Chapter 21
Brooke
Brooke woke to the fluttering of unfamiliar curtains and a dull throb behind her eyes. For a moment, she couldn’t place where she was. Then her memory came crashing back—the trail, the attack, the pain, Gina’s guest room.
She gingerly touched the bandage on her head. Tender. Too tender.
Voices drifted from somewhere else in the house, low murmurs punctuated by the occasional laugh.
Brooke sat up slowly, her ribs aching from where she’d been kicked.
They’d done X-rays; nothing was broken, but she was bruised and needed to take it easy.
She stood, testing her balance. Her head protested, but the world didn’t spin. Progress.
The hall bathroom was her first stop. The mirror told a tale that brought tears to her eyes. The bandage covered part of her head. Bruises spread along her jawline, and a small cut marked her cheek. “You, my dear, are a mess,” she whispered to her reflection.
After she finished in the bathroom, she returned to her room to change into sweatpants and a top Gina left for her, along with a pair of heavy socks. Deciding she looked as good as possible considering everything, she padded down the hallway to the kitchen.
Tyler stood at the stove, spatula in hand. Gina leaned against the counter with a coffee mug, dressed in scrubs. Nick sat at the table, wearing work clothes.
“Morning,” Brooke said from the doorway.
Three heads turned. Tyler’s expression shifted immediately—concern mixed with relief.
“Hey.” He set down the spatula and crossed to her in two strides. “How are you feeling? Is your head okay? Did you sleep?”
“I’m fine. My head hurts, but I slept okay.”
His hand came up like he wanted to check her bandage, then it dropped. “You’re just in time, I’m making eggs.”
Brooke made her way to the table, shooting a glance at Gina. “Gina’s letting you cook?”
“He insisted,” Gina replied. “I tried to tell him I’m not much of a breakfast person . . . ”
“But I convinced her I make amazing cheesy scrambled eggs.”
Brooke sat at the table beside Nick, who studied her with the same worried expression he’d worn last night.
“I came over to check on you,” Nick said. “I’ve got a side job I’m supposed to do today, but I wanted to make sure you were okay first. I can push it off.”
“I’m fine. Really.”
“She says that a lot,” Tyler observed from the stove.
“It’s a family trait,” Nick said. “Stubbornness runs deep in the Davies bloodline.”
“I’m working triage today. I’ve got a twelve-hour shift starting at nine,” Gina said. “I tried to find someone to fill in for me, but . . . ” She shrugged. “I’m going to try a few other people, see if I can at least get off early.”
“Thanks,” Brooke said. “I’ll probably get myself together and head home.”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Gina replied. “Wait until I get back, okay? Or stay another night. That might be best.”
Tyler set a plate in front of her—scrambled eggs, toast, and a handful of grapes. Her stomach betrayed her with a low, appreciative rumble.
“Thank you,” Brooke said.
He passed plates to Nick and Gina before settling into the chair across from Brooke with his own plate. For a few minutes, they ate in comfortable silence.
“You’re right about the eggs,” Gina admitted. “They’re delicious. More savory than I expected.”
“My secret ingredient,” Tyler replied, before taking a sip of coffee.
“Secret, huh? I think I’ll need the recipe.” Gina glanced at her watch. “I need to scoot.” She met Brooke’s gaze. “I really do want you to stay here today.”
“I can stay and keep an eye on her.” Nick offered.
“Don’t you have that job?” Brooke asked.
Nick shrugged. “I can skip it if you need me.”
Brooke looked at Tyler, who met her eyes. “Do you mind staying with me? It’s Sunday. You don’t work Sundays, right?”
“Right.” Tyler’s voice was careful, like he was trying not to seem too eager. “I can stay. If that’s what you want.”
Nick looked between them, his expression shifting from concern to something else. Something accepting. “Okay, then. But, Brooke, call me if you need anything. Anything at all.”
“I will. Promise.”
Gina and Nick left together a few minutes later, with Gina extracting promises from both Tyler and Brooke that they’d call if anything changed, if Brooke felt worse, or if they needed anything.
Then it was just the two of them in the quiet house.
Tyler cleared the breakfast dishes while Brooke stayed at the table, nursing a second cup of coffee. It was easy, the way he moved around the kitchen while she watched, the quiet between them comfortable instead of awkward.
“You’re good at that,” Brooke observed as he loaded the dishwasher.
“At what?”
“Being in a kitchen. Making breakfast. The whole domestic thing.”
Tyler smiled. “Survival skill. When you’re on your own long enough, you either learn to cook or live on takeout.”
“I’m terrible at cooking.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true. I can make coffee and bake pastries, but actual cooking? Meh. I don’t really enjoy it.” She took another sip of coffee. “I mean, I cook, of course, so I don’t starve, but . . . ” She let her voice fade away as she realized she was rambling. Brilliant, Brooke. Absolutely brilliant.
She glanced at the counter where her phone sat in a charging cradle. As she slid her chair back, Tyler turned. “Can I get you something?”
“I was going to check my phone. Gina insisted it stay out here on do not disturb . . . you know how she was last night.”
“She cares about you. You’re fortunate to have a friend like her. Nick too. I know you’re cousins, but you seem like you’re friends too.”
“We are friends,” she agreed. “He’s only been in town a few months. He had a rough time for a while. Bad breakup, and he was trying to find his footing. But he’s good now.”
“They were telling me a little about things earlier.”
“You mean about how they met? How we all almost died? Those things?”
“Those things.” He grabbed her phone. “I know you mentioned it, and I read the articles about it, but wow, Brooke. The whole thing sounds like it was crazy.”
He passed her the phone, and when their fingers touched, a jolt shot through her, quickening her pulse. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, his fingers lingering before he pulled his hand back.
Brooke cleared her throat and switched on her phone. Messages started coming in right away. Three texts from Joe, two from Steph, one from Jocelyn, a bunch from the running club and the coffee shop staff, and even a few from customers.
Her dad had left a long, rambling voicemail, offering his place for a few days while she recovered. Phil’s text was short and to the point: Gotta be careful, sis.
She typed quick responses, assuring them she was fine and thanking them for checking in. She needed to call her dad, but for now, she sent a simple message: I’m okay. Stayed at Gina’s last night. I’ll call you later.
Tyler finished the dishes and joined her at the table, his chair angled so he faced her instead of sitting across, close enough that their knees touched.
“Tell me about your coffee shop,” Tyler said. “The real stuff. Not the social media version or what you tell customers.”
So she did. She told him about the regulars who lined up before the doors were even unlocked, about Mr. Landers and how he ordered the same thing every single day until one morning he didn’t.
“Now he orders something different almost every time. Sometimes it’s the daily special, but usually it’s just whatever sounds good to him that day.
It’s odd, but I think he’s enjoying the adventure. ”
“Adventures in coffee.” Tyler smiled. “I can see that.”
She talked about the morning rush—how it had its own rhythm and how she could usually tell what kind of day the town was having just by the way people asked for their coffee.
Tyler listened. Really listened. He wasn’t waiting for a pause or steering the conversation somewhere else. He just stayed with her, like he was happy to let her talk and wanted to hear all of it.
“What about you?” Brooke asked. “Tell me about the garage. What’s it like working there?”
“Satisfying,” Tyler said after a moment. “Something’s broken, you figure out why, you fix it. It makes sense in a way most things don’t.”
“Robert seems like a good boss.”
“He is. He and Sue both. They took a chance on me by keeping me on.” Tyler’s expression shifted. “Robert’s known about my history from the beginning. I insisted he know about . . . about what people might say.”
“Boverman seems to think they’d cover for you. Lie for you.”
“Why would they? Because they need a mechanic?” He shook his head. “That makes little sense. They’ve got two others.”
“But they’re only part-timers, right?”
“For now. Andre shows a lot of promise. He’s taking some classes at the college. Robert’s even paying for those. He’s a good kid, and both Robert and Sue know it.”
Brooke smiled. She knew Andre as an awkward teen who used to come into the coffee shop with a group of other awkward teens, part of their homeschool community.
He started working at the auto shop under Stan Morgan for an on-the-job training program.
She hadn’t seen Andre in a few years and was glad to hear he was doing well.
She shared how she knew him and asked, “How old is Andre now?”
“About twenty, I guess. He doesn’t seem too bothered to be working with an accused killer either.”
“He probably realizes it’s nothing but a rumor.”
Tyler shrugged. “Maybe. I haven’t asked. It’s not the kind of conversation we have in the break room. At least it wasn’t. Now the whole Sheila mess makes break room chitchat weird.”
Brooke reached for his hand. “But they believe in you. They know you didn’t do any of the things Adam is accusing you of.”
His fingers laced with hers. “I hope not. I mean, they say they believe me. But sometimes . . . I know I’m expecting a lot of them. Of you.”
“You’re not expecting that much,” she whispered, her eyes meeting his with steady resolve. “I believe you.”
“Thanks,” he said.