Chapter 15 Brooks
Brooks
Fuck.
Ruby wanted me to stay.
That one line—so small, so innocent—hit me right in the chest like a sucker punch, knocking the breath straight out of me. I wasn’t prepared for it, not even close.
I was happy here. More than happy. It felt damn good to be surrounded by this kind of warmth, this kind of family-shaped feeling, especially around the holidays.
Usually, Christmas meant packing up whatever town I’d passed through, another cheap motel room, another highway exit.
As of lately, my holiday tradition was the blur of taillights and the hum of my truck.
Why I chose this year to make a pit stop in the most Christmas-soaked town the internet could cough up, I didn’t know. But I was so damn glad I did.
I loved Christmas, I always had. The lights, the food, the music, the excuse to eat sugar cookies before breakfast. But over the years—especially after I drifted apart from my family—the magic dulled. The season became something I observed through other people’s windows, not something I lived.
I guess I needed a reset. A reminder. And I’d found it, right here, in this house with Annie and Ruby.
We were at the dining room table now, all three of us. The plates were heavy with Ruby’s chosen menu—Parmesan-crusted chicken, mashed potatoes, and sautéed green beans. Not bad for a seven-year-old. In fact, better than not bad. Pretty damn impressive.
Where she got that idea beat the hell out of me.
I wouldn’t put it past this kid to watch the Food Network or steal one of Annie’s cookbooks for fun.
Ruby had stood on a chair earlier with me at her side, helping slice the potatoes into pieces small enough to mash, her little brow furrowed in concentration, her tongue poking out like she was handling a chef’s knife on a cooking show.
She’d picked the recipe because the word Parmesan was in the title, and that girl loved cheese like it was oxygen.
Now, she shoveled a forkful of potatoes into her mouth and asked, “Are we still going to take pictures with Santa?” Her words were muffled, potatoes clinging to her chin.
“Of course,” Annie said gently, giving her the Mom Look. “But maybe finish chewing before you talk.”
Ruby groaned as if her mother had asked her to clean the entire house. “But I just have so much to say.”
A laugh ripped out of me before I could stop it. She was too much.
Ruby turned her head, narrowed her eyes at me, and winked. A wink. At seven. I nearly choked on my green beans. This kid was dangerous and loved to get a rise out of me.
She swallowed, gulped down milk in a rush, and asked, “When are we going?”
“This weekend,” Annie answered.
Ruby held up her fingers, counting aloud, “One, two, three, four, five…” Her face pinched with concern. “But that will only be five days away from Christmas! Santa should be getting back to the North Pole by then. We won’t miss him, right?”
The sheer panic on her face was almost comical, but I swallowed my grin with a sip of milk. Ruby insisted I drink it, too, since it was Santa’s favorite. And honestly? When she looked at me with those serious eyes, I would’ve drunk anything she put in front of me.
“Oh, Santa’s faster than you think,” I chimed in. “How do you think he makes it around the whole world in one night?”
Ruby’s mouth fell open like I’d revealed a secret no one else knew.
“Exactly!” Annie added quickly. “He can get to the North Pole in an hour, easy.”
Ruby gasped. “I knew it.” She crossed her arms, smug, then nodded as if she had solved Christmas itself.
She turned her eyes on me. “I think I made the nice list this year.”
I raised a brow. “What about me? Which list did I make?”
She tapped her chin, pretending to think, though I could see the glimmer of mischief dancing in her eyes. “I’m not sure yet.”
The little devil.
She swiveled to Annie. “Can Brooks come with us? That way I can convince Santa to put him on the nice list with me.”
“Oh, no, I don’t—” I began, not wanting to step on tradition.
“Of course,” Annie cut me off, smiling.
I looked at her across the table, catching her gaze. My fork froze halfway to my mouth. I didn’t want to intrude on something that was clearly theirs, a mother-daughter tradition full of history and memory. She didn’t owe me a place in it.
Are you sure? I mouthed.
Her answer was a small, certain nod. A wink.
My chest tightened.
Ruby squealed, clapping her hands. “Yes! Okay, Brooks, but you have to tell Santa at least one thing you want. That’s the rule.”
“Oh, that’s going to be tough,” I teased, ruffling her hair. “I don’t even know what I want.”
Ruby rolled her eyes like I was hopeless. “Everyone wants something.”
“Do they?” I asked, but the truth was I did know what I wanted. It just wasn’t the kind of thing you told a kid.
Because what I wanted was sitting across from me, laughing softly, her eyes lighting up in a way that made the world outside this dining room disappear.
Annie.
Ever since that night together, the air between us felt charged. Electric. I caught myself watching her when I should’ve been focusing on my plate, memorizing the curve of her smile, the sound of her laugh, the soft blush that dusted her cheeks when our eyes met across the table.
I loved watching her be a mom, loved the tenderness and patience in her voice when she spoke to Ruby. And, damn it, I loved the way she’d unraveled for me the other night, how she’d looked on top of me, wild and beautiful.
It was a blessing and a curse all at once. My body ached for her, my mind spun with her, and yet here we were—pretending nothing had changed.
Ruby prattled on about Santa, about the magic of Christmas, and I tried to stay present, tried to join the conversation. But underneath it all, one thought kept beating in my chest:
For the first time in years, I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay.