15. Miles
”Hey, Grams,” I say after knocking and pushing open the door a crack.
She’s not in her chair in the living room.
I cross her suite, heading for the light in her bedroom.
Grams is in bed, fully dressed, blankets tugged up around her waist, with a pen in hand and a crossword book in her lap.
”Miles.” She lifts her gaze to me, her expression sharp as she sets the book down.
When I was growing up, she was active and strong. Always looking out for me and bandaging my scraped knees and tsking over bruises I picked up on the court. She looks small.
“Tip-off was early. Thought I’d stop by.” I hug her carefully. “You want to tell me what happened?”
”I was practicing my dancing and lost my balance.”
“The staff said they found you on the floor.”
Her snort is delicate. “They certainly did not.”
I pull a chair up to her bed. “Is your walker around?”
”Who did you bring?” Grams calls, dodging the question.
I forgot to introduce Brooke. Only because when I’m with Grams, I’m trying hard to pay attention to how she’s doing, what she needs. I’m not naturally a details person, but with her I have to be.
Brooke pokes her head in, a wide smile on her face. “Hi, I’m Brooke. I like your place.”
Grams starts to get out of bed, and Brooke waves a hand. “Please, don’t make a fuss for me.”
“It’s no fuss. I’ve been resting too long.”
She starts across the floor, and I follow behind her as she moves toward the coffee table.
It’s two steps before the chair that she wobbles.
“Sure you wouldn’t feel better with the walker?” I try, nodding to the corner where the device sits facing the wall like a child in time-out.
“You would. Not me.”
Brooke nods toward the Monopoly game spread out on the table. “Let me guess, you’re the thimble?”
“I’m the terrier,” I say.
Brooke grins. “You’re a couple moves away from victory.”
“That’s not the point,” I say.
“It’s not?”
“We’ve been playing this game for… a few months?”
“Since the summer,” Grams confirms.
“Tell me about this dance you’re going to,” Brooke says.
Grams launches into a description and how she used to love dancing.
“I used to dance as a kid,” Brooke offers. “The right shoes made all the difference. What shoes do you wear?”
“Oh, just these slippers.” Grams gestures to the satin slip-ons on her feet.
“There are some amazing shoes with grippy soles.” Brooke pulls out her phone, the one with the cracked screen, and navigates to a page.
“Goodness.”
“What size are you, a seven?” Brooke eyes up Grams’s feet.
“That’s right.”
She clicks a few buttons. “They’ll be at your door in a few days,” Brooke confirms.
My chest twinges with gratitude.
Brooke is good with Grams, making her laugh and smile. I see the kindness and empathy in her eyes.
I knew she was a great friend, but her care is blowing my mind right now.
We spend a while longer chatting with Grams, until I’m confident she’s as all right as she says.
“Doctor’s going to check you out for that fall tomorrow,” I say as we stand.
“It’s not necessary.”
“My friend Ruby is a doctor. She says she loves seeing patients when there’s nothing broken. It makes her day,” Brooke offers.
Grams laughs. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
We say goodbye and head for the door.
“Thank you,” I say as we leave my grandmother’s room and start down the hall together. “For everything.”
Brooke waves me off. “The shoes weren’t expensive.”
It’s not about the money,I want to say.
”This place used to be better.” I notice once again the lack of staff as we leave.Frustration rises up, and I take a deep breath. ”She’s done so much for me, and I hate the idea that she doesn’t have everything she wants.”
I can’t be here for my grandmother all the time, no matter how much she needs me. I’ll never repay what she did for me.
Brooke hooks her pinkie in mine. “You’re doing great.”
It’s a simple touch, but she doesn’t pull back as we walk side by side, me adjusting my strides to her shorter ones.
I open the passenger door for her and she shifts inside. I round to the driver’s side and get in.
”Miles?” she says as I fasten my seatbelt.
“Yeah?” I stare through the windshield.
”When I said you didn”t care enough about anything… I was wrong.”
Her eyes are soft and full of understanding. I can feel my walls crumbling down as she looks at me with such acceptance.
I’m surrounded by guys every day I care about, but sometimes I feel completely alone.
I look at her.
Really look at her.
The shadows falling across her face make her seem younger and more vulnerable.
It shouldn’t be appealing, but she fucking calls to me.
She leans across the console and brushes her mouth over mine.
Time stops.
Brooke’s scent is warm and floral. Her lips are soft and determined.
The brush of her skin on mine, the way her fingers slide into my hair as she shifts closer, the tiniest sigh—they’re pieces of an addictive puzzle I never asked to play.
But I can’t stop.
I lean across the console and drag her toward me on a groan.
Her breasts crush against my chest. Her mouth parts as I kiss her back.
She tastes sweet. Dangerous. The way she meets me with every touch…she isn’t starstruck. When her hand presses against my chest, it’s like she owns me.
I want seconds and thirds. Want to go back to her every damned moment for more.
My greedy fingers sink into her hips, my other hand tangled in her hair.
The Range Rover normally feels spacious, but right now I’m furious with how cramped we are. Every time I try to shift, my elbow is blocked by the seat. When I pull her closer, the console acts as a barrier.
I want to pull her into my lap and feel her body the way I barely got the chance to at laser tag.
“Miles,” Brooke whispers against my mouth.
There’s something in her voice that’s as much a warning as it is a seduction.
She’s kissing me like she cares and wants me to care too. Like it’s not only desire, but feelings.
I can’t give her that, no matter how much I want to.
I tug her back an inch. “Princess… I can’t do this.”
Brooke stiffens against me. Her expression transforms, the softness gone, replaced with surprise, then coolness.
Then she’s back on the other side of the car and fastening her seatbelt.
Shit.This is exactly what I didn’t want—for her to feel rejected.
“Brooke, wait.”
“We should get going.”
Her voice is resolved, and it’s clear this conversation is over.
I debate arguing with her but end up putting the car into gear to drive her home.