12. Brooks
TWELVE
Brooks
The hum of the sander fills the background with a din of constant noise that, eventually, I just get used to. I go into full zen mode as I’m working on the third of the four table legs tonight, and I can almost see the end in sight for this project.
One that took me way longer than usual because of my stupid arm.
“Hey.”
I look up to see Clover standing at the entrance to the shed. I remember this from last time, and I’m a little surprised that she’s spoken up to get my attention.
Turning off the sander, I set it down on the workbench in the back of the room, and my brain momentarily betrays me by reminding me of the fantasy I enjoyed in the shower not long ago.
Stop that.
“Hi, Clover. Surprised to see you out here again. Can I help you with something?”
I’m doing my best to ride the line of being cordial with her while keeping my distance. There’s nothing good that can come from getting too close to my nanny, and I need to focus on that.
That’s right. You keep your thoughts above the board. We’re not going to think about the damned shower or the half a dozen times since then that you’ve…relieved the tension to more inappropriate shed fantasies.
Staying well back from Clover, I cross my arms over my chest, a physical reminder to keep her at arm’s length or longer.
“No, I just wanted to say hi.” She smiles. “I know you had a date with your doctor. How’d it go?”
A chuckle slips free, and I nod. “Yeah, I did. It was…all right. The doc said I was healing up, the fracture shows signs of good repair. But, umm…”
There’s a pause, and I look down at the dirty floor because I don’t want to consider the rest of what the doctor told me. I just got done being pissed about it like five minutes ago.
“But?” Clover supplies, forcing me to finish the sentence or look like an idiot.
“It’s looking like the cast can come off closer to the seven-week mark.”
Silence fills the space, but when I look over at Clover, I can see her fighting back a smile. I roll my eyes, tossing the rag I’ve been holding onto down on the workbench with a grumble.
“Go ahead. Get it out of your system.”
Clover bursts out laughing, and my annoyance flares. I want to do something to punish her or discourage her from laughing at me, but damn, those thoughts are not helping.
Nor are they “suitable for work.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just funny because I just saw my dad, and he was talking about the bet you both made. It looks like my dad’s gonna win.”
“Hey,” I jab a finger at her through the air, “if it comes off at seven, neither of us wins.”
Cocking her head with a smirk, Clover eyes me. “And that’s preferable to him winning, of course.”
“Of course.” I nod once, then my shoulders immediately slump. “Ugh, I’ll admit to being disappointed.”
Clover softens, stepping forward, and I can see the genuine compassion behind her eyes. It’s warm and inviting.
“I get that. I do. I’ve never broken anything, but I can’t imagine being cooped up in that cast sits well with the guy who runs a ranch mostly on his own.”
I huff out a breath through my nose, a short burst of something akin to laughter but not quite as joyful.
“Hit the nail on the head, Lucky.” I turn away from her, cleaning off the surface of the workbench with the rag. “I don’t do well like this. I’m not used to relying on others or being so limited. It’s a tiny form of torture I’m not looking to continue.”
When I turn around, I notice that Clover had crossed the room and is standing at the other end of the workbench, leaning against it.
The need to move hits hard, and I grab a manual sander, just the handheld bit with a piece of sandpaper fitted to the front, and go back to work on the leg.
Smoothing the thing up and down over the edges, I can feel Clover’s eyes on my back. Her stare hits me like this palpable wave of heat.
“How much longer you got on that there project, Ace?”
I can’t help but chuckle at the way Clover asks. She uses a makeshift accent, and it’s utterly ridiculous, if also unfortunately charming.
“This is the third leg. One more after this, and then I can start on the top, which will actually go a lot faster.”
“Well, sure. It’s just a big ol’ rectangle, right?”
There’s a shuffling sound, and I look over my shoulder to see Clover hoisting herself up to sit on the workbench.
My stomach clenches, and there’s this brief flash in my mind of that damned fantasy that’s been haunting me. She’s even wearing jean cut-off shorts.
Fucking hell.
“Yup, just a rectangle.” I turn back to the leg, trying my damnest to focus on the project and not the way Clover’s legs look in those fucking shorts.
“Neat.” Clover pauses, but I can sense there’s more, like maybe she was making small talk before she got to the question she actually wanted to ask me. “So, look, I don’t want to be rude or anything, so sorry in advance. But…what happened to Darby’s mother?”
I drop the sander. It lands on my foot, but the pain is brief since it’s not too heavy. The shock, however, takes several long moments before I can face Clover and actually respond.
“That’s certainly blunt of you.”
“I know. I know. Call it the New Yorker in me.” I look up at her, and Clover is still sending out beams of compassion, somehow knowing this sucks for me. “I’m not trying to, you know, trigger you or anything. But I think it will help me with Darby, help me understand what he’s—what you’ve both—been through.”
It’s logical. It makes sense. And I still don’t think I can talk about this.
“It’s not…I don’t talk about it, Clover.”
She leans forward on the workbench, bracing her hands by her knees as she meets my eyes.
“I’m not looking for the nitty gritty details, Brooks. Just an idea. Besides, I think it’ll be good for you to get some of that out of your head and off your shoulders.”
A sarcastic chuckle leaves me. “Oh, do you now?”
“I do.” She hits back with that so damned fast—confident and not backing down.
Part of me wants to lie to her, to make something up so that I don’t have to drag up all this pain. But as I look into Clover’s eyes, I just can’t.
There’s not a bone in my body that would allow me to lie to this woman—no matter what.
“Leah. Her name was, and I guess still is since she’s not dead or anything, Leah. We were engaged. The pregnancy slowed things down because she wanted to wait until after Darby was born to tie the knot.”
Clover is quiet, leaving me the space needed to talk about this, and I’m so fucking grateful.
“In the middle of the night, about two weeks after he was born, she left. I found a note that said she was in love with someone else. Haven’t seen her since.”
“Oh my God. Who would do that?” I finally manage to look up at her, and there isn’t pity written all over her face like I expected, but disgust. “What a bitch.”
A laugh sneaks free, and I can’t help but smile and shake my head at her. “Apt description.”
“I’m so sorry, Brooks. That’s garbage behavior. Honestly, to leave you and her son behind like it’s nothing. You’re so better off without her.”
“Well,” I shrug, my head tipping to the side as I consider that, “it wasn’t easy. Still isn’t. I…I needed to be everything for Darby. I’m his only parent here, and every bit of my focus and time is spent making sure he’s okay, provided for.
“I hate it sometimes. I wish that there was someone around to help, and I know you’re doing that now, but I’m not expecting a lifetime commitment from you.” I’m suddenly aware that I’m rambling, but the words are just leaking out of me like a broken sieve. “Being a good father to that boy means the world to me, and I’m never sure if I’m doing it right. No instruction manual comes with a baby. God, there were so many mistakes in the beginning, but I didn’t want to trust anyone with him…with myself. I still don’t.”
I haven’t picked up the sander, and I nudge it off my foot. My arm inside the cast itches, and all I can smell is sawdust and Clover’s perfume.
“I haven’t given him the chance to have a mother in his life. It’s impossible to date with a fucking kid, and the truth is, I’ve never tried. I…can’t. Who would want all that baggage, and what’s to stop them from leaving? Nothing. I can’t do that to Darby. My broken heart is one thing, but him? No.”
“Brooks, I?—”
“Don’t okay. I know what this situation is. I’ve come to accept it. I know that as far as catches go, I’m at the bottom of the barrel. I’m…it’s fine. Like I said, I’m not looking to change that. It just gets…hard. And a broken fucking arm doesn’t help.”
I hear a shuffling again, and I look up from the table leg to see Clover hopping down from the workbench and walking over. She stands before me, those eyes of hers glowing a deep blue that still reminds me so much of a stormy sky.
Her expression isn’t schooled, the surprise and sympathy radiating out of her like the sun. I don’t know what to do with it.
“Brooks,” she holds up a hand when I go to interrupt again, “you’re not a bad father. You’re an excellent father. I’ve seen you around Darby for weeks now, and it is so abundantly clear that he means the world to you. And he knows, too.”
Rolling my eyes, I toss my head back to scoff. “Thanks.”
“I mean it. You’re a great dad. I have one, so I know the metric. You’re also not some unlovable bum who no one would want to date. Yes, you have a kid. I’m not going to lie and say that doesn’t complicate things, but that’s not a deal breaker for everyone. Some women would absolutely adore that part of you.”
“I’m not some project, Clover. I don’t want a woman interested in me because they think there’s this ‘life’ she can make for me. I enjoy my life.”
Clover puts her hand on her hip, eyeing me. “Did I say that? No. You need to stop thinking of yourself as less than worthy of a normal relationship just because of the past. That shit is holding you back. You’re a nice guy, Brooks Lowe. You’re kind to others, even me sometimes, and you’re devoted to family and community. Cut yourself some slack.”
All I can do is stare at her. Clover just…floors me. She’s looking up at me from her tiny stature and utterly putting me in my place, which is apparently not a bad one to be in.
A nice guy. It’s been a while since I’ve let anyone, especially a woman, compliment me.
Strawberry blonde curls catch the light as Clover stands there. Her blue eyes are fathoms deep, and I can see the subtle changes that’ve happened to her since her arrival.
The slick-backed ponytail is gone, replaced with a bouncy array of curls that she just has clipped back from her face. There are no more leggings or skinny black jeans unmarred by a day of work, only cut-off shorts, holey denim, and actual boots.
Right now, the green and black flannel shirt she has on is rolled up to the elbows and unbuttoned to reveal the black tank beneath it. I can see the swell of her breasts pressed against the fabric, and when I yank my eyes away, they just land on her full lips.
“Clover, I…”
But the words drop away, and we just stare at each other. The air is simmering with something potent and terrifying. This can’t be happening between us.
And still, I step closer, unable to keep myself back. Clover doesn’t retreat; she just tilts her head to keep holding my eyes with hers.
That fragrance of floral perfume clings to her space, and my body is humming with heat and electricity.
This is a bad idea, Brooks. Back up. Back up. Back up.
Clover’s eyes flick down and then back up, and she looks at me from beneath her lashes, her stare lidded and intense.
I want to touch her. I want to slip my arms around her waist and haul her close to me. My hand begins to move forward on its own again.
There’s a curl in front of Clover’s eye, and I tuck it behind her ear, my fingers lingering, unwilling to leave her. I look at her lips again, and I can feel her doing the same.
Everything I’ve been reminding myself of, to stay away from her, that she’s nearly half my age and this is inappropriate, all drops away. All I see is this remarkable woman who’s very being calls to me like a siren.
Leaning closer, Clover mimics the action, and we’re right there—right up against each other. My heartbeat in my ears is nearly deafening, and then I’m hovering my lips over hers, almost tasting that coconut chapstick she’s always using.
“Dad!”
Flying back, I turn around on my heel to see Darby rushing toward the shed from the house.
“Dad!”
I have to clear my throat to clear my head. As my son rushes forward, fire burns beneath my skin, the fear over what he just saw simmering like acid.
But he’s crying, and I drop to my knee and open my arms so Darby can run into them. “Hey, hey. Calm down. It’s okay. I’m right here.”
“Darby, are you alright?” I hear Clover whisper, her tone soft.
“I...I…I had a bad dream.” My son can hardly speak around the hiccuping sobs, and I pull him close.
Wrapping my arms around him, I pick him up, carrying him back toward the house. I hear Clover follow behind us, and I…I can’t think about that.
“It’s okay, buddy. It was just a dream.” Rubbing down the back of his head, I try to soothe the obvious fear making Darby shake. “You’re safe, okay? You’re safe with Dad. I’ve got you.”
It’s a quiet trip back to Darby’s room, and as I set him down, he clings to me, not wanting to let go. I smile sympathetically, smoothing my hand down his head as he lays in his small bed.
He hasn’t had a nightmare this bad in some time, and the last one kept him up all night. I’m not sure what to do now that’ll make it any better. I’ve got no new tricks up my sleeve.
“Do you want me to sing you a song?” Clover steps up to the side of his bed, holding Darby’s hand.
Darby’s face lights up, the relief washing over him so profoundly that it makes my eyes sting. He smiles and nods.
“Yes, please.”
Clover grins down at him, and I watch as she strokes his hand while she sings a soft lullaby. I can’t place the song at first, and then I remember where it’s from, that Disney tune she talked about before.
It soothes Darby almost instantly, and his lids begin to droop as sleep glides over him again. Clover finishes the song, and I watch to be sure Darby stays asleep. He does.
“Thank you,” I whisper, unable to hold Clover’s stare for long.
“Of course.” She nods back at me, and then we part ways, each of us heading to our own bedrooms.
My hand fumbles with the door as I close it, and I walk over to my bed on shaky legs. I’m not sure what just happened between us, and I’m not sure if Darby’s interruption was a good or a bad thing.
All I can say for sure is that if he hadn’t interrupted…I was going to kiss Clover.