18
Brooks
Then
Long after I’ve left Dylan, the air in my truck still holds a trace of vanilla, like it’s waiting for something. It’s a reminder of the lighthouse, when, just for a little while, she let her guard down. I wanted to hold onto that version of her, to make sure nothing could reach her, nothing could hurt her. But even as I watched her walk inside, I could see the shift creeping back in—her defenses going up, brick by brick.
Something’s wrong. Dylan’s good at hiding, but I’ve learned how to see through the cracks. She said she’d be okay. She always does. But I know better. It’s in the way she moved, slower than usual, like her thoughts were dragging her down. It’s in the moments when she thinks no one’s watching, her expression betrays more than she realizes. And I see it. Always.
By the time I pull into my driveway, my temples are throbbing. My grip on the steering wheel hasn’t eased since I left her.
The last few days have been relentless—school, football, helping Dad, and now trying to figure out what’s weighing on Dylan. I feel stretched thin, like I’m running on borrowed energy and running out fast.
I shut off the engine and slip out of the truck, slamming the door harder than I meant to.
The world feels slightly off-kilter, like I’m standing on sand, sinking with every second. My hands find the edges of the truck’s frame, stabilizing me until it passes. God, I’m tired.
Inside, the house feels too still, like it’s holding its breath. I toss my keys onto the counter, the clatter cutting through the empty kitchen. The fridge buzzes as I grab a water bottle and take a long drink, but it does nothing to ease the pounding in my head or the unease twisting through me.
Dylan’s face flashes in my mind—the way her lips parted, like she wanted to say something, but thought better of it. Whatever she’s carrying, it’s heavy, and I don’t know if she’ll ever let me take some of the load. But God, I hope she will. She doesn’t have to do it alone, not if I have anything to say about it.
I press the cool bottle against my forehead, exhaling as I push the thought aside for now. Later, I’ll check on her. Maybe I’ll stop by the diner again tomorrow and find some excuse to see her.
But right now, I need to shut my eyes, just for a little while. My body aches and exhaustion threatens to pull me under. Five minutes. That’s all I need. Just five.
The sunlight streaming through the kitchen window does nothing to soften the mood in here. I’m leaning against the counter, arms crossed, trying to keep my temper in check while Dad stands across from me, sipping his coffee like he’s got all the time in the world.
“I’m not asking for much, Brooks. Just a few hours,” he grumbles, his tone already edging into irritation.
I let out a slow breath, trying not to snap. “I told you I’ve got plans.”
“Plans?” He narrows his eyes, setting the mug down on the table a little harder than necessary. “What plans? Hanging out with that girlfriend of yours again?”
“Her name’s Dylan. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Everything under this roof is my business, and right now, I need you at the site this afternoon. I’m short on hands.”
“Well, maybe if you’d planned better, you wouldn’t be!” The words tear free against my better judgement, but I’m past the point of reeling them back. Dylan mentioned she had a blowup with her mom last night, and I need to check on her, make sure she’s really okay. Not just pretending. “I’m not your backup worker, Dad. I’m not putting my life on hold every time you can’t figure out your schedule.”
Mom steps into the doorway, clutching a dish towel, her movements uncertain. “Let’s not do this,” she insists quietly, as though her words alone might settle things.
Dad’s voice drops, and somehow that makes it worse. “You think you’re too good to help? That camera of yours going to pay the bills? Or fund this big future you’re dreaming about?”
My pulse kicks up as I push away from the counter, stepping closer. “I’m not asking anyone to pay for anything. I just want something different! What is wrong with that? I’m not going to take over the family business just because it’s what you want.”
His jaw tightens, and he mirrors me, closing the distance with a deliberate step forward, his frame casting a shadow that feels bigger than it should. “This isn’t about what I want. It’s about doing what needs to be done. You think photography is going to put food on the table? You’re chasing some pipe dream while I’m out here trying to give you a future!”
“That’s your choice!” My voice rises, but I can’t stop it. “You want this life. Not me. I’m not going to stay in Rockport forever, running a business I don’t fucking care about. I have plans, dreams, and I’m not giving them up just because you think I should!”
His dominance hangs between us, a beast crouched low waiting to strike. Mom shifts uncomfortably in the corner, her grip on the towel tightening as though it’s the only thing keeping her stable.
“An adult doesn’t get to pick and choose when they’re responsible, Brooks,” he snaps. “You’ll be at the site in an hour. End of discussion.”
I want to argue more, to tell him exactly where he can shove his demands, but Mom steps between us, her voice calmer than either of us deserve. “Brooks, why don’t you just go help your dad for a few hours? You can see Dylan another day.”
I glance at her, her eyes pleading for some sort of truce, and I realize I’m not going to win this. Not with him. I grab my truck keys off the counter and head for the door without another word.
I pull into Ruby’s parking lot, the pressure hanging over me like a cloud. I don’t even bother going inside. Instead, I park and head around the back, knowing Dylan will find me. She always does.
A few minutes later, she steps out the back door, wiping her hands on her apron. When she sees me, her expression softens. “Hey, you okay?”
“Not even close,” I admit, dragging a hand through my hair, fingers snagging at the roots. “My dad’s pulling the same old puppet strings, yanking harder this time.”
She slouches against the wall, waiting for me to speak. Not pushing, just there. A tether I didn’t know I needed. Light slashes through the open door, catching in her hair, setting fire to the strands. But it’s the way she stands that pins me in place—strong but defensive, like she’s already bracing for something to fall apart.
I step in, erasing the space between us. Words are pointless, flimsy against the crush of everything bearing down on me.
My hands cradle her face, tracing the heat spreading beneath my fingertips. Her breath hitches, and I feel it against my lips before I even press forward. Then we’re lost in it, in the way her body sways into mine, in the need pooling between us. The world shrinks down to this—her—and the way she lets me have this moment, like it’s mine to take.
Reality slams back in like a cold wind. The second I pull back, everything I tried to forget crashes over me. “I have to go,” I say, the words unwelcome. My hands stay where they are, desperate to hold onto something real, but the moment is already slipping. “He’s waiting at the site.”
Her forehead dips against mine, a small gesture of understanding. “Do you want to meet up tonight then?” she asks quietly, her voice filled with a patience I don’t take for granted.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding slightly. “Sounds great.”
She gives me a soft look, like she knows I’m holding back. We’re both battling our own demons. I let my hands drop and take a step back, forcing a half-smile that feels forced even to me. “I’ll text you,” I say, turning toward my truck.
As I cross the parking lot, the dizziness from yesterday surges again, stronger this time. It’s like reality careens sideways, twisting under me like the universe just snapped my spine. My vision blurs, colors and shapes bleeding together. I pause to brace myself, but the ground seems to tilt beneath me.
“Brooks?” Dylan’s voice sounds from behind me, sharp with worry.
I try to turn, to let her know it’s fine, but my legs give out before I can. The last thing I hear is the sound of her running toward me before everything goes dark.