Chapter 13
Tobias
The longer Brooke is here—and the more I’m around her—the more confident I am that I'm going to end up in jail.
The first couple times it happened, I thought Brooke jumping or flinching was just a fluke. The result of upending her whole life and so much of it now being in limbo.
Then I saw the look on her face when she shoved that chair between us.
It was pure terror. She looked like a cornered animal, eyes wide and wild, breathing fast and shallow.
Skin pale, heart racing. It happened again when I walked in after collecting her things from my mom’s house.
It wasn’t as dramatic, but the reaction was still there.
Startling someone is one thing, but that wasn’t what this was.
And now I have to deal with this new information while trying not to punch her father in the face before smearing him all over my mother’s expensive furnishings.
I don’t see this meeting going well.
Brooke takes a few minutes to change into some of the clothes I brought her, fixing her hair and moisturizing her face, before declaring she’s ready to go.
At least one of us is.
I load her into the side-by-side I use to get around the property, making sure she’s buckled in and as safe as I can make her, before getting behind the wheel and backing out into the midday air.
She sits beside me, stiff as a board, fingers twisting the hem of her shirt as we drive across the property.
“You don’t have to talk to them.” I glance her way, hoping maybe I can talk her out of this. “I can tell them to leave and we can be done with it.”
She shakes her head. “No. I have to do this.” Her eyes drop from where they’re staring out across the fields to rest on her lap. “I should’ve done it years ago. Then maybe…” She drifts off without finishing the thought.
There’s still enough for me to make some assumptions.
“Everything that’s happened between you and your parents, it isn’t your fault, Brooke.” I grip the wheel tighter, angry over the way they treated her when she was younger. “They are selfish, greedy people who don’t deserve you as their daughter.”
I’m surprised when she nods, the movement small but still there. “I know.” She lifts one shoulder in a small shrug. “But they’re all I have.”
I want to ask if carrying around a pile of shit is worth it simply because it’s all you possess, but now isn’t the right time for us to dig into all the ways her parents have fucked her over. Especially since I’m pretty sure they’re going to add to that list before the day is over.
So, instead of starting a conversation we can’t finish, I offer her a fact that has been true longer than I think she realizes. “No, they’re not.”
She doesn’t respond, and that’s okay. The past month has been a lot for her. She left behind whatever happened in California, started a new job, has had to make new friends, got a puppy, and the flu. I would imagine saying she’s overwhelmed is a gross understatement.
That’s why I’m here. Because the second shit starts to go sideways, I’m making sure she walks away. No one is going to treat Brooke like shit on my watch.
And I intend to make sure every day moving forward is my watch.
We arrive at my parents’ house too soon. I pull around to an area unreachable by car, making sure we can easily leave without falling victim to any more of her parents' bullshit than absolutely necessary.
Brooke gets out on her own—don’t like that—but I am able to move quickly enough that I’m at her side when we reach the base of the stairs leading inside.
I refrain from placing my hand on her back or around her shoulders.
I don’t even reach for her hand. I’m sure me being here is going to cause all sorts of problems by itself.
I don’t need to escalate it by making her parents think Brooke left whatever I’m sure they’re here to attempt to lure her back into, for me.
The house is quiet as we walk in, making me hopeful they’ve already left. But when we reach the formal living room where my mother greets guests, I find both her parents and mine sitting on opposite sofas.
Staring at each other.
The look on my mother’s face is murderous. Which is concerning, since the woman is capable of just about anything. I don’t for a second believe she wouldn’t be able to execute an unsolvable homicide, burying whatever remnants are left under a field of carefully curated endangered wildflowers.
The group slowly turns toward us at our arrival, and the difference in our parents' reactions couldn’t be more different. Mine both get to their feet, smiles wide as they come toward us, arms outstretched.
Brooke’s parents glare, frowning so hard I’m not sure their faces will ever recover.
As my mother hugs Brooke tightly, her dad’s face begins to turn red. He manages to keep his mouth shut for about two-point-five seconds longer before he begins barking orders.
“This is ridiculous.” He shoves up from the seat, wiry frame practically vibrating with anger. He flails around, clearly uncertain which direction to point. “Go get your things. We are going back to California.”
Her mother gets up next, picking up where her father left off. “There is still time to repair all the damage you’ve done. You can apologize and beg Matthew to forgive you. Explain how wrong you were.”
Oh yeah. I’m going to jail today.
But as I try to step forward, planning to intervene, Brooke catches my eye, barely shaking her head. With my mother at one side and my father on the other, she lifts her chin, looking terrified but defiant as she says, “I’m not going back to California, and I’m not going back to Matt.”
Her mother scoffs. “Of course you are.” She laughs, the sound bitter. “Too much depends on your marriage for you to just back out.”
“You mean too much money depends on my marriage.” Brooke’s voice barely waivers. “Money for you.”
Her mother isn’t bothered by Brooke’s likely accurate claim.
“Not only money for us. Also for you.” She seems genuinely confused over why her daughter is arguing.
“Matthew is rich.” Her eyes come to me before going back to her daughter.
“Wealthy enough he doesn’t have to get his hands dirty every day. ”
When my mom starts to move forward, I worry I won’t be going to jail alone.
Thankfully, my dad has always been the calm to her storm. Before she can launch herself at Brooke’s mother in my defense, he has an arm locked around her waist, pinning her tight to his side in a way most people would think was simply marital affection.
But I’ve been around long enough to know it’s damage control.
“Why would that matter?” Brooke’s brow pinches.
“Who cares how someone earns their money?” She pauses, and I can tell by the look on her face that what's coming next is going to pack a punch. It’s in the slight quirk of her brow.
The narrowing of her eyes. The flare of her nostrils.
“Especially when they don’t blow through it faster than they can make it. ”
Her parents’ heads both bob back as if she literally smacked them in the face, jaws going slack, eyes wide and filled with outrage.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Her father recovers first, his words sputtering and sharp. “You always had a roof over your head.”
I notice he doesn’t claim he provided her with anything else on a consistent basis, which is good, because I don’t mind calling the man a liar to his face.
When we dated, Brooke told me all about her childhood.
The way her parents cared more about themselves and what they wanted than meeting even the most basic of her needs.
It’s part of why—even back then—I always made sure I fed her. Did I occasionally do it by throwing Pop-Tarts at her? Yes. But I was a twenty-one-year-old kid. Stupid. Immature. Clueless in so many ways while also thinking I knew everything.
I didn’t know shit.
I still might not know shit, but I do know I’m done here.
“I don’t think there’s any reason for this conversation to continue.” I say the words politely, with every amount of fake niceness I possess, as I gesture toward the front door. “I’ll walk you out.”
But Brooke’s mother isn’t done yet. Her anger moves to focus on me, bringing more than a healthy dose of disdain along with it.
She looks me up and down, disgust curling her lips.
“I should’ve known she would come here.” Her eyes go back to Brooke.
“You would be stupid enough to get hung up on a man who made it clear he doesn’t want you. ”
I’m not sure who she was aiming for with that, but if it was me, the woman managed a bull’s-eye, hitting me in my most sensitive spot.
I don’t care what she thinks about what I do for a living. I don’t give a shit how she feels about me.
But making Brooke think I don’t want her doesn’t only cut me.
Lucky for everyone involved—and my mother’s cream-colored sofas—my dad is the king of running interference.
He’s raised a herd of rowdy boys, and spent years married to a woman strung tighter than a bow.
He doesn’t wait for me to react before stepping between me and Brooke’s mother, using one arm to push me back as he all but shoves her and her husband out of the room.
My mother attempts to duck out behind them, but I manage to block her path. “Take a deep breath and decide if it’s worth the cleanup required.”
My mother looks at me like I just said the dumbest thing she’s ever heard. “Of course it’s worth the cleanup.”
“You’re only saying that because you don’t know how involved that process can be.” I shiver at the memory of retrieving a sample of dead Dan from the detonation site. “Because I can promise you, it’s not as fun as it sounds.”
Brooke seems to wobble a little on her feet, drawing my attention to where she’s standing on the other side of my mother, looking small and pale and sad.
“Take her home.” My mother’s tone is soft now. As gentle as her hands are when she takes Brooke by the shoulders and urges her to my side. “She’s going to need a nap.”
I think we’re all going to need a nap after that bullshit.
Brooke is silent as I take her through the house, leading her in the opposite direction my dad corralled her parents.
She doesn’t say a word—might not even blink—as I drive us back to my place.
I stick to the more hidden pathways that cut through the trees, keeping us out of sight in case anyone has lingered in the hope of having a second go at convincing her to go back to California.
It’s not until I have her back in my house, all the way upstairs, and tucked into my bed that Brooke finally seems to move past the shock of the exchange. She reaches out and grabs my hand before I can leave her side.
“Wait.” Her eyes are red rimmed and puffy even though she hasn’t cried. Her lips are a little chapped, and the spot under her nose is dry and flaky from all the times she’s wiped across that area with a tissue the past couple of days.
Seeing Brooke like this makes one thing abundantly clear—I would crawl naked through broken glass for the chance to look at her face every day for the rest of my life.
“I’m so sorry.” Her chin quivers but she doesn’t cry. “I didn’t mean to bring them—”
“You haven’t done anything wrong.” I sit down beside her, needing to be just a little closer.
“You came to the place you knew you would be safe.” I reach up with my free hand, smoothing a little of her wavy hair back from her face.
“And you were right.” I can’t seem to pull my hand away, so after leaving her hair, the tips of my fingers gently trace a path down her cheek.
“You tried your best to do right by your parents, but never once have they tried to do right by you.” I follow the line of her jaw.
“I know it’s hard to face the truth because you want them to be better than they are.
” I shake my head, hating what I have to say next.
“But it’s not gonna happen. They don’t see you as someone to take care of. They see you as someone to exploit.”
She sniffs, giving me a small nod of agreement. “I know. I don’t want to hope they’re going to change, but it’s hard.”
“I know, and if I could make it happen for you I would.” I smooth across her forehead, tracing a path down the center of her nose, wishing I could track every square centimeter of her skin. “But some people can’t change. They don’t want to.”
Brooke’s eyes move over my face. “What about you? Did you change because you wanted to?”
I chuckle, because I feel like the reason for my change should be pretty obvious.
And maybe it would be if she didn’t have so much of her own shit to wade through.
“I changed because I had to. And because I knew if I ever had the opportunity to get what I want in life, I was going to have to prove I’m a better man. ”
Brooke’s voice is barely a whisper when she asks, “What is it you want?”
I wish so much I could answer her honestly. Specifically. But she’s not ready. Hearing she’s the only thing I’ve ever longed for would add to the pile of emotional garbage she’s already struggling to sift through.
So I get as close as I can without quite touching the truth. “I want to be happy.”
Her eyes are glassy as they look up at me. A single tear tracks from the corner of her eye, down her temple, and into her hair. She takes a shuddering breath, releasing it before giving me the tiniest bit of a branch to stand on. “Me too.”