Chapter 20
brOOKLYN
“Is it true you turned down the Blackcastle offer?” Henry rolled his chair over to my desk. “If it is, that’s bold, especially since you, like, don’t have another job lined up.”
I stared fixedly at my computer, hoping he’d get the hint and go away. He didn’t. His cologne also reeked of musk—a far cry from Vincent’s subtle, delicious scent.
“Don’t you have work to do?” I asked pointedly.
“Yeah, but I’ll get it done in time. I have to take a break every now and then for maximum productivity.” He leaned closer to me. I sneezed. God, what was he wearing? “So? Is it true?”
“It’s really none of your business, but yes, it’s true.
” There was no point in lying. I’d officially declined Blackcastle’s offer last week, much to Jones and HR’s shock.
Jones had expressed disappointment, but he hadn’t asked any further questions.
That alone confirmed I’d done the right thing.
If he really wanted me here, he would’ve made some sort of effort to convince me to stay.
Henry whistled. “Wow. What are you going to do then?”
“I’m exploring different options.” By that, I meant I was searching online job sites for anything that looked remotely interesting. So far, no luck.
“Sure, sure. Hey, how’s—”
“I have to speak to Lizzie about something.” I pushed my chair back and walked out. “I’ll be back.”
I didn’t actually need to speak with the head of Human Resources, but if I didn’t get away from Henry soon, I was going to be arrested for murder.
I breathed in a welcome lungful of cologne-free air as I took a lap around the building. Training was over, and the players’ laughter leaked out from the changing room.
Vincent was in there somewhere.
My steps slowed. We’d texted a few times since he moved out, but we hadn’t talked about anything meaningful. I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact he was gone.
One minute, he was there, strutting around shirtless and almost kissing me in the kitchen. The next, he…wasn’t. He moved out and left a miles-wide void in the flat.
I hated it.
I rounded the corner and bumped right into the last person I wanted to see. I knew who it was by the scuffed trainers alone.
My shoulders stiffened as I looked up at him. “Dad.”
“Brooklyn.”
We eyed each other warily. If this were a movie, there’d be Western showdown music playing in the background.
My dad and I hadn’t exchanged a single word since our fight. We’d never been great at communicating with each other, but the strained tension was new. The air around us stretched thin and taut, like a rubber band on the verge of snapping.
“Jones told me you declined the offer. You’re really leaving,” he said. His voice was impassive.
Disappointment sliced through me. I’d told him the truth about how I felt last week. Our problems ran so much deeper than my career, but he still chose to focus on that instead of our inability to connect over anything other than work.
“I told you I would do that.” A heavy weight settled into my bones. I already regretted leaving my office. Dealing with Henry would be better than this.
“I thought you were bluffing. I really bloody hope you’re not doing this to spite me, Brooke.” A trace of frustration slipped into his words.
“And I told you that’s not the reason.” We were a broken record, circling round and round the same topic. “I’m leaving because Blackcastle isn’t the right fit.”
“Not the right fit,” he repeated. “You’ve been interning here for over a year, and you’ve never complained once.”
“It’s not about complaining. It’s about…” I searched for the right term, but it was hard to think through the fog in my head.
Honestly, I was exhausted. I’d been staying up late every night working on my ISNA essay, which was still crap.
My job search proved even more fruitless the second time around.
The holidays were coming up, which meant gift shopping and events and anxiety.
Throw in the emotional toll of fighting with my dad and the uncertainty of my relationship with Vincent, and I was primed for a meltdown.
I wasn’t going to tell my dad any of that though. He already thought I was a mess. I refused to give him more ammo.
“It’s about finding my own path,” I finally said. “I told you the other day. If I stay here, I’ll always be in your shadow. People will always have lingering doubts about whether I’m getting special treatment because my last name is Armstrong.”
“You don’t get special treatment, and people don’t think that,” he argued. “I didn’t even know you were applying for an internship until you got it.”
“It doesn’t matter. You know how the truth gets twisted into rumors.
People believe what they want to believe.
” I took a deep breath and made another attempt to steer this conversation where it needed to go.
If I didn’t captain the ship, no one would.
“I got internship offers from other Premier League clubs, but I chose Blackcastle because you were here. I thought it would be a good bonding experience. Instead, it’s been the opposite.
It’s like you think that because we see each other every day at work, we don’t need to talk outside of that.
But I don’t want a boss; I want a dad. So maybe the solution is seeing less of each other in the office, not more. ”
“We’ve had…bonding experiences.” He said the words slowly, like he wasn’t sure what they meant. “We had that dinner. We talked about your dating life.”
“That was one time in eighteen months.”
He had no response to that.
“I love the team, and I’ll always be the biggest Blackcastle supporter, but I have to move on. Nothing you say will change that.”
“What about money? This is London! You can’t survive in London on savings alone.” His frustration visibly mounted again.
“I have enough to tide me over for a few months until I find a new job.”
Vincent’s rent money was my saving grace. It was enough to keep me afloat until summer.
“I know you won’t take money from me, but I can’t let you…flounder out there.” My dad’s signature frown returned. “You’re moving in with me until you find a new job.”
I balked. “Absolutely not.” That was not the bonding I had in mind. Living with your parent as an adult was a surefire way to mangle the relationship, not heal it.“Besides, Vincent is living with you. Wasn’t the point of that to keep us from living under the same roof?”
His mouth flattened into a thin line. He couldn’t dispute my argument, and he wasn’t heartless enough to kick Vincent out of his house (even if Vincent wanted him to). Maybe he was punishing Vincent for lying to him, but he also did care about his players’ safety.
“You’ve made up your mind, so I won’t try to change it anymore. But I hope like hell you know what you’re doing, Brooke,” he said, his tone grim. “Because I sure don’t.”
He walked away.
My hands curled into fists. I wanted to scream.
That was our second round of the same fight, and he still didn’t get it. Maybe he never would. I’d moved across an entire ocean chasing a dream—a real relationship with him, plus a chance at making a name for myself—and it was starting to dawn on me that the dream might’ve just been a delusion.
“Wow. That was crazy.” Henry came up beside me, a chocolate bar in hand. I was too tired to care how long he’d been there or how much he’d heard. “I can’t believe you talked to him like that. I know he’s your dad, but he’s scary.”
“Stop eavesdropping.”
“I wasn’t eavesdropping. You were both so loud, it was impossible not to listen in.” He took a bite of his candy. “Totally get what you were saying about finding your own path and all, but if I were you, I would’ve taken the job. Most people would kill to work here.”
“You’re not staying after your internship?” I couldn’t resist asking. It was my chance to find out whether he’d also gotten a job offer from Blackcastle.
Henry laughed. “Um, no. I’ll be at my dad’s company.
He’s the founder of Hydralade, the sports drink?
Anyway, the plan was always for me to head up their product development team, but he wanted me to get some ‘outside experience’ first.” He snapped his fingers.
“Hey, I have an idea! You should come work for us. We have a few openings. I’ll make sure you get an interview. ”
A metallic taste filled my mouth. “No, thanks.”
“Well, if you change your mind, give me a call.” He finished his chocolate and shoved the empty wrapper in his pocket. “Hey, I heard you’re also applying for the ISNA award. What’d you write about for your personal statement?”
I barely heard him over the sudden roar of blood in my ears.
Thud. Thud. Thud. My heart pounded hard enough to rattle my ribcage.
Every time I blinked, the walls crept closer, threatening to squeeze the air from my lungs.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to steal your topic.” Henry’s voice sounded far away. “I submitted my application weeks ago. I can show you, if you’d like. I—hey! Where are you going?”
He let out a squawk of indignation when I pushed past him and speed-walked toward the restroom. Pressure clawed at my throat.
I couldn’t breathe. I had to—I needed—
I burst into the restroom and rushed into the corner stall, locking it with a deafening click.
Then, and only then, did I allow myself to cry.
I sank onto the closed toilet lid as my emotions burst free. Grief, anger, self-doubt, resentment, and a thousand more I couldn’t name—they surged past the dam I’d spent years painstakingly building, their currents so strong I had no hope of escaping.
So I didn’t even try.
My sobs bounced off the tiled walls. Tears dripped down my cheeks, mixing with my snot. I probably looked disgusting, but I didn’t care. No one could see me—so few women worked here, the ladies’ restroom was almost always empty.