Chapter 22 Brooks
Brooks
“Hey, Brooks,” Ruby said, her little mouth stuffed full of garlic bread.
“Ruby,” Annie warned, giving her daughter the mom look. “Don’t talk with food in your mouth.”
Ruby held up a finger, chewing furiously until her tiny jaw finally managed to get it down. Then, like she hadn’t just gotten yelled at, she repeated, “Hey, Brooks,” nudging me with her elbow and then winked like we were in on the world’s greatest secret.
“What’s up, kid?” I chuckled, unable to stop the laugh that bubbled out of me. She was trying so hard to be smooth.
“What’s one thing you always wanted from Santa when you were my age?” Ruby wiggled her brows dramatically.
I tapped my chin, pretending to think hard, even though I knew this moment was coming.
We’d rehearsed it a dozen times earlier that afternoon.
The plan was simple: Ruby would ask me, and then ask her mom, and we’d see if Annie’s answer matched the one I’d found written in crayon on that old letter to Santa.
Of course, subtle wasn’t exactly in Ruby’s vocabulary. Half the time she wanted to shout the plan out loud. Still, she’d done her best, and I had to give her credit.
“That’s a tough question,” I hummed, leaning back in my chair like I was really digging deep. “Probably a baseball glove. I wore mine out every summer.”
Ruby gasped, clapping her hands. “That is so cool!”
Then her little eyes flicked to Annie. “What about you, Mom? What did you want when you were a kid?”
Annie froze mid-bite, fork hovering in the air. She glanced between the two of us, suspicion narrowing her gaze, and then carefully swallowed. Wiping her mouth with her napkin, she asked slowly, “At seven?”
Ruby and I both nodded like overeager accomplices.
Annie’s eyes lifted toward the ceiling, her lips curving softly. I could tell she was drifting backward in time, back to something more than just a simple Christmas wish. Her laugh came low and wistful, like the memory had been tucked away in her chest for years.
“I can still see it so clearly. I wrote it in every letter to Santa, every year.” She paused, her voice quieter now. “But he never brought it.”
Her gaze softened, and I could tell she wasn’t just remembering the thing she wanted—she was remembering her parents, the traditions she’d lost, the holidays that once glowed brighter. My chest tightened, wishing I could have spared her that ache.
“Well, what was it?” Ruby pressed.
Annie gave a rueful little smile. “A pony.”
Bingo.
It was exactly what I’d hoped to hear, the confirmation I needed. Relief tugged at my lips, and I looked down at my plate to hide my grin. Ruby’s little foot kicked me under the table, and when I glanced at her, she winked again.
“A pony would be so cool!” Ruby cheered. “Can’t we get one?”
“Oh, I don’t know…” Annie waved her fork, trying to brush it off. “We’ve got the land, sure, but a pony is a big responsibility. Just you and me here, that’s a lot to handle.”
Ruby didn’t miss a beat. “We have Brooks. He knows a lot about ponies.”
Her words hit like they always did—sweet and heavy all at once.
Annie sighed, setting her fork down. “Ruby,” she said gently. “Brooks isn’t staying here forever. He’s going back home after the holiday.”
Ruby’s wide eyes swung to me. “Home? Where’s your home? Is it far?”
The truth? I didn’t really have one. My life was a string of roads and towns, no real place that held me. But looking at her hopeful face, I couldn’t lay that truth at her feet. Not tonight.
“I’ll never be too far away for you, kid,” I told her. That much was true. If Ruby ever needed me, I’d drop everything. I’d get in my truck, hell, on a plane if I had to, and I’d find my way back to Snowberry Peak.
But the weight of Annie’s words lingered. Brooks isn’t staying here forever.
Ruby’s lower lip trembled, her eyes glossing over. She stared at me, silent, like she wanted to make me promise otherwise. When I didn’t, her little face crumbled.
This wasn’t the first time I tried to avoid answering, but I think my not denying that I was leaving felt final for her.
She shoved back from the table, her chair scraping across the floor, and bolted down the hallway with tears spilling.
“Ruby!” Annie called, half-rising from her seat.
But I held out a hand. “Wait. Let me.”
She hesitated, torn between motherly instinct and trust. Her eyes searched mine, her body taut like a bowstring.
“I think I should be the one to talk to her,” I said quietly.
For a moment, she studied me, then glanced down the hallway where Ruby had disappeared. Slowly, Annie lowered back into her chair, her hands curling tight around her napkin as if letting me go meant letting go of control.
I pushed back from the table and stood, already feeling that invisible pull toward the little girl who had somehow carved herself deep into me.
Peering into her room, I found Ruby curled into a small ball on the floor, a blanket pulled over her head like a makeshift cloak, as if it could shield her from the world.
I stepped inside quietly, careful not to startle her. Her room was everything Ruby was—bright, loud, and chaotic. Toys spilled out of bins, books stacked in lopsided towers, little twinkling lights strung across the wall. Every time I saw this room, it made me smile. It was so alive, so her.
“Ruby,” I said softly.
She sniffled but didn’t turn around.
Lowering myself down beside her, I let out a groan as I plopped onto the floor. Her eyes darted to me for a split second before she looked away again, tugging the blanket tighter.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
“Are you going to say anything other than no?”
“No.”
I chuckled, rubbing my palms against my jeans. “Alright then. I’ll do the talking, but you’ve gotta make sure your listening ears are switched on, okay?”
Ruby peeked out a tiny hand, gave her ear a dramatic little twist as if flicking on a switch, then tucked herself back into her blanket cocoon.
“Good,” I said, leaning back against the wall. “Even though I’m leaving… I’m never really gone. I’ll always be just a phone call away.”
Her voice was small, shaky. “That’s what my dad said, too. And I don’t get to talk to him. I don’t get to see him.”
The words punched me right in the chest. I wanted to tell her that her dad was the biggest pile of garbage walking this earth, but that wasn’t my place. Not here. Not with her.
“I’m not him,” I said instead, my voice steady. “When I make a promise, Ruby, I mean it.”
For the first time, her eyes lifted to mine.
“You’re my friend, kid,” I told her. “And I don’t leave my friends behind.”
Something shifted in her. She sat up straighter, the blanket slipping from her shoulders. “Friends?”
“Absolutely,” I said with a grin. “I’ve had more fun with you these past few weeks than I’ve had in a long time.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, testing. “More fun than being a clown?”
“Yes,” I laughed. “Even more fun than that.”
“I don’t want you to go.”
“Friends can still be friends from miles away. I’ll come back to visit.”
Her lips twitched, fighting a smile, though she ducked her head to hide it. She tugged at the edge of the blanket again, her voice quieter this time. “But what about my mom?”
That question sank deeper than all the others.
I tilted my head, studying her.
“She’s going to miss you, too.”
Ruby’s gaze flickered with curiosity. “You won’t leave her either, right?”
A slow warmth spread through me, one that I couldn’t hide even if I wanted to.
Whatever Annie needed—whatever she asked of me—I knew in my heart I’d give it.
If she called me after this, no miles, no hours, no days would ever keep me from her.
I’d walk through fire, climb mountains, fight storms because nothing would hold me back from being where she wanted me.
If Annie asked me to stay, I would.
A part of me was hoping she did.
“Never,” I said softly. “Your mom is my friend, too.”
Something in Ruby’s little shoulders relaxed, like the weight of the world had loosened just a fraction.
She exhaled, a shaky sound, but nodded. My reassurance seemed to settle into her, enough for her to begin accepting the truth that nothing, not even goodbyes, could undo the connection we’d built.
Finally, she turned fully toward me, eyes red and watery, no longer closed off or hiding beneath her blanket.
“Do you have any questions for me?” I asked gently. “About me leaving?”
Ruby pressed her lips together, thinking hard, her little brows furrowing.
“How long until you can come back?”
“Luckily, my job will allow me to come back whenever I want.”
“Will you stay here when you visit?”
“That’s up to your mom.”
“Can we get a picture of us with Santa framed?”
“Absolutely.”
Ruby held out her hand.
“We have to shake on it.”
So I slid my large hand into her small one and sealed the promise that I’d come back, that I was her friend, and that I wouldn’t leave these two behind.