29. Brooks
TWENTY-NINE
Brooks
“Darby, stop playing with that.” I take the collapsible drink special display and set it back up on the table.
“Sorry,” Darby whines, “I’m bored.”
With a sigh, I nod, patting him on the arm. “I know, bud. Me too. But we’re waiting for Clover to come on so that we can cheer her on. Okay?”
“Is the show going to start soon?”
He looks at me with those big, pleading eyes that only kids can manage, and all I can do is sigh—again.
“I think so, Darby. But I don’t know. Here.” I take out a ten from my wallet. “Go get a Shirley Temple with extra cherries.”
Darby perks up, snatching the bill and running off toward the bar. Ugh, that’ll be future-Brooks’s problem.
With a pleasant level of silence at my table, I lean back in my chair, surveying the place. It’s more crowded than usual, and I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that Clover was well-received at the fair.
Does she have fans?
The thought is nice, but I know that Clover was nervous, and I hope that the size of the crowd doesn’t scare her out of performing at all.
“Brooks!”
I turn, and Leo is coming from across the bar. I’m not surprised to see him. I know that Clover told her dad about the performance, but my spine goes rigid nonetheless.
Play it cool, Brooks. You’re fine. Just don’t mention that you’re sleeping with his daughter.
“Hey, man.” I stand to clap my hand against Leo’s, both of us giving the other a brotherly hug. “Good to see you. Excited?”
Leo sits down in one of the chairs next to me, the wooden feet screeching against the polished cement floor.
“I am!” He takes off his jacket—picking up that same drink special menu—and then smiles up at me. “It’s been years since Clover was really into this, and I’m so glad she’s gotten back into it.”
“Yeah, she told me a bit about that. Said something about doing it in school?”
I take a sip of my beer, needing that liquid courage more than ever, and one of the servers comes over to take Leo’s order.
“Umm, I’ll have the seasonal Sam Addams, please.” She smiles and nods. “Thank you.”
When it’s just the two of us again, Leo pulls out his wallet and fishes inside for a picture. When he pulls it out, I can see a young Clover on stage singing her heart out.
“Oh, my God.” I take it, studying the image.
It’s definitely her, but the high school version of Clover doesn’t hold a candle to the woman I know now. I can see just how much self-confidence she’s gained since then, and it makes my chest tingle.
“Yeah, that was her. Clover performed at a charity event for her high school. She did great. Everyone cheered. Hell, they stood up. It was such an incredible day. But…”
Leo’s tone drops, and I see a sadness wash over his expression that has me slowly handing back the photo, unwilling to break the quiet.
“Well, kids are cruel a lot of the time. And poor Clover. Beth had started to get sick around then, so she was already so upset.”
Curiosity gets the best of me. “What happened? Was she bullied?”
“In a sense, yeah.” Leo nods. “Some mean girls, if I’m using that term correctly, teased her about being so into singing. I don’t think Clover could handle it with everything else going on. She quit after that. It kills me that some popular girls—who are probably listening to the radio like all of us—convinced my daughter to give up on her dream.”
Not on my fucking watch. If someone tries that shit, I’ll put a stop to it so damned quick, their heads will spin.
“Look at this!”
Darby comes back from the bar just as the server gives Leo his drink. As I glance over at what my son is carrying, I burst out laughing, easing some of the tension that’s burning through me.
“Holy cow, kiddo. That’s like an entire jar of cherries,” Leo offers.
“Half! I watched him pour them!” Darby is thrilled, and I know that there’s a sugar crash coming in the future.
“Go slow. Okay, bud?” I eye Darby, raising my brows so he knows I’m serious. “Remember the chocolate coins.”
Darby’s face blanches at the memory, and he nods, taking his seat between me and Leo.
Leo furrows his brow. “Chocolate coins? Dare I ask?”
I laugh gently, shaking my head. “Darby here was a little kid, like four or five, and he got it in his head to eat an entire bag of chocolate coins.”
Shuddering, Darby sips at his drink, admittedly very slowly, which I’m proud of.
“I take it that didn’t go well.”
Leo pats Darby on the shoulder, and my son shakes his head. “I puked. A lot.”
“Yeah, while I was in the bathroom trying to pee.” I smile, the memory one of warning and hilarity. “He just walked in, said, ‘I don’t feel good,’ and then threw up brown all over the place while I was on the toilet. Good times.”
We all laugh, and Leo happily shakes his head with a smile as he finishes a sip of his beer.
“Kids. They’re something alright.”
“That they are.” I nod, releasing a heavy breath.
As I go for my drink, a whiskey neat, my mind slips back to the story about Clover. For whatever reason, it won’t let me go.
I’m just so upset that Clover stopped singing because of peer pressure and cruel high schoolers who probably hated their lives, too.
Goddamn shame. She could’ve done so much with that voice of hers. Well, I won’t let this second chance be spoiled.
It hits me that I’m real damn invested in Clover’s singing career—if we can even call it that. Still, that I need to be there for her and ensure that this performance goes as smoothly as possible, is like a burning compulsion that fires through my veins.
I know I see potential in her. Clover has an amazing voice, and I’m the type of person who wants to see others succeed when they have something to offer.
It’s why I always bring on help for the ranch from the people around me, the people who just need to catch a break.
But is there more to this than that?
That’s the stupidest question you’ve ever asked yourself, Brooks.
Because, of course, there is. I may have been trying to “play it cool” and “see where things go,” but where they’ve gone is exactly where I knew they would—straight to my heart.
I care about Clover. I want to see her succeed. I want to see her happy. And sure, I could play that off like I’m just her friend or say that we’ve just gotten close over these past few weeks.
But I’d only be kidding myself.
My chest squeezes, and I sip at my whiskey, not really paying attention to the conversation around me. I offer the occasional nod or non-commital noise, but I’m not there.
I’m somewhere far, far away.
And then my eyes swivel over to the side of the stage just as Clover steps up from somewhere in the back. She’s wearing her usual clothing, but she’s done a bit of makeup and styled her strawberry-blonde curls.
That pinch in my chest doubles down, my heartbeat kicking up slightly.
Her eyes find mine as if she could sense me watching her. As Clover looks over, she smiles, giving me a tiny wave.
Her grin is so bright, so beautiful, and I return it. The look of nervousness on her face softens, and I just smile bigger, giving her a little thumbs up.
“Oh, Dad, is that Clover!?” Darby asks excitedly.
“Yeah.” I nod, my eyes leaving Clover’s for only a moment before I pin my stare on her again. “I think she’s about to go on.”
“You’re awesome, Clover!” Darby shouts, and she laughs.
It gets me laughing, too, and soon Leo is joining us. My son really loves her.
The thought strikes a chord. Darby loves Clover. Not likes, not tolerates, or mildly appreciates. He loves her.
And I think I have to come clean and admit something to myself. I might just be falling in love with her, too.
As she grins at me, Rosie taps her on the shoulder and gestures to the stage. She’s going to go up there and perform now.
Clover nods, looking back at me one more time before she faces the stage and steels herself. I know that at that moment—hell, at any moment—I’d break my arm again to make sure this goes perfectly for her.
You are so fucked.