Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The Ranch
He began to walk, carrying me in his arms as I continued to sob against his neck.
My tears bathed his skin as years of overwhelming emotion poured from me.
I was unconsolable.
“I have to put you down,” he said.
I tightened my legs around him.
“Just so I can get the door open and get you inside. It’s too narrow for me to carry you.”
Hiccoughing, I reluctantly released my legs.
He gently set me down on the ground.
I turned and saw the bright lights illuminating an RV.
“This is my trailer. That was the errand I had to run. The work on it is done.”
Brooks opened the door and went up the stairs first so he could flip on the interior light. He held a hand out to me and helped me up the stairs.
He moved out of the way just enough so I could come fully into the space. Brooks closed the door behind us.
It was one long box with small windows, a kitchen with a dining counter, and two recliners.
“Bed and bathroom are through there.” He pointed to another set of stairs.
“May I?” I asked through a sniffle.
He nodded.
I poked my head into the bathroom, wondering how Brooks avoided hitting his head on the ceiling when he showered. The bedroom had a small closet, and the bed had drawers for clothes and storage.
I slowly sat down on the bed and looked at him and shook my head.
“What?” he asked, taking the spot next to me.
“You can’t live here,” I commanded.
He raised his brows. “I can’t?”
“No.”
I shot up and began opening drawers and pulling out his clothes and putting them on the bed.
“What are you doing, Freckles?”
“You’re moving in with me.”
He paused. “I am?”
I nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry that you’re going to have to commute in the mornings, but that’s the way it has to be.”
“I don’t live in a trailer because I’m poor,” he said. “I live in a trailer because it’s convenient.”
“It’s impermanent,” I stated. “You can hitch it up to your truck and leave any time you want.”
“Poet, stop,” he commanded, gently clasping my wrist and forcing me to still. “What’s this about? You afraid I’m gonna hitch up and leave one day?”
I swallowed and looked at him. “No. I don’t think you’d do that.”
“Then what—”
“This isn’t a home, Brooks.” My voice broke. “It might be convenient and easy, but the windows are small, and I bet you don’t get much sunlight in here.”
“I don’t spend a lot of time in here.”
“I know the apartment isn’t much bigger than your RV,” I said slowly. “But it has one thing that your RV doesn’t have.”
“What’s that?” he asked quietly.
I looked at him. “Me.” I swallowed. “Move in with me, Brooks. Let’s get some plants and frilly curtains for the windows. Let’s—”
He silenced me with his mouth before I could go any further. And then he was pulling me down onto the bed on top of his neatly folded clothes.
“You sure?” he asked when he lifted his head from mine.
I nodded.
“This is a really big step,” he said.
“You got my period products,” I reminded him. “All our steps are leaps.”
He grinned and then kissed me again, before getting off me.
I sat up.
“What was that?” he asked. “Back there?”
“Years of suppressed emotion. It didn’t freak you out, did it?”
“No. Why would it?”
“I haven’t cried like that in a long time. Ever, maybe. I mean, I’m a crier by nature, but that was something else.”
“A crier by nature, huh? I’d never have guessed.” His smile was gentle, teasing.
“I spent far too many lunch breaks crying in bathroom stalls and supply closets.”
“Don’t forget every time I make you orgasm,” he pointed out dryly.
I mock glared at him. “What can I say, my emotions come out my eyes. This was . . .”
“A release. A long overdue release.”
“Yes.”
I took a deep breath, feeling lighter.
“You can take it back,” he said.
“Take what back?”
“Asking me to move in with you.”
“I don’t want to take it back,” I said. “I want to live together. I really do.”
He peered at me. “As long as you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“Poet?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know,” I said.
“No. Listen. I’m. Not. Going. Anywhere.”
We stared at each other, his words filling the raw caverns my emotional devastation had left behind.
Asking Brooks to move in with me had nothing to do with panic that he’d actually leave. I knew he wouldn’t. I didn’t know how I knew, I just knew.
He was steady and sure.
Like roots. Like an unbroken promise. Like the dawn.
I lifted my leg off the carpeted floor and pulled up my pant leg and lowered my sock to show him my tattoo.
It was small. No bigger than a dime and nestled below my ankle bone.
His finger skimmed the ink.
“The four of us—Hadley, Salem, Wyn, and me. We all went to get tattoos together.”
“Matching?”
“No. Something that has meaning to us.”
“An anchor,” he said. “What’s it mean?”
“My grandfather was in the navy. Vietnam,” I explained. “But he’s also always been my anchor in this cruel world.”
My hand covered his—the one touching my ankle with such tenderness.
“But now I think you’re my anchor, Brooks.”
He took a deep breath and reached for me. He cradled my cheek and stared into my eyes. “I don’t ever want to be something that holds you down.”
“What about holding me in place?” I asked quietly. “What if we could be that for each other?”
He brushed his lips tenderly against mine in affirmation.
I pulled back and gently removed my ankle from his grasp. I covered my tattoo and climbed off the bed. “Can we go home now?”
Brooks smiled. “Home. Yeah.”
“When are you telling your grandfather?” Brooks asked as we drove back to town.
“When everything is all neatly wrapped up and the bookstore is full steam ahead.”
“And when do you think that will be?” he asked.
“No idea,” I admitted. “There are some things I need to handle first. Hoops to jump through.”
“Hoops?”
“Bank-like hoops.”
“Ah,” he said quietly.
“What are you going to do with the RV?”
“Sell it.” He shrugged. “Just got it serviced so it’s in top shape now.”
I tapped my finger on my thigh. “So should we talk about it?”
“Talk about what?” he asked as he turned onto Silver Street.
“Finances,” I said. “Couples who are going to live together should probably talk about that.”
“Probably,” he agreed.
But then he fell silent.
“Brooks,” I snapped.
“Freckles,” he drawled. “I know you don’t have any money. I’m not worried about it.”
“But rent,” I began.
“I’ve got it.”
“No.” I shook my head. “You can’t.”
He glided his truck into a parking spot across the street from the vacant storefront and cut the engine.
When I tried to open the door, he hit the child locks.
“Hey,” I said, glaring at him. “What are you doing?”
“We’re not done talking. We’re going to finish the conversation here. Then I’m taking you upstairs and making you tea for your cramps.”
“Brooks,” I muttered, my cheeks heating. “I don’t want you paying my way.”
He sighed. “I don’t want this to take a long time, so let me lay it out for you. Okay? You can pay anything you want.”
I swallowed. “Thank you.”
“You want to pay the entire rent? Go for it. The utilities? Have at it. The groceries? All yours.”
My spine snapped straight. “That wasn’t what—”
“But you’ll use my money to do it. I’m going to take care of you, Freckles. That’s just how it’s going to be from now on.”
“Then what do you get?” I demanded. “That’s not a fair trade.”
“I get you. That’s all I want.”
“Oh no. Not again,” I said, feeling tears prickle my eyes.
“Oh yes,” he said with a soft smile, wiping the tears from my eyes.
“But the bookstore,” I said. “I have to do that myself. I won’t take your money for that.”
He paused for a long moment and then nodded. “If that’s what you want.”
“I mean it, Brooks.”
“I hear you, Freckles. But I have to point something out.”
“What’s that?”
“You don’t have any money. So how the hell are you going to get a loan to open the bookstore?”
I nibbled my lip. “I have some money. But it’s a retirement account I opened when I got my adult job. I’ve managed to squirrel away some funds. I was going to use that as collateral of sorts.”
“Okay.” He climbed out of the truck and reached into the back to grab his bag that only had a few spare changes of clothes. The rest he’d left in the RV to pack up another day.
He came around to help me out of the truck and held my hand as we crossed the street.
I unlocked the front door of the store and took a deep breath, imagining the comfortable couches that would eventually occupy the space, swallowing you in their cushiony embraces.
The scent of ink and paper. The old-fashioned cash register that chimed every time the change drawer opened.
The hum of conversations with friends; the laughter as people bonded over their favorite books.
“You okay?” Brooks asked when I’d stopped in the center of the room.
I smiled up at him. “Better than okay. Happy. I’m happy, Brooks.”
Standing on my toes, I reached up to kiss him.
He met me more than halfway.