22. Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
“ L OGAN! Stop it! What are you doing?!” I yell, grabbing fistfuls of Logan’s shirt to try to pull him away from Brooks.
“No, I deserved that,” Brooks states, rubbing his jaw.
“You deserve a lot more than that, you little punk,” Logan spits, eyes still blazing. “Just because I was at college, you think I didn’t still have friends from the team who told me all the crap you talked about my sister? How dare you show up here?”
I’m desperately pulling on the crook of Logan’s arm, attempting to drag him away from Brooks. “I invited him! We’re dating!” I exclaim.
Logan’s biceps tense even further under my grasp, and he slowly swivels his head to look me in the eye. “What did you say?”
I blow out a breath. “Brooks is here because I invited him. Because we recently got reconnected and started dating again.”
Logan’s eyes narrow on mine. “Teegs . . . what are you thinking? Are you forgetting what he put you through? The things he said—the things he did ?”
Apparently, Logan is aware of why Brooks broke up with me. Fantastic.
“Are you failing to remember the nights crying alone in your room over winter break?” Logan adds, voice still simmering with rage.
Apparently, I was less adept at hiding than I thought I was. Awesome.
“You’re right. You’re absolutely right,” Brooks speaks up again. He stands up straighter and fully faces Logan. “I was a jerk. And so stupid. I’m worse than scum for the way I treated Teegan. I don’t deserve her forgiveness, and I certainly don’t deserve another chance to be in her life.”
“But I forgave him,” I jump in. Tugging on Logan’s arm to get him to look at me, I continue. “Brooks and I joined the same small group at our church without knowing it. We slowly reconnected as friends, and Brooks apologized profusely for the past. And I chose to forgive him. And I’m choosing a relationship with him now. I’m not letting the past dictate the present.”
“But Teegan, sometimes we learn from the past to know what not to do in the future,” Logan counters.
“I know. The past informed my choices, which is why I took things slowly. We started off as fellow small group members, then as friends. But Brooks has changed. He’s not the same guy he was in high school.” I look over at Brooks with soft eyes and see a similar soft expression in his. “We’ve both grown and changed. And I like who he is now.” I end with a smile at Brooks before looking back to Logan.
“Teegan, I don’t want a repeat—” Logan begins.
“I swear I’d never hurt her like that again,” Brooks asserts.
“Yeah, you probably thought that when you started dating the first time, though,” Logan says. His eyes narrow again. “And look how that ended.”
“I trust him,” I declare, pulling Logan’s attention back. “I’ve matured a lot since high school too, Logan. I’ve learned not to completely tie up my sense of self in another person, to keep myself grounded in my relationship with God. I’ve learned how to maintain my individual identity. I trust Brooks, and I trust myself to take care of my heart.”
There’s stillness in the air as we stand there, each processing our own slew of thoughts. The evening is cold, and I shiver for the first time as my adrenaline wears off.
“Why don’t we come inside and talk about this over dinner?” Mom’s voice cuts in from behind us.
Logan glances back at her. “You knew about this?” Mom nods in response. “And you’re okay with it?” Another nod. He meets my eyes one more time, and I squeeze his arm, trying to channel reassurance through my eyes .
He sighs. “Fine.” Logan follows Mom to the dining room, and I rush to usher Brooks inside.
“I’m so sorry. He was late getting here, and I didn’t have time to tell him,” I whisper. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Brooks wraps me up in a hug, breathing against my ear. “It’s okay, Sneaks. Like I said—I deserved it.” He pulls away, though there’s reluctance in the removal of his arms from around me. “I wouldn’t say no to an ice pack, though,” he says with a smirk.
It’s the most natural thing in the world to reach down and take Brooks’ hand, to lace my fingers through his. A movement so second nature, so familiar, you’d think any surge of delight at the touch would have long since vanished.
And you’d be wrong.
A shiver of warmth races through my body in response to Brooks’ hand possessively curling around mine. My pulse skitters when I meet his eyes and see a mirrored reaction in them. “Let’s go get you some ice,” I murmur.
Brooks holds a bag of frozen corn against his jaw as we carry food from the kitchen to the table. I volunteer to pray for our meal, and then we begin passing dishes and spooning food onto plates.
“How’s work been going, Logan?” I ask, hoping to give Brooks a little recovery time before the grilling session I’m confident is coming.
Logan shares a minimal response, but my mom asks several follow-up questions. She must be picking up on my strategy. I also volunteer ample information about how my semester went, elaborating on each Bible study I led, as well as describing the dynamics of our church small group.
We’re mostly finished eating by the time Brooks’ inevitable turn in the hot seat comes. Logan’s eyes narrow, and I have the urge to throw my body in front of Brooks as though to protect him from the bullet that’s coming.
“So, Murph, how exactly did you go from being high school jackass Murphy to—” Logan gestures across the table at Brooks, “—this Brooks? ”
“Language, Logan,” my mom chimes in. “Not at the dinner table. And let’s not forget that high school Logan did some rather immature things as well.”
“I never pressured a girlfriend physically, broke up with her when I wasn’t satisfied, then said degrading things behind her back. So, I wouldn’t say my brand of immature was quite the same,” Logan jabs.
Our overlapping voices create one simultaneous mess.
Mom—“Logan!”
Me—“Stop it!”
Brooks—“He’s right.”
We’re all quiet as Logan continues glaring Brooks down. Brooks tugs on my hand, which is when I realize that I’m standing. Brooks slides my chair back to me as he continues speaking, “Logan’s right, and it’s a fair question. The simplest answer is that Jesus is why I’m a different man. In high school, I had no faith, nothing beyond myself that I was living for. In college, a couple of my teammates, Brody and Rylen, were involved in FCA, and their lives sparked my interest.
“They were the hardest workers on the team, even if not the most talented. They treated women with respect—everyone with respect. They were the first to show up to drive guys home from parties during the off-season, were always there to listen without being judgmental. And they had a genuine contentedness that I knew I lacked. I started attending the FCA meetings with them and reading the Bible, and God slowly transformed my life. He’s still transforming me day by day,” Brooks concludes.
Logan’s face has softened slightly, but he still looks skeptical. “And teaching? How exactly did you wind up in education? Doesn’t seem like the thrilling type of career I would have guessed for you.”
Brooks gives the same explanation I’ve heard him share, and Logan continues drilling him with question after question about his life (and dating) experiences since high school. I assume Logan’s still searching for loose threads to pull on, but so far, he’s coming up empty-handed. Brooks answers with candor and confidence, not flinching back from explaining any of Logan’s interrogations. The only sign he’s nervous is his grip on my hand, which is propped on his knee under the table. He’s clutching my hand like I’m a helium balloon that might float away if he’s not careful. I try to rub a reassuring message along the side of his hand with my thumb.
I’m with you. I’m not leaving. We’re okay.
As Brooks shares about his life, about all the ways that God has changed him, Logan visibly relaxes. Logan shares my dad’s darker hair and eyes, which can project an intimidating demeanor when he’s irritated. Thankfully, his hackles are fully disarmed by the time Brooks mentions his mom’s passing.
Shock and sadness mingle in Logan’s brown eyes. “I’m really sorry to hear that, man. Your mom was always so nice to the team when we’d hang at your house.”
My mom adds her condolences, and I feel Brooks’ escapist energy building up, eager to move on from the sadness.
“We’re supposed to get to Dad’s house in time for a late brunch tomorrow,” I tell Logan, abruptly changing the subject. “We’ll have time to open presents here with Mom before we go over.”
“Yep. Got it,” Logan replies.
Brooks squeezes my hand under the table.
We round out the meal with my mom’s homemade apple pie and vanilla ice cream. Everyone pitches in to put away leftovers and load the dishwasher.
When it’s time for Brooks to leave, Logan walks with us to the foyer. “Sorry about earlier, man.” Logan looks sheepish as he apologizes. He holds a hand out to Brooks, who shakes it firmly.
“You were just being a good brother. I don’t fault you at all,” Brooks replies.
Logan stays inside as I walk Brooks out to the front porch, crossing my arms to fend off the chill.
“Thanks for coming tonight. I’m glad I could see you for the holidays,” I say. Untangling my arms, I brush a thumb across Brooks’ jaw, where a faint bruise is forming. “I really hope this doesn’t hurt too much.”
Brooks leans into my touch then reaches a hand to grip my waist, gently pulling me closer to him. His other hand clasps around my fingers on his jaw, and he turns to press a kiss to my palm .
“Trust me—I’m not feeling any pain right now,” he says, voice thick. “Thanks for letting me back into your life. I don’t deserve to be here.”
My brow furrows. “Brooks, you have to stop saying things like that.”
“What do you mean?” he asks, brow now similarly furrowed.
“You constantly talk about how you don’t deserve to be with me now, or how you were trying to earn your way back to me. That’s not how forgiveness works. You know that,” I say, but his expression remains troubled.
“I know that in theory.” Brooks sighs. “But in reality, I can’t erase the memory of what I did to you. That ugly side of who I was then. The effect it had on you. Like William Faulkner said, ‘The past is never dead. It’s not even past.’”
My eyebrows raise. “You’re just pulling William Faulkner quotes out of your back pocket now? How do you even know that?”
“History teacher,” he says with an attempt at a light-hearted shrug. But his fingers are tight against mine as he swallows hard. “It may have been a past version of me, but it was still me. I hurt you. And I can’t escape the feeling that I need to somehow justify the grace you’ve shown me.”
“But it’s not grace if you earned it.” I pause to raise my other hand to the side of his face. “You are sincerely sorry, Brooks. You’ve changed. You’ve apologized numerous times. And I’ve chosen to forgive you. That’s it. You can be sweet to me because you care about me, but not if you’re viewing it as a form of penance, okay?” My voice is unwavering, and I hope the words sink in.
He sighs again but nods. Then he quirks one eyebrow before asking, “Just so we’re on the same page, I can be sweet to you in over-the-top, obnoxiously sugary ways, right?”
I roll my eyes and let my hands drop from his face, but he catches them in his. “Baby, let the games begin,” he teases, gently squeezing my hands.
I roll my eyes harder, but I can’t help but grin. “You and your song lyrics. The gift that keeps on giving.”
“Speaking of, I did not bring you a Christmas gift tonight, per your strict orders,” he says, giving me a disapproving look. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t be receiving something soon that is completely unrelated to Christmas gift-giving traditions.”
I bite my lip to contain my smile. “You are impossible. Merry Christmas, Brooks.”
“Merry Christmas, Sneaks.”
Logan and I have an enjoyable Christmas morning with Dad, although he seems a little distracted the whole time. We eat brunch and open gifts before watching Home Alone together, just like we did growing up. It’s been several years of this new normal of split traditions, so I should be used to it. But I’m more despondent about it this year than usual. Maybe it’s my reconnection with Brooks? But something has made me wish for the old days together as an intact family unit more than I have in recent years.
I stay at Mom’s house for an extra couple of days after Christmas because we have our annual Arrow staff planning retreat at an AirBnb at the Lake of the Ozarks. While students are on the extended winter break, we take a few days away as a staff team to plan for the upcoming semester. It doesn't make sense to drive back to Brooklyn only to turn around and drive to Missouri again a few days later.
I’m in my room packing to leave when Mom comes in holding a package. “You got a delivery!” she says, handing it over to me with a wink. “You’ll never guess who sent it.”
A smile jumps to my lips, and I accept the bubble mailer from her.
“I’m glad that Brooks could come over on Christmas Eve,” Mom muses. “Well, minus the punching incident. Although, maybe it was good for Logan to get that out of his system. He might have a more open mind now.”
I huff. “It better be out of his system, and he’d better have an open mind now. Because this is happening whether he likes it or not.”
Mom unexpectedly wraps me up in a hug. “It was good for my heart to see you two together. To hear you explain how you arrived at the decision to give him another chance. To hear Brooks explain how his life has changed over the past several years. To see the growth in him—in both of you. It put my mind at ease.”
I hug her tightly before pulling back to look her in the eyes. “You know, I think it was good for me too. To articulate everything to a skeptical crowd. And I meant what I said—I trust Brooks, and I trust myself. But more than that, I trust God to help both of us have a healthier relationship than the first time. I’m grateful that we have the chance.”
Mom smiles, and then she shoos herself away so I can open my package from Brooks. He did promise a “non-Christmas” gift was on the way.
Opening the bubble mailer, I find what looks to be a book wrapped in brown craft paper. It’s an intricate wrapping job, made to look like an overlapping “v” pattern on the front. There are multi-color Flair pens tucked into the flaps along with pastel page tabs. It’s tied with a festive ribbon, and he’s written my name on the front. When I flip the package over, I snort a small laugh at the excessive amount of tape holding it together. I can picture Brooks muttering under his breath while attempting to copy some book-wrapping tutorial video. The thought makes my heart do a series of back flips.
I take a photo of the finished product before untying the ribbon and tearing open the paper. Inside, I find a guided decision-making journal. Flipping open the first page, his inscription reads:
To Teegan -
I don’t think you can make a “wrong” decision in this case, but I hope this helps you sort out your thoughts about your future. I believe in you no matter what you choose.
- Brooks
Skimming the pages of the journal, I see prompts to evaluate past experiences, inventories of emotions and passions, twists on pro/con lists, and lots of guided reflection questions.
This is exactly what I need to help me pull the chaos out of my thoughts.
Your not-Christmas gift arrived. Thank you so much! This is absolutely perfect!
My text doesn’t show as read right away, so I continue packing until Brooks responds several minutes later.
brOOKS
I hope it’s helpful and not overwhelming. Feel free to use it as fire kindling if it tips to the “too much” side
No! It looks like exactly what I need. I think my typical “walk around talking aloud to myself” method may not work in this case. I might even go to a coffee shop today and start filling some of it in before I drive to staff retreat. Orrrrr I might spend the couple of hours shopping to get you the perfect “not-a-holiday” gift
brOOKS
Absolutely not. Don’t waste your time on that. I order you to go to the coffee shop. That is my gift from you
Well, it’s definitely NOT your gift. But I will do it. You’ll just be surprised and unsuspecting when your unexpected present comes
brOOKS
It can’t be unexpected because I know you’re arriving back to town on January 1st. My present already has a countdown
He sends a screenshot of his phone lock screen with a countdown widget labeled “Sneaks is back!” My heart is no longer doing back flips. It has officially liquefied into a puddle of gooey warmth.
brOOKS
I really miss you, just so you know
I miss you too. A lot