15. Brooke
15
brOOKE
I t’s not unusual for Denver to get hit with snow weeks or even months before the holidays. Somehow, it came with a vengeance the week before Christmas.
I’m glad the team isn’t traveling for their game tomorrow. Even the short drive to our parents’ house in Washington Park stretched to nearly an hour.
Jay picked me up this afternoon, his SUV tires protesting on more than one uncleared road in a way that was borderline treacherous.
But the view outside the window is beautiful.
The warm aroma of Mom's famous honey-glazed ham lingers in the air as we finish dinner. Dad pushes his plate away with a contented sigh, while Jay helps himself to one last scoop of mashed potatoes.
"That was delicious," Dad says, patting his stomach.
Mom starts gathering plates, and I stand to help her. As we stack dishes in the kitchen, I can hear Dad and Jay still chatting at the table.
"How about some after-dinner drinks?" Mom suggests, pulling glasses from the cabinet.
I nod, grabbing the bottle of whiskey Dad likes. "I'll pour."
Back in the dining room, I set glasses in front of Dad and Jay. Mom follows with her signature eggnog for herself and me.
As we settle back into our seats, Mom turns to Jay. "How's the season going? I've been following the games, but it seems like it's been a tough stretch."
Jay sighs, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "We're shorthanded, and some of the Western teams got a lot stronger during the off-season."
"You're doing an amazing job leading the team," Dad chimes in, his voice full of pride. "The way you've been rallying the guys, keeping morale up—that’s what real leadership looks like."
Mom nods in agreement, her hand resting on Jay's arm. "We're proud of you, Jayden. I know it's tough, but you're handling it beautifully."
I sip my eggnog, trying to quiet the emotions swirling inside me.
Jay catches my eye and gives me a smile.
He knows. He's always known how different Mom's expectations are for us.
We have so many shared adventures and memories. My brother might be two years older, but he always respected my opinion, always let me be my own person.
Except he doesn’t know the most important things in your life, a voice reminds me.
I’ve kept from him that Mom cut me off, and she hasn’t volunteered it either. Part of me wishes I’d told him, if only so that I don’t feel like I’m hiding more than one important development from him.
But so what if I’m sleeping with his teammate? It’s not like he has a say in who I date.
Not that Miles and I are dating, but the moments outside of bed are starting to stick with me. The long looks across a room. His endless supply of jokes. The way he whistles as he navigates the kitchen in a towel while making me coffee in the morning. Catching him talking to Waffles as if the Frenchie is a friend and not a foot-high bundle of fluff and attitude.
"So, Brooke," Mom says, turning her attention to me. "How's work going?"
I set my glass down, steeling myself. “I helped Nova land a couple of new jobs."
"Really?" She arches an eyebrow, skepticism evident in her voice.
"Yes. Gallery inquiries. Three commissions with deposits.” I try to keep my voice even, fighting the urge to be defensive.
Before Mom can continue, the doorbell rings. We all look at each other, confused.
"You aren't expecting anyone?" Dad asks Mom.
Since no one else is moving, I get up. "I'll get it," I say, grateful for the interruption.
I open the door, and a gust of snow blows in. A little yip of happiness comes from my feet, and I look down to see Waffles, adorned in reindeer antlers, staring up at me.
And then I see Miles, snowflakes dusting his hair and shoulders.
"Hey." I'm breathless, and it's not from the cold air. "What are you doing here?"
"I didn't want to interrupt. Just wanted to bring some holiday cheer." He passes over a bottle of the wine I've been trying to order for my mom.
I can't believe it. "You're unreal." My heart swells with gratitude.
Our hands meet on the bottle, and a zing of electricity passes between us. He grins, and Waffles yips again, pawing at my leg.
"Who is it?" Jay calls from behind me.
"Miles. Look what he brought." I hold up the wine.
Jay appears in the hallway, his face lighting up when he sees Waffles. "Hey, buddy!" He crouches down, and Waffles bounds over, tail wagging furiously.
Mom and Dad join us in the entryway, Mom's eyes widening slightly at the unexpected guests.
“Hey, it’s been a long time, Mr. and Mrs. Ellis. Good to see you.”
“Miles,” my mother says, polite but reserved. “Hello again.”
Dad, however, breaks into a warm grin. "Come on in, it's freezing out there."
As Miles steps inside, shaking snow from his boots, Waffles zips around our feet, investigating every corner of the unfamiliar space.
"Oh my," Mom says, eyeing the dog warily. "He's... energetic."
"Waffles is a sweetheart," I assure her, scooping him up. "Here, Mom, want to hold him?"
Mom hesitates, but as I place Waffles in her arms, his little face tilted up adoringly, I see her expression soften. "I suppose he is rather cute," she admits, scratching behind his ears.
Meanwhile, Miles passes over the wine to my dad.
"That's very thoughtful of you,” Dad says approvingly.
As we all move back to the living room, Waffles now contentedly curled in Mom's lap, I catch Miles' eye. “ Thank you ,” I mouth. He winks at me, and I feel a flutter in my chest.
"So, Miles," Mom begins, “How did you and Brooke meet?"
"Through Jay," Miles says, glancing at me. "We've known each other for a few years now."
“I see,” Mom says, her tone bordering on dismissive. "Well, I do wish you’d known her before she decided to be an internet sales person.”
The warmth in my chest fades. “Is this about the Vivaro posts?” I cut a look at my brother.
He lifts both palms, but Mom’s already going on.
“Brooke, I appreciate that you’re less available to help with my campaign this year, but when my team turned up these images, it’s not only your brand that’s affected.”
I open my mouth to respond that I’m not modeling thongs with her campaign slogan on them, but Miles beats me to it.
"With all due respect, Mrs. Ellis," he says, a charming smile softening the firmness in his voice, “Brooke's obviously built an image that people look up to. Hell, my grandmother saw the campaign and wanted to know where she could get leggings like that.” My chest tightens. “I can only imagine the hardest thing for her must be deciding what to do, because she’s talented, resourceful, and creative. There’s only one thing I was ever good at, so it wasn’t much of a question.”
I stare at him, a rush of gratitude washing over me. It's been so long since someone stood up for me like this, especially to my mother.
Mom looks taken aback.
The tension in the room is palpable, and I’m torn between the urge to smooth things over and the desire to let Miles’s words stand.
Finally, Mom asks. “Does your grandmother wear a lot of sports bras?”
Miles laughs first. I join in, cutting a look at Jay, who’s also relieved.
“Not lately. She’s a pretty good dancer but she’s on the injury list right now.”
The rest of the conversion is more relaxed and I catch myself enjoying the evening.
"Thanks for the drink,” Miles says nearly an hour later. “I should get home. Waffles will be thinking Santa abandoned him."
“The roads are terrible." I'm already up out of my chair before I can think better of it. “You should stay.”
Every eye lands on me.
Miles’s mouth hangs open. For once, I’ve caught him off guard.
"I couldn’t. You guys are doing family stuff. The Range Rover will be fine.”
“Nonsense,” Mom cuts in smoothly.
Maybe it’s the holiday spirit, or maybe it simply wouldn’t look good to have a Kodiaks player in a car accident on the way back from her house on Christmas Eve.
"It’ll be great," Jay says, grinning as he rises to clap Miles on the back. "You can borrow pajamas."