Chapter 33 #2
Maeve suddenly felt like she was somewhere miles away from the Redemption River Fair, maybe back at the cabin, or further back than that, maybe in that front row at Stanford Stadium, knowing the exact moment his eyes locked on hers as he was performing.
The same lazy grin on his face as when she and Piper went with Ethan backstage and Brodie was standing drinking a bottle of water, his eyes clocking her as she came in.
The unhurried way he screwed the cap back on the bottle, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and, swiping the sweat off his face with a towel, sauntered over like he had all the time in the world.
Seeming to know in that moment, that Maeve would be going with him that night.
Being in his arms again so close, so aware of everywhere their bodies touched, the glint in his eye, the dip of his mouth, was a dangerous reminder of the last time.
“You smell the same,” he said, quietly in her ear.
She tried to keep her face neutral.
“Like warm evenings.” He paused. “Maybe jasmine?”
She kept her eyes fixed on the knot in his tie, the fine gray line of thread in the black fabric. “I think it’s probably just shampoo.”
He laughed at her attempts to make it all very normal. “I can still picture those silver boots, you know? And a little black top?” He asked it as a question, but he seemed certain.
“I don’t remember,” she lied.
“Your hair was different, though,” he went on regardless, letting go of her hand for a moment to touch where the end of her braid rested on her collarbone. “Shorter like a little pixie.”
Maeve swallowed. She couldn’t fall for this again.
“I won’t lie, Maeve, I don’t remember everyone,” he said. “But I remember quite a few. I remember the ones I wish I’d seen again.”
“Brodie, I know you say that to everyone.”
He shook his head, said plainly, “No.”
She kept telling herself not to look at him. Not to meet his eyes.
“I bet you remember what I was wearing,” he said. She heard the jokey smile in his voice.
Blue jeans, navy T-shirt, white and red Nikes.
“No,” she said.
He laughed. “You’re lying. I think you remember.”
She shook her head, focusing on the top button of his shirt, undone, just above the knot in the tie. She worried he could hear her heartbeat.
“It wouldn’t have ended well if we’d got together then,” he said, almost musing to himself.
“No, it wouldn’t,” she said, her eyes still on the button, thinking about a long-distance relationship with him when he was at the height of his solo success.
She thought about her arduous journey to graduating medical school.
Would she have finished it if, by some chance, they had got together?
Would she have followed him round the world with her baby or would she have stayed and slogged her guts out to achieve her own dream and get qualified?
She couldn’t say for sure but thinking about it then, she immediately saw herself on a tour bus, feeding a baby, alone.
“I was not ready then by any stretch of the imagination,” he said, blowing out a breath.
She thought about herself back then, all idealistic ambition. “No, me neither,” she admitted, grateful for the first time that their paths had diverged. It hit her unexpectedly hard, the idea that she would have almost definitely given up her own dream. How deep their resentment would be now.
She watched him smile down at her, his straight white teeth and the smattering of freckles over his nose. His hand held a bit tighter. The song changed. She found herself relaxing, allowing herself finally to keep looking at him.
“I know what you were wearing,” she relented.
He grinned. “I knew you did.”
She bashed him on the arm. “You’re so arrogant.”
He laughed, she felt the vibration in her chest, found they were dancing closer now than she’d thought. “One of my many charms,” he replied.
She had to look away again because, when he looked at her like that, it made her worry not about when he might leave again, but what might happen if he stayed.
More than anything, though, in that moment, she wanted them to be alone.
Back in Logan’s house or at the cabin. She wanted him to pull her closer, wanted to reach up herself, rest her palm on his cheek and draw his lips to hers.
To disappear into a moment that was just for them.
Older, wiser, yet still with the same crackling, searing energy between them.
Looking at his lips, she could almost taste him.
“Brodie Carter, can I have this dance?” a voice cut in next to them. It was Janette, Suki Rogers’s mom from Zoey’s class, the one who was so clued up about Brodie’s reputation.
“Certainly,” he said, because of course it would be impolite to say anything else, but Maeve felt the icy chill of stepping out of his embrace. The loss of his hand in hers.
Up on the stage, she was sure she saw Brodie’s mom narrow her eyes at Janette, like she was messing up the plan.
When Maeve turned, she was struck by the sight of Zoey watching gleefully, sitting on the edge of the stage with Logan and Bella, a toffee-apple in her hand, kicking her legs against the side.
She realized then that her and Brodie were the show, and that, of course, it wasn’t just the two of them. It was all much more complicated than that. Maeve wanted to melt into the crowd and disappear.