Chapter 7
CADE
The emptiness I’d felt when I left Birch Hollow after high school seemed to grow tenfold in the weeks after I returned to my life in southern California.
I went through the motions—grocery shopping, pay the rent and cable, shifts at the firehouse.
The whole time I felt like my chest was in a vise, like I had permanent heartburn.
I thought maybe I’d feel cocky seeing her again.
I was more in shape, more tan, more grown up than ever.
Maybe she’d see what she’d been missing, feel an underlying attraction to the boy she’d rejected.
Or maybe everything would be water under the bridge, and we’d talk and laugh like old times, the wounds dulled from our years apart.
I didn’t expect to feel such a wave of powerful emotions—protectiveness, anger, shame, frustration, loss. Each one felt like a punch in the gut.
I replayed the night, wishing I could will it into a different outcome. God, I’d acted like an idiot.
One night I got on my computer and logged into Facebook.
Stephanie, the former class president, had posted an album full of reunion photos, and she had tagged various members of our class.
I couldn’t stop my fingers from clicking through them.
My heart beat wildly in my chest when I came across one with low lighting—two bodies on the dance floor, the guy staring as the girl laughed, their arms around one another.
It was me and Brooke. How had I made her laugh?
I couldn’t remember. I quickly saved the photo to my desktop, knowing I’d return to it many times to savor the memory of her in my arms. I could still feel the ghost of her touch on my shoulder.
I navigated to Brooke’s profile. She had just a few public photos.
Her current profile picture was of her and Brock, dressed up for a date.
I zoomed in on her smile. She looked happy, but was she?
The next one was a selfie of her with a girl around the same age.
They were in pjs and had some kind of green goop on their faces.
The other girl had hair a mix of brown and blonde, piled on top of her head in a kind of messy knot.
Wispy bangs hung down nearly to her eyes.
I scrolled to see another picture of Brooke with a dog—looked like a gorgeous red golden retriever.
Her smile was definitely genuine in that one, her arm slung affectionately around the dog’s neck.
I stared at those pictures until they were burned into my brain.
Still, I couldn’t get myself to push “Add Friend.”
She’d made her choice, after all. Twice, now.
She clearly didn’t want me in her life, and trying to insert myself would only lead to even more heartache on my end, and possibly complications in her relationship, which was the last thing I wanted.
Despite my behavior at the reunion, I wasn’t the kind of guy who would try to break up a relationship.
On the other hand . . . I missed her. God, but I missed her.
Seeing her at the reunion had only increased the longing I had to have her back in my life.
Even my dreams were haunted by her smile, her laugh, those big brown eyes.
Running through a field, jumping into the swimming hole hand in hand, watching movies in the basement, bandaging her scraped-up knee—the memories played like a nonstop movie montage, clip after clip in random sequence.
I couldn’t escape. Nor could I escape the niggling feeling that told me she needed out of that relationship—that she still needed protecting.
That she needed . . . me. At least as a friend.
Back at work, the guys at the firehouse busted my balls as usual. About a week after the reunion, I had just arrived for my shift when I saw the guys all gathered around the big stainless-steel table in the open kitchen space.
“Casanovaaaa—” hollered Wreck, a giant beast of a man about ten years my senior. “Welcome back, my man. What pretty lady is on the menu this week?”
“Still can’t get over your mom, Wreck. Sorry to say,” I fired back jokingly.
“Aw come on, don’t be like that. I gotta live vicariously, man. We can't all be 22 and single. Blonde? Brunette? Redhead? What’s the flavor of the week?”
“Ya know, guys . . . I actually think I’m gonna take a break from the ladies for a while.” I shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant.
“You sick or something, Casanova?” Nineteen-year-old Blaze put his hand to my forehead.
“Just sick of your shit, Blaze,” I quipped back.
Blaze looked over to our captain, Hawk. I’d seen Hawk for two shifts so far since I’d been back. “What do you think, Hawk? We need to get a medic to check on Cas? Think he caught some kind of New Englander disease?”
Hawk didn’t look up from his paper. “Leave the kid alone, Blaze. He’s a mope. He’s probably fallen in love.”
My head jerked up. Hawk was a shrewd guy. Had he really seen it written on my face how badly I was pining for Brooke?
Hawk finally looked up and caught my eye. “You ladies shut your mouths and let me read. Now, where’s the grub?”
By the third week home, I felt like I was losing my mind. My thoughts were utterly consumed by Brooke, and I constantly waffled internally over what I should do.
I knew she was in a relationship, and maybe she didn’t have room for me in her life anymore. Maybe the best course of action was to just leave it alone.
I couldn’t just leave things how we’d left them at the reunion, though.
But maybe I should leave her be. Stay out of her life. Maybe that was the good-guy thing to do.
I’d made an ass out of myself, I reminded myself, and I’d probably do the same again if I reached out.
But maybe I could apologize.
Maybe I could get her away from that asshole. Fuck that guy.
But was it really my place to intervene?
No, but I goddamn wanted it to be.
I was tearing my hair out, my instincts at war with one another.
If I was really lucky, I’d reach out, apologize, and we could rebuild our friendship. There was still something there. We couldn’t just let ten years slide down the drain, no matter how much of a dick I’d been.
I finally resolved to try.
After the mess I’d made at the reunion, adding her to Facebook didn’t seem like the right move. It didn’t feel like enough—an empty gesture.
I sorted through the details I knew about her life now.
I knew she was a nurse. Even without adding her as a friend, her place of employment popped up on her profile: Boston General Hospital.
I didn’t know what her specialty was or what unit she worked in, though, so I’d have a bit of legwork cut out for me if I wanted to track her down.
I started by calling the general line and talking to the switchboard operator. I gave the name Brooke Meadows, and they transferred my call.
“Internal Medicine Unit, Loretta speaking,” the answering voice rang out. The voice came from an older woman. Slightly scratchy, with a distinctively Caribbean lilt.
“Hi, um—I’m looking for a nurse. I think she works in this unit. Brooke. Brooke Meadows. Do you know her?”
Suddenly my palms felt clammy. Was I really doing this? Would Brooke think I was some kind of stalker, reaching out to her work? What was I planning to say to her? Bile rose in my throat, and I nearly hung up.
“Are you a patient of Ms. Meadows?”
“No, uh . . . no. I’m a friend. Is she there?”
“What’s your name, hon?”
“Cade. Cade Adler.”
“Well Cade, she’s not on shift right now. I can leave her a message to call you?”
“No, that’s okay. I haven’t talked to her in a while, and I think it’d be better to speak to each other. I’ll—I’ll try back. Thank you, Loretta.”
“Of course, honey. Have a good day.”
I didn’t want to seem desperate (even though I was), so I spaced my calls out, trying the hospital three more times in the next two weeks.
Each time, I spoke to Loretta, whose voice at this point had become my last beacon of hope in getting to hear Brooke’s voice again.
I enjoyed the husky quality of Loretta’s voice, and how she called me “hon” like I was her long-lost grandchild.
The third time I called, she asked to put me on hold.
As I listened to the muzak through the line, I paced my small apartment.
My shift was starting in an hour. My heart was fluttering with anticipation at getting to hear Brooke’s voice through the line for even a minute before I left for work.
I could at least get in an apology for my behavior at the reunion.
The muzak stopped and Loretta’s voice came back over the line. “Cade, love?”
“I’m here, Loretta.”
“She’s not on shift tonight, but her roommate is. I talked to her a bit, and she recognizes your name. Do you want to talk to her?”
“Yes—yes. Thanks so much, Loretta. I really owe you one. You’ve been a real lifesaver.” I made a mental note to send some flowers to Loretta’s desk. She might’ve just given me a chance to get my best friend back.
All I’d done during my 48-hour shift was think about Brooke.
During calls out I’d be focused on the job, getting in and out and getting everyone to safety.
But laying in my bunk, I planned a script for what I’d say and how I’d win her over.
I decided I didn’t want our call to be rushed or disrupted, so I’d wait til I was back home to use the number I’d gotten from Whitney.
Or maybe I was just chickenshit.
Finally, on Tuesday afternoon, I paced my apartment, coaching myself. My dog looked up at me curiously as I wore a path in the carpeted floor.
“I can do this, right, Echo? Talk to Brooke?”
My pup raised his ears and cocked his head to the side.
“Yeah, well, I don’t know either. Well . . . here goes nothing. Wish me luck, buddy.”
I dialed the number. My heartbeat ricocheted in my chest with each brrrrrrrrringg.
Please pick up, I silently implored. Then, a clicking noise of the call connecting.
“Hello?” The voice sounded different through the phone.
“Brooke? It’s Cade.”