywood had been the closest to hell he had ever lived.
He had lost everything.
His heart had been completely shattered.
And in his attempt to protect the woman he loved, he’d taken a flamethrower to both their hearts.
Your fault.
Your fault.
Your fault.
Brooks whipped out his phone, gripping it tightly.
Madison.
He headed onto the sand, straight toward the water, the need to drown himself in something encapsulating him.
She’d moved on.
Already.
Maybe to injure him.
Maybe not.
But the townspeople had to know it was Cormac, not him. So why would they all lie?
Why tell the reporters he had come back?
Unless they wanted to protect Cormac. He was one of their own, and maybe they didn’t want to share the truth because the lie was easier to explain. Brooks and Cormac shared dark hair, a similar height and complexion.
But why the fuck was Cormac wearing my clothes?
Brooks couldn’t prove it was his clothes, of course, especially not from the blurry photos, but that baseball cap was identical to the one he’d left. And why would Cormac wear clothes that were like the ones Brooks wore?
He dialed his so-called friend.
It all felt like a sick, fucked-up prank.
The phone went straight to voicemail.
“It’s Brooks. Call me.” He hung up, seething.
Maddie had every right to move on if she wanted. He’d told her to.
Walked out on her.
But that didn’t mean he had to like it.
And if she had moved on with Cormac . . . it was damn near unforgiveable.
Not to mention that Cormac had wanted to leave Brandywood in the rearview mirror and never settle there again. What the fuck?
Unless this was what he meant when he’d hinted he was thinking of putting down roots again.
For weeks, Brooks had teetered somewhere between crushing depression and the urgent need to keep moving forward. He’d regretted leaving the instant his feet had hit the tarmac in LAX. Not a single day had gone by without him regretting hurting her. Wishing he could be with her.
But he’d tried to tell himself he’d done the best thing for her. That he loved her enough to let her live a happy life in the town she loved, with the people she loved, free of the danger and chaos he brought to everything.
Every damn day he told himself it was better in the long run.
And every damn night, he woke up tormented and unable to sleep, his peace completely and thoroughly fucked.
He’d written more music in the past two weeks than he had in years—to the point that his fingertips had bled from playing the guitar so much.
Fortunately, Christine had come through for him. She’d renegotiated his contract with Ava for a better deal that gave him more control over his music and rights and a shorter term on the contract—just eighteen months.
He’d been right all along: Ava couldn’t afford to lose him on the label.
To keep her happy, he’d promised a single, then put out “Ever With Me” because Maddie was all he could think about. She consumed him with a fire that had branded his soul.
Then, of course, he’d regretted that decision because the press had started the reporting about her all over again and it felt like he’d reset the clock on trying to convince Mike that he didn’t care. The easy thing would be to set up a few high-profile dates, but he couldn’t do that to her.
And now he may have lost her forever.
“You idiot, you already lost her forever.” Brooks breathed in and out as slowly as he could.
Madison. The only person who had ever seen him.
“I can’t live without her,” he breathed.
The thought pressed into every fiber of him, pulsing into his brain with a reckless thrum.
Was she Cormac’s now?
Would she even forgive him?
Would anything he did make a difference to her after he’d hurt her the way he had?
He had to know what the hell was going on in Brandywood.
And then punch his former best friend’s face.