18. Brock Jones
Chapter eighteen
Brock Jones
It’s been well over an hour since Ariel left.
I pace the length of the living room. She didn’t answer my call ten minutes ago, but service on the mountain is abysmal.
It takes twenty minutes to get to the store, and twenty back.
She shouldn’t have spent more than twenty minutes in the store.
I guess she could have decided to spend as much time away as possible after our argument, but I would think she would have at least texted me that she was going to be gone for a while.
There’s no way for me to leave because she took the only car. My best bet would be to walk down the mountain and hope I find her. I groan as I pace. Why did I let her go by herself? Why was I so rude before she left?
A churning feeling begins deep in my stomach. I walk to the door and fling it open, only to find Ariel pulling into the driveway.
Relief washes over me like a cool breeze. She gets out of the car, toting a plastic grocery bag with her.
“What are you doing?” she asks. By the sound of her voice, the distance did not make her heart grow fonder of me.
“You’d been gone for a while. I was worried something had happened.”
She scoffs and brushes past me. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious,” I say as I shut the door behind us.
She heads for the back door. I follow her onto the balcony. The sunset has painted everything in warm gold, including Ariel. Her tan is deeper in this light, and her dark brown hair has streaks of caramel peeking through.
“I’d ask how you could care about anyone when your job owns your very soul, but you told me not to talk to you about that anymore,” she says sharply as she removes the grated dome on top of the firepit.
I’m not sure it’s a good idea to be near a fire with a woman this angry, but I’ll have to take my chances.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”
She squats down and opens a door on the firepit that reveals a propane tank. “Maybe?”
“Okay, I shouldn’t have said it, but in all fairness, you were pushing too hard.”
She twists the propane valve, then closes the door and turns a knob. Flames ignite in the rocks.
“I’m trying to get you to see what I see,” she says in a tight voice.
“But you don’t understand my point of view either.”
She throws her hands in the air. “Because you won’t share it with me! How am I supposed to know how you feel if all you give me are random lines about legacy?”
My shoulders hunch forward. “I’m not real big on opening up.”
She snorts. “I hadn’t noticed.”
I give her a flat look. “But I have been trying. It’s not easy when, instead of hearing me out, you tear down what I’m saying.”
Plastic rustles as she pokes around the grocery bag. “Maybe you have a point.”
“Maybe?” I echo.
She ducks her head to attempt to hide a smile. “I could listen better. I will listen better.”
I dip my chin. “Thank you. I’ll try to be more open.” Even if the idea is akin to surgery without anesthesia.
“Thank you.” She pulls out a bag of marshmallows. “Want a s’more?”
“Are you going to force me to talk about my feelings while we make them?”
She shrugs. “Force is such a strong word…”
I sigh. “Hand me a marshmallow.”
Her smile is bright in the warm glow of the fire. “Let me go grab the sticks to roast them.”
She heads inside. I sit down and pull out my phone to open my message thread with Sutton. I hadn’t responded to spite Ariel, but now I see how immature that was.
Sutton: Shaw and I are coming to Charlotte! Mandatory dinner at Mom and Dad’s. 6 PM on Wednesday.
Brock: Mandatory, huh? What happens if I don’t show up?
I smile when she responds right away.
Sutton: A riot will ensue. There will be pitchforks and hockey sticks turned into torches.
Brock: Can’t let you burn a perfectly good hockey stick. I guess I’ll be there.
Sutton: Good. We miss you.
I rub my chest to soothe the mysterious ache beneath my sternum.
Brock: Miss you too.
Ariel opens the back door. I put my phone away.
“Sorry, I couldn’t remember where I put them,” she says with a laugh.
She hands me a metal stick with a rubber handle and a large marshmallow, then sits on the swing opposite the firepit.
We roast our marshmallows in silence for a moment.
Ariel catches her marshmallow on fire a few times, blowing it out after each one.
I, on the other hand, roast mine like a sane person until it’s golden brown.
Once hers is black as coal, she smushes it between graham crackers and a thick piece of chocolate. She takes a messy bite and hums.
“There’s nothing like a s’more to make me forget how annoyed I was.”
I laugh and reach for a graham cracker and a chocolate piece.
“Did you forget if you are mentioning it now?” I ask, amused at how enthralled she is with her dessert. Bits of marshmallow are stuck to the corners of her mouth, and there’s a streak of chocolate on her cheek. It’s endearing.
“There you go, pushing my buttons again,” she says.
Her half-eaten s’more doesn’t conceal the smile on her lips. I wonder what it would feel like to kiss her right now, what it would taste like–I push that thought off the balcony. Nope . Nope, nope, nope. Not going there again.
“They’re easy to push,” I counter before taking a bite of my s’more. Gooey marshmallow mixes with rich chocolate and the cinnamon-y crunch of the graham cracker. I lean back in the cushioned chair and close my eyes.
Ariel giggles. “Enjoying yourself?”
I smile, my eyes still closed. I could make up some retort, but instead, I’m honest. “I am.”
“Good,” she says quietly over the crackling of the fire.
Eventually, I blink my eyes open again and enjoy the rest of my s’more as the sky turns the powdery indigo of twilight. Ariel grabs another marshmallow and starts to commit arson again.
“So, a legacy, huh?” she asks before blowing out yet another flame.
“You know, it’s difficult to talk to you when you’re on the verge of burning the cabin down.”
She sticks her tongue out at me, making me laugh. “Burnt marshmallows are superior. Now talk, Carolina, before I confiscate the supplies.”
I shake my head, but give in. “There’s not much to say.” I push another marshmallow onto the prongs. “I’m building a business, like I’ve said. But I want it to be here after I’m gone, for it to leave an impact.”
“Why?”
I watch her through the flames. Her focus is on the s’more she’s building, but I know she’s listening.
“Because it’s important to me.”
“Why?” she repeats.
I stare at my browning marshmallow and think about her question. One word shouldn’t be so powerful. Thoughts speed through my brain like cars on a racetrack.
“It’s hard to nail down a single reason,” I admit.
“But one that comes to mind is when I played hockey in college, at the best school in the country”—she shakes her head, but doesn’t say anything about our rivalry—“I saw a lot of the older players get drafted. Even went to a few of the watch parties. Some of the best players would have terrible agents. They’d either get awful deals or be transferred to teams they hated.
When I saw that, I decided to help make sure players were taken care of and were placed where they deserved. ”
“That’s an admirable desire,” she says. “I don’t think that’s your why, though.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You’re giving up too much for a flimsy reason.”
“And what about you?” I keep my eyes on the fire, spinning my marshmallow around. “What’s your why?”
“I don’t need one. I like finding buyers their perfect home or commercial space. Knowing I helped make them happy makes me feel good, but I’d never give up time with family for it.”
I open my mouth to defend myself. She holds up a hand to stop me.
“I’m not attacking you. I don’t want to argue. If you can’t see it yet, that’s okay. You will eventually.”
“And if I don’t?” I challenge.
She meets my gaze, the fire reflecting in her eyes. “I’d rather hope you do than imagine that scenario.”
I frown and drop my attention back to the fire.
Why does she think so strongly that she’s the right one in this fight?
It’s like she has blinders on and refuses to see beyond what she wants to.
We have great moments together, but I don’t know how long this can last with the tension of my choices versus her disapproval hanging over us.
Because she’s bound to snap one day when she realizes I’m not giving up on this dream.
I hope she sees my side before that happens.