twenty five #2
Inside, the club felt exactly the way it always did at the end of a night—warm, faintly sticky, full of the low thump of music that never fully shut off.
The familiarity made my chest ache.
I passed a few dancers still gathering their things. One of them—Elena—gave me a smile when she saw me.
In the dressing room, Sam was leaning against the counter, her phone in her hand. Tati was sitting on the low bench, rummaging through her bag.
They both looked up when I walked in.
Sam tilted her head. "Hi angel."
I forced a smile and greeted her back.
Tati watched me a little too carefully, her mouth pressed into a line.
I knew she was trying to decide if she should say something.
I was grateful when she didn't.
I hung my jacket on the hook and started pulling out my things.
The quiet stretched in the room, a little heavier than usual.
Sam looked between us, her brow furrowing. "What is it with you two tonight?"
"Nothing," I said quickly.
Tati didn't say anything.
Sam arched a brow. "So we're all just going to pretend we don't feel this weird tension?"
I shot Tati a look, but she was staring down at her hands, twisting the strap of her purse into a tight coil.
"Tati," Sam said gently. "Spit it out."
She exhaled, her shoulders sinking.
"It's my last night," she admitted.
I blinked. "What?"
"I didn't—" She shook her head. "I wasn't trying to make it weird. I just didn't want to make it a big thing."
Sam let out a soft groan and dropped her phone onto the counter. "Jesus, Tati."
"I know," she said quickly. "I know. I just...I didn't want to talk about it until I was sure."
I sat down on the bench across from her, my hands going still.
"You're really leaving?"
She nodded. "Yeah. I'm leaving to Texas with Seth this week."
"That's good," I managed, though my throat felt tight. "That's...really good."
"I know," she said, her voice small. "It just feels...weird. Like I'm abandoning you guys."
Sam snorted. "You're not abandoning us."
"Maybe a little," Tati said, her mouth pulling into a sad smile.
I tried to smile back, but it didn't land.
Because I was happy for her. Of course I was.
But sitting there, still in my jeans from the night before, all I could think was that everything was changing and I wasn't sure I was ready to be the only one left behind.
Sam pushed off the counter and came over to wrap her arms around Tati's shoulders.
"You could have told us," she murmured.
"I know," Tati whispered. "I just...I didn't want to make things feel too serious."
I reached out, curling my hand over hers.
"Im here for you," I said. "I know walking away from all of this is a big step."
Her eyes shimmered, but she didn't let the tears fall.
"Thanks."
For a moment, none of us spoke.
I thought about telling them what had happened with Brooks's mom.
About the photos. About the way it had felt to have someone catalog my life like a liability.
But I couldn't.
I didn't have the energy to say it out loud.
So I sat there in the quiet, listening to Tati and Sam talk about what time she'd have to be up in the morning for her first shift.
And for a little while, I let myself pretend that nothing outside this room could touch me.
It was after three by the time I left the club.
The streets were almost empty, the sidewalks glistening from an earlier rain.
I stood on the curb for a few seconds, the cold seeping through my shoes, before I pulled my phone out.
I hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen.
I could have called a cab. Gone home alone. Pretended the last twenty-four hours hadn't happened.
But I was too tired to pretend anymore and too attached to not go see him.
He pulled up ten minutes later, headlights sweeping over the front of the building.
I slipped into the passenger seat, shutting the door gently behind me.
He didn't say anything right away.
Just reached over and rested his hand on my knee, his thumb brushing a slow arc against the seam of my jeans.
"How was your night?" he asked finally.
I closed my eyes. "It was good."
The drive to the penthouse was quiet.
He didn't try to fill the silence, and I didn't try to explain why I needed it.
By the time we pulled into the garage, my limbs felt heavy with exhaustion.
I followed him inside without speaking.
Inside the penthouse, he set his keys on the console and turned to face me.
"You want tea or anything?" he asked.
"No," I said softly. "I just...want to sit."
I set my bag down by the couch and sank into the cushions, pulling my knees up to my chest.
Brooks moved around the kitchen in quiet, efficient motions—taking off his coat, checking his phone, setting a glass of water in front of me.
He didn't say anything at first.
Just stood across the counter, watching me like he was trying to decide if I could handle one more thing.
Finally, he braced his palms on the marble and let out a long breath.
"There's something I need to tell you."
I rubbed a hand over my face. "Please don't say it's another surprise."
"It's not exactly a surprise," he said quietly. "It's...something that happened while we were gone."
That pulled my attention up. He looked tense—more tense than I'd seen him in weeks.
"What happened?"
He exhaled, bracing his elbows on his knees. "Monte called earlier. There were news vans outside the building tonight."
My stomach twisted. "What? Why?"
"Someone must have tipped them off. Nobody got pictures of us together, but..." His jaw flexed. "They're speculating. About where I've been spending my time. Who I've been with."
I swallowed, the ache in my throat sharp. "Me."
He didn't deny it.
"It's only going to get worse," he went on, voice low. "Especially now that the campaign's ramping up."
I looked past him, out the windows where the first light was starting to bleed into the sky. "So what are you saying?"
His eyes lifted to mine, careful. "I'm saying I don't want you to have to keep looking over your shoulder."
My voice felt thin. "And?"
"And...I've been thinking about a place outside the city," he said, slower now. "Somewhere quieter. Private. Where this wouldn't follow you every time you came home."
Something in my chest went tight.
"A place," I repeated.
"A house," he clarified. "In Jersey. It's not far, but it's far enough to get out of the blast radius when people start digging for stories."
I stared at him, searching his face for any sign this was a test. A trap.
"You bought a house," I said finally.
"I did."
My heart thudded, heavy and uncertain.
"Brooks..."
"You can be mad," he said quietly. "I won't blame you."
"I'm not mad," I whispered.
"Then say something."
"Why did you really buy it?"
His gaze didn't waver. "Because I wanted somewhere we could be...untouched by all this. Somewhere you could feel safe. And because I knew this was coming eventually. The press. The questions. My mother. All of it."
I closed my eyes, pressing a hand to my forehead.
"And what happens to my life here?" I asked after a long moment. "The club. The building I'm saving for. My friends."
"That's yours," he said immediately. "None of that changes unless you want it to. If you keep working, you keep working. If you don't, you don't."
"Jersey's not down the street," I said, my voice thinner now. "It's a different world. It feels like..."
"Like I'm trying to hide you," he finished softly.
I looked up then, because I couldn't not.
He swallowed. "That's not what this is."
"But it looks like it," I said. "Even if you don't mean it that way."
His jaw tightened. "I know."
I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders. "And what would I even do there?"
"You'd build whatever you want," he said quietly. "You'd come into the city when you felt like it. You'd keep dancing if you needed to. You'd save for your building. But you'd have a place that wasn't about them."
Silence.
"Can you give me time to think about it?" I asked finally.
His shoulders eased, but the look in his eyes stayed unsteady. "Take as much time as you need."
I didn't say anything else.
He just sat there, watching me like he was memorizing every part of this moment.