Chapter 11
Tobias
“Come on, little man.” I follow Bruno around the yard. The sun is barely starting to lighten the sky as we pace from one end of the deck to the other in search of the perfect place to deposit his morning shit. “I’ve got things to do, and you’re putting me behind schedule.”
If Brooke is anything like she used to be, the woman is going to be up soon, and I want to make sure she gets her belly full before deciding where she’s going to spend the rest of her day. I’m hoping it will make her a little more open to the idea of sticking around my place.
Letting me take care of her just a little longer.
Would that have things between us moving faster than I planned to go? Yes.
Am I going to stop?
That’s a hard question to answer. Especially with her eating my food, using my shower, and sleeping in my bed.
I’m so close to having what I thought I’d let slip through my fingers, and keeping myself in check is proving to be difficult. I have to do it though. Brooke isn’t in the same place I am. She’s still reeling from whatever happened in California.
But I meant what I told her. I can wait. I will wait.
So if she wants to go back to my parents’ today, that’s what she’ll do.
Finally, Bruno squats, pinching off an amount of shit I can’t believe comes out of someone so small, before turning to kick grass dust in the opposite direction.
“Good job, buddy. No one’s ever gonna find that now.” I scoop him up because I don’t want to wait while he climbs his way back onto the deck, carrying the pup into the house before adding a little puppy chow to his bowl. After washing my hands, I begin digging items out of the fridge.
I don’t know what Brooke likes to eat in the mornings, but I do know she didn’t love a savory breakfast when we were in college. I’m not feeding her cold cereal, so hopefully oatmeal will suffice.
After toasting a couple cups of oats in a pan, I add in water, letting it absorb while I cut up a banana and some strawberries.
Once the oats are tender, I stir in a little milk and a scoop of peanut butter and start assembling.
Layering in the hot oats and fruit, I top the whole thing with a drizzle of honey before sticking a spoon into each serving.
I finish up just as I hear Brooke moving around upstairs.
Picking up the bowls, I grab a couple bottles of water, tucking them under my arm, and head up, thinking I might get Brooke to eat and go back to sleep. The more she sleeps, the better she’ll feel.
And the longer I’ll have her all to myself.
God, I’m an ass.
Giving the door to my room a tap with one foot, I quietly call her name. “Brooke? You up?”
I hear a few thumps on the other side of the door, along with a shrill yelp. It’s enough to have me twisting the knob as I call out a warning. “I’m coming in.”
Swinging the door open, my eyes sweep the room looking for her. “Brooke? Sw—”
Her head pops up over the far side of the bed, saving us both from what I was about to say.
“Hi.” She swipes one hand across her forehead. “Hello.”
I take in her rumpled state as she continues fighting her hair.
The bun I managed to create last night is sagging down against one ear, long strands of hair falling loose around her face, sticking to the sweaty skin of her brow.
She grabs the wad, attempting to tighten it back into place, her cheeks bright pink as she peers across the mattress at me.
I look over the scene. My sheets and blankets are tangled around her as she tries to stand up, looking flustered. “Did you fall out of bed?”
“You startled me.” She finally manages to get free, kicking away the covers. “I wasn’t expecting you to be up so early.”
“I usually go to work around six, so I end up awake at the same time on the weekends.” I take a cautious step inside, a little thrown at how much she suddenly seems like the woman I used to know.
Real. Unfiltered. Unhindered. It’s like, for just a minute, she’s forgotten everything that’s trying to drag her down.
Less than a day of being taken care of the way she deserves, and Brooke is already finding her way back to me.
It bolsters my confidence. Makes me feel like I’m on the right track.
Now I just have to stay the course.
“I made breakfast.” I stretch one of the bowls toward her. “Thought you might want to eat it in bed and go back to sleep for a while.”
“Umm.” She drags the sleeve of her shirt across her brow.
No. Not her shirt.
My shirt.
Brooke is standing in my bedroom, wearing my flannel. If God is merciful, she’s got something underneath it, because I don’t know if I could survive discovering it’s the only thing touching her skin.
“I’ll come downstairs.” Her eyes don’t seem to want to touch mine as they dart around the room. “Give me just a minute.”
I tip my head in a nod, because I’ve already decided I’ll give her as much time as she needs. In all the things. “Okay. Come down when you’re ready.”
It takes an immense amount of strength to turn away from the sight of her in my room wearing my clothes, but I miraculously manage it.
Reaching the first floor, I continue pushing myself into the kitchen, setting her food and mine at our normal spots before brewing a fresh pot of coffee to keep my hands busy.
I don’t have a fancy machine like my mother or Titus, but hopefully drip and a good sweetened creamer will get the job done.
Brooke’s soft steps coming down the stairs have my hand gripping the handle of the pot tight as I slosh a portion of the nearly black brew into a mug.
Buying myself a few more seconds, since I don’t know what I’m going to find when I look at her, I add in enough creamer to make it barely beige before putting the cup beside her oatmeal.
After taking a steeling breath, I lift my gaze.
Fucking hell.
Brooke’s fingers toy with the hem of a pair of my boxer shorts. She’s pulled them on under the flannel she’s still wearing, along with a thick pair of my socks that nearly reach her knees.
“I don’t have any clothes here, and the ones I had on last night felt kind of grimy, so after I took a shower, I grabbed some of your stuff.” She pinches the plush line of her lower lip between her teeth, releasing it before continuing. “I hope you don’t mind.”
Minding is about the farthest thing from what I’m doing right now.
Clearing my throat, I try and fail to remove my eyes from her. “I don’t mind. Everything in this house is yours to use as you see fit.”
Everything.
I motion at her rapidly cooling breakfast before the full meaning of my words can sink into her brain and make her skittish again. “Eat.”
Brooke must be hungry, because she settles into her chair quickly, taking in the bowl of food I’ve assembled. “This looks really good.” Her eyes lift to mine, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Way different from the Pop-Tarts you used to throw at me when we were in college.”
I knew getting close with Brooke would mean answering for all my misdeeds. I just forgot throwing breakfast pastries at her was one of them.
Sitting down beside her, I watch as she takes a bite. “I said ‘catch’ first.”
Brooke laughs, the sound taking me entirely by surprise. I think it’s the first time I’ve actually heard it since she’s been here. “Like, two seconds before.”
“It was still before.” I pick up my spoon, pointing at her with the scooped end. “And if I remember correctly, you caught them.”
“Of course I caught them.” She takes another bite. “They were frosted strawberry, the superior Pop-Tart.”
“False.” I shake my head. “Everyone knows brown sugar is the best.”
Brooke gasps, the sound as dramatic as the widening of her eyes. “Blasphemy.” She shakes her head, picking up her coffee to take a sip. “And here you claimed you were a changed man.”
I have enjoyed taking care of Brooke. Feeding her. Providing for her. I like having her in my house. In my bed. In my clothes.
But I love laughing with her. Always have.
I love that she teases me. That I can tease her back.
And in this minute, I can see the spark of what brought us together the first time around is still burning.
It doesn’t matter what she’s been through.
Doesn’t matter how long it takes for her to find the other side.
I’ll be with her every step of the way, waiting until she’s ready.
I grin as I scoop up my first bite. “If making you homemade breakfast instead of throwing a pack of toaster pastries at you doesn’t show how different I am, I don’t know what will.”
Brooke has her comeback ready and primed. I can see it in the sparkle of her eyes. But I don’t get to hear it, because some asshat chooses this specific moment to ring my doorbell.
She swivels in her seat, looking toward the door. “Do you think Titus brought us more cake?”
“I do not. I think we got all the cake we’re ever going to get.
” Scooting out my chair, I make a mental note to stop at the grocery next time I’m in town and get the ingredients to bake a cake.
I don't know how to make Mariah’s caramel cake, but I’m fairly confident I can come up with something decent enough to lure Brooke back. “Give me just a sec.”
It’s early on a Saturday morning. Everyone but Titus is probably still in bed, so I assume I’m going to see my oldest brother’s face when I open the door.
But it’s not. And the face smiling up at me is about the worst sight I can imagine.
“Good morning, honey.” My mother reaches up, patting the center of my chest before shoving me out of the way as she comes into my house. “How is everything going?”
I don’t quite know how to answer that—nor do I want to—so I stay quiet, gritting my teeth as I follow behind her. I don’t have any way to warn Brooke, so all I can do is give her an apologetic look as my mother comes right at her, one hand primed and ready to feel her forehead.
“You poor thing.” After checking Brooke’s temperature with her maternal thermometer, she rests a palm on her cheek. “You look like you feel miserable.”
“I feel better today than I did yesterday.” She inhales. “I can breathe through my nose now, so that’s a plus.”
“It is.” My mother pats Brooke’s bare knee.
“The flu is such a miserable thing, but I’m so glad you’re being well taken care of here at Toby’s house.
Especially since we can’t expose Ted to anything like that.
We’ll have to wait until we’re sure you’re not contagious before you come back to the big house.
” My mother leans close, voice low. “He has very sensitive lungs.”
That is absolute bullshit. My dad runs five miles on the treadmill every other day, and more than keeps up with us when we have to clear brush or mend fencing.
I’m not going to call her out on it though. Because my mom’s bullshit is working in my favor.
“Oh.” Brooke gives her a tight smile. “Yeah. I definitely don’t want to give this to Ted. I would feel just awful.”
“Of course you would.” My mom gives Brooke’s hand a squeeze. “Because you are a kind soul.” She turns to where I’m standing behind her, feeling leery about the extent of her motivations.
I love my mom. If she had even a glimmer of something to do with Brooke coming here, I will even admit I owe her one.
But there is no way in hell I’m gonna let her try to make Brooke move faster than she wants to go.
I get Deidre Bradshaw wants all the grandbabies, but she’s going to have to get over herself and take what she gets.
And she’s not getting shit from me. Not until Brooke says she does.
That’s the only way she was ever going to get what she wanted anyway. Because I figured out a hell of a long time ago—but also not soon enough—that Brooke is it for me. Always has been.
Always will be.
It didn’t matter where she went, or who she was with. What she was doing or how much distance was between us. No one I met ever came close to touching what I felt for her.
I’d come to terms with that eventually. Faced the fact that I was going to be alone for the rest of my life, and worked through the fallout that came with it.
But that might not be the case anymore. And I’m not gonna let anyone—myself and my mother included—fuck it up for me.
“If you’re so worried about Dad’s lungs, you should probably get out of here so you don’t take the flu home to him.”
I smile as my mom’s eyes snap to my face. She wasn’t expecting me to use her own false claims against her, but I have no problem doing it. She’s the one who created this fraudulent situation, and now she has to live with it.
Thankfully, I get to live with it too.
Putting one arm around my mother's shoulders, I lead her toward the door. “Why don’t you go ahead and pack up all Brooke’s stuff, so she doesn’t have to do without anything while she’s here. Leave it out on the porch and I’ll come grab it a little later on.”
“Sounds great.” My mom says it loud, the words sounding sweet as pie.
But the look she’s giving me is as close to a scowl as she could get without curling her lip.
Lowering her voice, she leans close as we reach the door.
“You better be careful with her. She’s been through more than you would ever believe. ”
My mother’s threat confirms my suspicions that something awful brought Brooke back to me. I know at some point I’ll find out what happened, but I think the longer it takes, the better off everyone will be.
Including the fucker I’m fairly confident is responsible for the caution my beautiful, brave, brazen Brooke now wears like armor.