Chapter 32
Gracyn
F our days.
Fifty-seven hundred agonizing minutes.
With each passing second without Presley, Brooks’s anger grows sharper and more volatile. Everyone’s frustrated. Exhausted. Presley could be anywhere by now. Our only hope is that Judith loves her enough that she’s safe.
Brooks is shutting me out. At first, he welcomed my comfort, leaned on me in his moments of weakness. But now, he’s so consumed by his own anguish, he’s throwing blame like daggers. And those daggers? They’re aimed squarely at me.
Everything was fine before I came into his world .
The guilt of enjoying a weekend with me while someone took his daughter is eating him alive. And it doesn’t help that it’s my dad who is the root cause.
I’ve tried to give him space, tried to step back while staying available for the team if they need anything. But it’s taking a toll on my mental health.
Staying here is breaking me. It would be better if I just … left. At least then, he wouldn’t have to see me. Be reminded every minute of how everything went wrong the moment I stole his coffee.
Me being here is doing more harm than good. But how do I walk away?
I open my eyes after another sleepless night, rolling over to find the other half of the bed empty. When I step into the living room, Brooks is folding up a blanket on the couch. He can’t even bring himself to sleep next to me.
I hold my breath as he walks past me. His beard has grown out, and I’m certain he hasn’t taken a shower since day one, considering he’s still wearing the same clothes he wore the night we found out about Presley. He won’t meet my eyes as he trudges to the kitchen to turn on the coffeemaker. It’s the early mornings that are the worst. Where it’s just the two of us. Gone is the carefree guy from the Grand Canyon days ago, the one who was begging me to try. That guy is gone.
“Can I make you some breakfast?” I whisper.
I see it immediately. The way his hands clench into fists, his shoulders tense, his entire body reacting to the sound of my voice as if it pains him.
It breaks my heart.
“Do you want me to leave, Brooks?” My voice cracks as I blink back the tears I’m desperately trying to hold in. The last thing he needs to deal with is my emotions.
With his back to me, his shoulders rise and fall as he stands still and quiet. Moments later he replies, “Yes. Us thinking we could be something was a mistake. You were never meant to be a part of my world.”
It’s the way he says it—cold, detached, and final—that causes my breath to catch in my throat. I nod once, turn and walk back into the bedroom.
Stay strong. This isn’t about you. I repeat over and over to myself as I shove my clothes into my bag, trying to hold myself together. He’s hurting, drowning, and lashing out. But it doesn’t help the sting. The tiny shards of glass slicing me apart from his words.
When I walk back out, bag in hand, he storms by me, slamming the bedroom door behind him.
The sound of shattering glass echoes from his room, followed by a string of curse words. My hands freeze, clutching the handle of the bag as I stare at the door. Every inch of me wants to run in there and comfort him. I wait. Hope. Desperate for him to open the door.
Tell me you made a mistake.
Tell me you’re sorry.
Tell me to stay .
Instead, it’s unnerving silence. More deafening than hearing his emotions spew out. He’s made it clear. It’s time for me to leave. I’ve overstayed my welcome.
I glance around the room one last time. Humming computers and whiteboards have shoved aside all the remnants of a little girl living here. It’s a war room rather than a warm family room with laughter, dancing, and life.
I let out a shaky sigh, looking up to the ceiling. Please, God, bring that little girl home.
The soft click of the front door breaks me. The hallway is quiet, and I make it halfway to the elevator before my legs give out. I lean against the wall, cold and unforgiving, and slide down to the floor. My fingers fumble for my phone, shaking so badly it almost slips from my grasp. I press my mom’s number. With my back to the wall, I pull my knees to my chest and sob, soft, guttural cries that tear me apart from the inside out.
“Tell me you have good news,” she answers on the first ring.
I wish. My throat tightens, and the words catch before I can get them out. “Mom, I don’t know what to do. He’s so angry.”
“Oh, sweetheart. There’s nothing you can do. If something happens to that little girl, it’s going to break Brooks. Even your love won’t help mend his shattered heart.”
I lick the salty tears off my lips. “I know that. I do. But I can’t stay here anymore. He hates me. But how do I leave him like this?”
“I promise, he doesn’t hate you. All you can do is tell him you’re there for him. Other than that, this is his fight.”
I don’t think he’ll ever need me. More gut-wrenching tears fall as emptiness fills me. “This is horrible.”
“It is. I can’t even imagine what he’s going through.” Mom’s gentle voice does nothing to soothe the pain.
I hang up and dig a receipt from my purse and a pen. I don’t want to leave like this. He needs to know I’ll always be on his side. A tear falls, landing on the thin piece of paper and blurring the ink.
What do I even say?
I sniffle, swipe my tears, and try to focus. Staring at the receipt, I grip the pen tighter, willing the words to come. But they don’t. Every time I write something, I stop. Nothing feels right. Nothing feels enough . Everything I want to say only risks making it worse. He doesn’t need that.
He hates me.
Until she’s back in his arms, that won’t change.
The thought crushes me. My fingers curl around the paper, crumbling it until it’s nothing but a ball of regret. I shove it back in my purse. With my knees drawn up, my forehead resting against them, I give myself a moment to pull my emotions in.
One more breath. Just one more.
I push off the hard floor. My legs are unsteady, but I square my shoulders and force myself to walk to the elevator.
Each step feels like I’m walking away from something I’ll never get back.
This is the end of our story.