Chapter 14
Kaleb
“ A nd that’s how you jumpstart a car.” Erika pauses to survey the crowd. “Who has questions?”
“Me.” A woman in front wearing a skintight red sweater raises her hand. “I’ve got one.”
It’s the tail end of Lagers and Learning and my patience is running on fumes. Thank God for Erika.
“Yes?” She squints through the crowd and points to the lady with her hand up. “You have a question about jumper cables?”
“My question’s for Kaleb,” she says, and I catch myself gritting my teeth.
“Fire away.” I brace for a quip about jumping my bones. It might be the third one tonight. “What’s your question?”
“Is it true you were dating Brooke Braham?” She crosses her arms and stares me down. “I heard you broke up with her .”
“I heard that, too!” A woman in jeans and a tank top pours beer from a pitcher. “Melissa Cantor told Samantha Price, and she heard it from?—”
“That’s it for tonight,” I tell the crowd crisply. “Thanks for coming out.” I glare at my brother as he bounds up on stage.
This is his fault. This week’s presenter—a biologist leading a workshop on jellyfish identification—came down with the flu. Mason called me to fill in.
“Hold up,” he says quickly, flipping the mic switch to mute. “I want to talk to you before you take off.”
“Why?” This is what I braced for. “You want to bust my chops about Brooke?”
“I already gave him hell,” Erika offers. “My boss is an idiot.”
“So is my brother.” He grins. “It’s almost like they’re linked somehow.”
“Are you two comedians done?” I step off the stage as Erika bends down to answer a question for someone too shy for hand raising.
“I’m going home,” I tell Mason.
“No you’re not.” He grabs my arm, still holding the mic in one hand. “You’re my brother, and it’s my job to buy you a beer when life sucks.”
I don’t want a beer. I want to be alone and wallow in this shitty mood. “I’ve gotta get home and run Ribsy.”
“No, you don’t.” He smiles at the crowd, his hand still locked on my arm. “Lucy and Harper went by your house and took her out to the beach.”
“They broke in to take care of my dog?”
“Yep.” Mason winks at a woman in the front row who’s tucking a tip in my toolbox. “It’s tough love with a side of canine TLC.”
“Fine.” There’s no fighting with Mason when he gets like this.
It’s been three days since I stood in Brooke’s kitchen and stomped my own heart under the heel of my boot. Seventy-two hours without touching her, kissing her, hearing the ring of her laugh.
I did the right thing. I know it.
I just didn’t expect it to suck this much.
“Head to my chambers,” Mason says. “I’ll be there in a sec.”
“Chambers?”
“The backroom.” He jerks a thumb toward the door off the bar. “I’m trying out a new name. Makes me feel professional and shit.”
“Dumbass.” Grabbing my toolbox, I stomp toward the back as Mason gives a pitch for Trivia Night, then pumps up the crowd for the next Lagers and Learning.
I’m repacking my tools when he pops through the door. He’s got a pint in each hand and that stupid-ass grin on his face. He gulps from one glass and pretends to stagger with pleasure. “God, I’m good.”
“At being obnoxious?” I take the beer he’s handing me. “Nailed it.”
“Shut up and try it.” He parks his ass on a bit stack of boxes. “Want to tell me what happened with Brooke?”
“No.” I sip on my beer, enjoying the bright burst of flavor. “Is this Simcoe hops?”
“Good guess. It’s actually a blend of Chinook and Mosaic.”
I try another taste. “I thought pine notes meant Simcoe.”
“Simcoe, Chinook, Mosaic, Atlas, Bor, Azacca. They’ve all got that piney flavor.” Frowning, he sets down his beer. “You trying to distract me from talking about Brooke?”
“So?” I hate when he sees right through me. That’s the thing about family, isn’t it? “It’s good beer,” I mutter. “Thanks for not giving me booze-free stuff this time.”
“Thanks for filling in tonight. You and Erika saved my ass.”
He sounds so sincere that it nudges me ever so slightly from my grumpy-ass rut. “You know I’d do anything for you.”
“I do.” He sounds thoughtful. “Which probably sucks for you.”
“Huh?” What the fuck is he talking about? “You’d do the same thing for me.”
“That’s true,” he says. “But fixing other people’s shit isn’t my whole identity like it is for you, Bro.”
I want to punch the smug smile off his face. Or hug him. Whatever. “That’s my thing?”
“Duh.”
“What’s yours?”
Mason grins and picks up his beer, raising a toast to himself. “I’m the devastatingly handsome brother who’s charming and wise with great hair and a killer physique?—”
“And an ego the size of Mt. Hood.” I take another swig of beer. If I thought he was really a braggart, we wouldn’t be having this chat. The truth of it is, Mason’s a damn humble guy. He just likes making us laugh.
“So,” he says, putting his feet on a beer keg. “What happened with Brooke?”
Her name sends a slick spurt of high-octane fuel through my veins. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
The idea of keeping his trap shut seems foreign to Mason. He stares like I’ve just said I’d rather not eat for a year. “I don’t buy that.”
“Seriously,” I insist. “I don’t fucking want to talk about it.”
Except maybe I do because stupid words fall from my idiot mouth. “She left,” I mutter. “Went back to LA for a book tour and recording audiobooks and more travel and?—”
“When’s she coming back?”
My chest feels so tight I can’t breathe. “I don’t know, and I don’t care.”
“Liar.” Mason sips his beer. “Lying liar who lies.”
“Fuck off.”
He grins. “Good to see dating America’s top advice guru led to some real emotional maturity for you.”
“We weren’t dating,” I grumble. “Just…fooling around.”
“If you’re really that dumb, I’m gonna have to assume Mom dropped you on your head.” Mason tilts his head. “Wait. Does this have to do with Mom?”
“No. Why the fuck does everyone think that?”
“Who else thinks that?”
“Lucy,” I mumble. She gave me an earful on the phone last night. “Cousin Hazel came by to borrow a hammer, which you know was complete bullshit.”
Mason frowns. “What would Hazel have to hammer?”
“Me, apparently.” My cousin was much more subtle than that. “She talked about Owen and how having him go to prison really fucked up her ability to trust anyone.” She looked me right in the eye as she said it, waiting for me to connect the dots.
“Hazel’s smooth,” Mason says with approval. “Gotta give her that.”
I grunt in response, not ready to acknowledge a damn thing.
My brother looks thoughtful as he twists the pint glass in his hand. “It’s not hard to see that what Mom did messed with you way more than the rest of us.” He rests his glass on a knee. “Understandably. I’d be messed up in your shoes.” He points at my sneakers and grins. “Are those new?”
“No.”
“Can I have them?”
“No.” For fuck’s sake. “Why are you so annoying?”
“Because it makes you stop frowning, and I haven’t seen that in days.” His self-satisfied grin annoys me again. “You’ve gotta admit though, it tracks.”
“What tracks?”
“One minute you’re mending fences with Mom,” he says. “You’re sorting through all this emotional crap around secrets and abandonment and all the rest. Next thing we know, you’re breaking it off with Brooke.”
“So?” I don’t see the connection. “She left. She lives in fucking Los Angeles.”
“I’m aware.”
“Last time I checked, LA was nine hundred miles from Cherry Blossom Lake. Not exactly grounds for a meaningful relationship.”
“Have you tried?” Ignoring my growl, he keeps going. “Seriously, don’t knock the long-distance thing.”
“Like you’ve done it?”
Mason shrugs. “For a while, after high school.” He doesn’t finish that story, since I know damn well that lasted all of two months. “And Annabelle went to a veterinary conference in Florida last week. We talked every night. It was great.”
As track records go, it’s not that impressive. “Pardon me if I don’t take your word as the long-distance relationship expert.”
“This isn’t about me.” He sounds like he’s losing his patience. “My point is that there are ways to make things work. Ever thought about living someplace else?”
“Are you high?” Of course I’d never leave Cherry Blossom Lake.
“Just pointing out that you’re pretty cavalier about expecting Brooke to uproot her life. What about you?”
This is stupid. “I told her I loved her. She told me she was leaving. Do those two things line up?”
“Did you even try?” he fires back.
This is pointless. “She left, Mason. She fucking left .”
“And you really don’t think she’d come back?” Mason’s eyes widen. He bolts up off his boxes, pointing at me like I’m on fire. “Oh. Oh shit.”
“What?” I look in my pint glass in case there’s a bug. “What’s wrong?”
“You.” He’s jabbing his finger like a monkey on a caffeine high. “You really didn’t think she’d come back. This is about Mom.”
“I’m leaving.” Chugging my beer, I stand up and start for the door.
“You’re afraid Brooke will leave and never come back.” Mason follows like a pain-in-the-ass shadow. “Or she’ll come back and leave again. Or she’ll play games with your heart, just like Mom did.”
“That’s dumb.” A voice in the back of my head says it might not be.
“It’s not, and you know it.” He reaches the door before I do, using his obnoxiously bulky body to block it. “No way, dude. Talk this through. You’re not running away.”
I’m running away to Gold Beach.
The lump in my throat makes it hard to say any words. “You know I could kick your ass, right?”
“Real mature, Bro.” Mason folds his arms. “Also, not true.”
He’s right about more than just that. It sucks hard to admit it, so I don’t. “Move.”
“Nope.”
“Mason—”
“We’re talking this out like responsible grownups.”
“You’re wearing a Beavis and Butthead T-shirt.” I glare at his chest. “Responsible grownup you’re not.”
“Fine. We’re talking this out like guys who have feelings and want to explore them.” He folds his arms. “Share,” he demands.
“I don’t think that’s how therapy works.”
“You’ve done it?”
“No.” But I’ve listened to Brooke’s podcasts. The thought of her voice in my ear nearly takes me out at the knees. “Why are you harping on this?”
“Because you’re miserable. Anyone can see that.” He doesn’t budge from the doorway, but he does soften a little. “And I care about you, okay?”
All the fight goes out of me. I fucking hate this.
“She left, okay?” I rake both my hands through my hair, hating myself more than him. “I loved her, and she left.”
Mason tilts his head. “We talking about Mom or Brooke here?”
Dammit. “Yes!”
Whatever he sees in my face makes him soften some more. “Look, I get it. It sucked for me, too, never knowing if Mom would come home again. All those rehab stays when we were kids, and the times she’d just disappear. It felt like relief when we found out she’d died.”
“Yeah.” Saying that makes me feel awful. “Except it dragged out longer for me. You guys could all grieve, and I was stuck knowing she wasn’t quite gone. Just choosing to leave us.”
“That sucks, and I’m sorry.” He sounds like he means it. “That wasn’t fair, okay?”
“I’ve forgiven her.”
“Mom or Brooke?”
“There’s nothing to forgive Brooke for.” As much as I want to be mad at her, I can’t. “She’s just doing her job.”
“You’re right, she is.” He smiles his cocky Mason smile. “And you didn’t even give her a chance to try doing it while still doing you .”
“Nice, Mason.” He’s such a putz. “Real romantic.”
He grins. “Annabelle thinks so.” His smile disappears when he sees that’s not helping. “You’re so scared of being left again that you didn’t even try to make it work. You chased off the girl of your dreams because that felt safer than waiting to see if she might actually stay.”
“She wasn’t going to?—”
“You,” Mason claps. “Don’t.” Another obnoxious clap. “Know.” Last one. “That.”
I fix him with my iciest stare. “What kind of fucked up pattycake are you playing?”
“The kind meant to help my big brother pull his head from his ass,” he fires back. “You’re so afraid of getting hurt again that you hurt your own goddamn self. It’s like whacking your face with a wrench because you think someone else might smack you with a mallet.”
I stare at my brother as his stupid-ass simile sinks in. “That’s?—”
“Yeah?”
“It’s—”
“Uh-huh?”
Dammit to hell. “Not as stupid as you look.” I sink down on the closest pile of boxes, dropping my head into my hands.
There. I said it. I fucking admitted I’m wrong. My shoulders slump as the weight of it all sinks in. “I’m an idiot.”
“You are.” He sounds way too cheerful about it. “But the good news is Brooke must like idiots.”
“She hates me.”
“And yet, she left you a goodbye letter.” He punches my shoulder, and I pull my head from my hands to see him holding a blue envelope. “For you.”
I glare at the envelope. “How did you get it?”
“She gave it to Erika.” Mason shrugs. “Guess they hung out before she left. Brooke asked her to give it to you.”
I open it up, ignoring my brother for now. Brooke’s handwriting pours onto the page, polished and perfect like her.
Kaleb,
You’re not taking my calls, so I assume you’ve blocked my number. I want to apologize. I knew full well that romantic entanglements were a misguided idea for either of us, but I pursued you because I was selfish and grieving. That’s on me. I wanted you, I came to care for you deeply, and I lost sight of my professional training. For that, I’m sorry.
But I’d be remiss if I didn’t thank you as well. Because of you, Kaleb, I’ve come to understand that loving people sometimes means losing them. Because of you, I can give myself grace and compassion, which is something I’ve never been good at. And because of your fierce love of family—and how fantastic yours is—I’ve reconnected with my own. For all this and more, I’ll hold you forever in my heart.
Take care, Kaleb. To spare us both pain, I won’t contact you again.
All my love,
Brooke
My hand starts to shake and I grip the page harder. I read it again, my brain tripping over the past tense.
I wanted you.
I came to care for you.
And the worst part of all:
I won’t contact you again.
“Jesus,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face. “She’s gone. She’s really gone.”
“I heard.” Mason frowns. “Maxine drove her to the airport, then road-tripped with Sam to LA in Brooke’s car.”
“No, I mean g one gone.” I show him the letter, not sure why this makes it real. Why it’s hitting me now that I’ve lost her for good.
“Yep.” Mason nods once as he reads over the words, then hands the note back to me. “You fucked up big time.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“So fix it, dumbass.” He slugs my shoulder, sloshing beer down the sleeve of my shirt. “Don’t just bury your head in the sand.”
I glare at my brother, ready to yell.
But dammit, he’s right.
I did that with Mom. I knew where she was, but pretended I didn’t because facing the truth was too hard.
“Okay,” I say softly, then fiercer this time. “Okay!”
“That’s the spirit.” He grins. “Is this what they call personal growth?”
“Fuck off.”
“I love you, too.” He grabs hold of my arm, yanking me to my feet. “Bro hug,” he orders, then crushes me hard with those tree trunk arms. “I’m feeling the love,” he growls as I stand there stiffly. “Hugging it out feels so?—”
“Get off me, you oaf.” Shoving his chest, I untangle myself from Mason’s embrace. “Are you gonna help me win my girl back or what?”
He smiles and picks up his beer. “All you had to do was ask.”
That night on the beach, I’m throwing a ball for my dog.
“Ready, girl?” She wags her long rope of a tail, ready to sprint when I toss it. “Get it.”
I chuck the ball toward Spencer’s Rock and watch Ribsy tear through the sand. It’s a drizzly day on the Oregon Coast, but we’ve seized a quick break between cloudbursts.
I’m thinking a lot about Brooke’s letter. All of it stung, but part of it got me thinking.
She talked about what I gave her . How I taught her to love and let go. To have as much compassion for herself as she does for everyone else.
But that’s not the full picture, is it?
The truth is that Brooke gave me so much more.
She gave me her heart, even if she didn’t say it in so many words. She might not have told me she loved me, but she showed me in so many ways.
Brooke Fucking Braham—America’s top advice guru—let me into her life and into her heart. The therapist with so much compassion for others showed me the soft, vulnerable underbelly of a woman who can’t find compassion for herself.
That couldn’t have been easy.
Brooke gave me the gift of her . She trusted me with Grace’s story. She faced down her demons at Obliot Cape and showed me what it meant to be brave. She admitted out loud that she doesn’t have all the answers. That every chapter’s a work in progress, and no rule should be carved in stone.
Brooke wasn’t fearless. She felt fucking fear and faced it head-on.
Why didn’t I see that before?
Ribsy comes running, dropping the ball at my feet with a bark.
“One more.” I chuck it far down the sand, watching her bound through the mist.
“Hi, Kaleb.”
I turn and there’s Mom. I’m not surprised this time. “Hey.”
“I thought you might be out here.” She crosses her arms, her body wrapped up in a big yellow sweater. “I heard about Brooke.”
Not surprised there, either. “Small fucking town.”
“Isn’t it?” She sounds more charmed than annoyed. “To be fair, we’re related to half of it.”
I consider that for a moment. It’s a weird source of comfort sometimes.
“It must have been hard,” I say slowly. “For you, I mean.”
Mom tilts her head. “How so?”
“You grew up here.” I nod to Spencer’s Rock. “You’ve got this family legacy and the whole town watching you spiral.” I’d never considered that before. “With that kind of pressure, I think most folks would crumble.”
Mom looks out over the ocean. She’s quiet a while, lost in her thoughts. “I hurt way too many people along the way.”
“Yes. But you’re making up for it now.” I chuck the ball again and Ribsy takes off running. “It’s too easy for people to judge when they’ve never walked in your shoes.”
She looks down at our feet, which are both bare. It’s fifty degrees and drizzly, but we’ve always loved the sand through our toes.
Ribsy runs back and deposits the ball. Mom picks it up this time. “You still love her so much, don’t you?”
I don’t flinch at the question this time. “Yeah. I do.”
“It’s hard, isn’t it?” She tosses the ball down the beach. “Loving people. Wanting to protect them. Needing to protect yourself at the same time. Trying to figure out how to do all of it at once feels like—” She pauses to watch Ribsy skid at the edge of Spencer’s Rock. “Like throwing handfuls of sand in the wind.”
I nod as my dog scoops the ball up, then trots her way back toward us.
I draw a deep breath and turn to my mom. “I messed up.”
“We all do it, baby.” Sympathy shines in her eyes. “Some of us worse than others.”
“I don’t know how to fix it.”
“That’s a first.” She bends down and picks up the ball. Ribsy barks and takes off running as Mom flings it off toward the rock. “You don’t have to have all the answers, Kaleb. You don’t need to be the expert at fixing everything. You just need to try.”
“What if I screw up again?”
“Oh, honey.” She laughs and picks up the ball Ribsy drops. “You’re gonna screw up. I guarantee it. Know what I’ve learned, though?”
“What’s that?”
“There’s power in saying you’re sorry. In making a plan for how you’ll improve, and showing the people you love that you’ve learned.”
It sounds so simple when she says it. “I could try that.”
“Trust me on this one.” She tosses the ball again, this one landing just a few feet from the waves. “There is so much beauty in saying to someone, ‘I’m sorry. I know I hurt you. I own that and I want to do better.’ You know what else?”
The wind stings my eyes and they water. It might not be just the wind. “What’s that?”
“There’s beauty, too, in being the one who says, ‘I hear you. I see you. Let’s start again.’ It’s such a brave thing to do, and it’s so damn hard.”
What would it feel like to try that with Brooke? “I want that.”
“Here.” Mom sticks a hand in her pocket. She pulls something out and I open my palm to take it.
“What is it?” The green rock rolls in my palm, revealing a smatter of tiny red flecks. “I don’t know this one.”
“Yes, you do.” She looks in my eyes and smiles. “It’s bloodstone. For courage.”
I look down at the rock, rolling it over the bumps in my palm. It’s rounded and smooth, warm from her pocket.
Ribsy barks, but Mom doesn’t pick up the ball. “I kept that with me for weeks before deciding to come back here,” she says. “It took a lot to screw up the courage to face everyone. To make amends and see if there was anything left for me to salvage.”
“You’re so fucking brave.” My throat fills with gravel and I clear it. “I hope to be half as brave as you.”
Mom wraps her arms around me, fingertips brushing the base of my spine. “You already are, baby,” she says. “You already are.”