Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
LINDSEY
I’m starting to wonder if ever truly was in love with Brandon, or simply enamored with the idea of him. I think I was attracted to his mind.
We met my freshman year of college. He was three years older than me, a senior going into grad school.
I went to watch a debate with a few classmates as a way to get credit for one of our undergrad classes.
But then I saw him at the podium, and the way he made the room bend to his argument was like watching a wizard harness magic.
I should have known then that he would do the same to me.
Looking back, it’s so obvious how he worked every argument to his favor.
I never wanted to step away from school, but he didn’t want to share in the work of being a young parent.
I could have easily succeeded doing both—raising the boys and continuing my coursework.
He was afraid he’d have to help, though.
I’m stewing over the words he said out on the field today, but at least the boys got to stay and finish their practice.
And I got to take them home with me, a day early.
I’m sure that was somehow Brandon’s ulterior motive all along.
He probably has a big date with Caitlyn, or maybe another student he’s cheating on her with.
Joke’s on him this time, because I got exactly what I wanted.
There’s no place I’d rather be than here, in this home, with my boys . . . and Brooks and Holly.
Brooks has called us a family a few times now, and at first, I bristled.
Not because I don’t want it, but rather, I don’t want to lose it.
It feels fragile, and we’re keeping so much of our lives inside these walls a secret.
Even within this house, the side we show the boys is different than the way we are when we’re alone with one another.
I’m tired of sneaking into his room at night for fleeting moments of bliss.
I need to get through the next month, to my court date with Brandon. Then, maybe he and I can try this blended family thing for real. Until then, I’m not sure I should keep a foot in both worlds. I don’t want to hurt him. And I don’t want us to hurt my boys.
Hearts are evil bastards, though. And damn it if there’s not something about him that simply draws me in. He’s been on the sofa with his laptop for a while now, rubbing circles in his temple. I think he’s struggling with seeing that man again at the park.
His past still haunts him, and I don’t think he’s been able to move beyond his father showing up out of the blue.
I can’t imagine being in his shoes, though, so I wouldn’t dare force him to confront that demon.
I understand that sometimes the walls we build are really meant to keep out the bad guys.
If I learned anything from the years I helped Brandon study for psychology exams, it’s that there is no black and white when it comes to taking care of one’s own mental wellness.
There’s lots of gray, and what we choose to do in that space is our call to make, and ours alone.
I pull my laptop closer and open my list of this week’s assignments, dreading the new round of algebra lessons. I remember hating this course the first time I took it. Now, more than four years later, I want to stab algebra in the heart.
“Trade you,” Brooks says from the sofa. I meet his gaze as he holds his laptop up as if I can read the screen from here.
“Gladly,” I joke, but when he doesn’t laugh with me, I realize he’s genuinely asking for help. I leave the table and move to sit beside him. The boys are in bed, but they’ve been waking up a lot lately, so I don’t sit too close.
“Who’s Pen?” I ask, reading the name at the top of the email he’s showing me.
“Holly’s mom.”
His words land in my gut with a thud.
“Oh.”
I return my attention to the screen, taking in her full name. Pen Cashun.
“I didn’t know her last name,” he says.
I nod.
“That’s okay,” I say in a hushed tone.
Brooks doesn’t talk about Holly’s mother, ever.
While he’s told me the details about how Holly showed up at his door, he’s never delved into the details of the night she was conceived.
I haven’t pried. There’s not a shred of evidence that what happened between him and Pen was anything more than a night of passion and escape.
And it came with consequences that he’s fallen in love with—Holly.
I’ve never been jealous of what they had, and I’m not now.
But I do think there’s a part of him that feels ashamed.
And I wish he didn’t. I begin to read her email so I can understand.
Brooks.
I have been struggling. That’s why I haven’t reached out sooner.
I’m in a safe place now. I’m clean. For a few weeks, actually.
Maybe this time it will stick. I was hoping I could see Holly, just once.
I have something for you, too. For her. I understand if you don’t want contact, and I really have no right to ask.
But if you could find it in your heart to give me this one thing, it would mean the world to me.
I want nothing more than the two of you to be happy forever.
Sincerely,
Pen
I read through the email three times, each read leaving a tiny, invisible cut in my chest. I don’t know when the tears form, but when the first one slips down my cheek, Brooks hands me a tissue.
“You should read the note,” he says, leaving me alone with his computer while he hurries to his room. He comes back with a folded piece of paper. I flatten it against the keyboard and read the shaky handwriting of a young girl in crisis.
“She knew you would take good care of her. She did the right thing,” I say, handing back Pen’s note.
He takes a deep breath as I close his laptop and move it to the side. I twist so I’m facing him and take his hand. His gaze drops to our touch, and his fingers work their way through mine as if he’s afraid I’ll let go.
“What do I do?” His top teeth saw at his bottom lip as his gaze flits up to mine.
“What does your gut tell you?”
He quakes with a silent laugh.
“My gut is a liar. It told me my parents loved me for years.” His head falls to the side, and I mimic him as I caress his face with my free hand. He leans into my palm, closing his eyes before kissing the inside of my wrist.
“Your parents were sick. Addiction, probably other mental illness, circumstances, do not define love based on what you had growing up. That’s not the way love works.”
He opens his gaze on mine, and we stare at one another in silence for what feels like several minutes.
“I love you,” he finally says.
I saw it was coming. I anticipated this while I swam in the blue of his eyes.
I lay awake last night thinking of what I would say when he uttered those words.
And yet now that I’m faced with them, I don’t know what to do.
So rather than saying it back, no matter how much I love him in return, I simply smile softly and stroke his face with my thumb.
Our quiet moment is broken up in seconds with the sound of tiny feet rushing down the stairs.
“Mommy! Brooks! Mommy!”
I recognize Deacon’s raspy tone and scoot back, putting a foot of distance between me and Brooks. Deacon stops at the foot of the steps, and rubs his eyes with a fist. I move to go to him, but before I can, Brooks cuts in front of me and scoops my son into his arms, hoisting him on his hip.
“What’s up, buddy?” He begins to climb the stairs as Deacon rubs his face on his shoulder.
“I had a nightmare,” my son says. I move my hand over my heart and trail behind them, but when I reach the landing, I halt and simply watch as a different kind of magic unfolds.
“What was your dream?” Brooks asks, pulling back Deacon’s blanket, then setting him on the bed.
Riggs sits up and rubs his eyes.
“What happened?” my other son asks.
“Your brother had a bad dream,” Brooks explains.
“Me, too.” Riggs climbs out of his bed and crawls over his brother, working his small body into the covers with him.
Brooks chuckles, then tucks the two of them in.
But rather than leaving, he sits at their bedside and makes up a story about people made of candy.
He never asks them what their dream was, probably because he’s had enough nightmares of his own to know that kids don’t like reliving them.
Instead, he replaces the startling dreams with thoughts of silliness, inviting the boys to help him tell the story, asking them what the candy people do for a living.
Naturally, the candy people are baseball players.
And the two best players are named Deacon and Riggs. At one point, my boys are giggling.
The story goes on long enough that eventually I sit outside their doorway so I can listen to the end. And when they finally fall asleep, Brooks backs out of the room quietly and helps me to my feet.
He tries to break our hold once I’m standing, but I cling to him. I rise on my toes and swing my free arm around his neck, and I kiss him to let him know exactly how I feel. Even if I can’t say it, I feel it. And by the way he kisses me back, I think he knows.