Chapter 8 Brooks
Chapter eight
Brooks
The ring box in my jacket pocket weighs more than it should.
I check it for the third time in five minutes, fingers brushing the smooth walnut I’ve spent my free time carving.
This one is more intricate than the first box with the simple E on top.
Her new initials are etched into the lid, E.M.
if she says yes, every curve and line precise because she deserves precision.
She deserves everything, and I'm asking her to spend forever with a man who spent too many years running from anything that mattered.
My hands shake on the steering wheel.
I pull up outside her apartment at exactly five, cutting the engine and focusing on breathing. Just breathing. The technique I learned years ago when the nightmares got bad. Except this isn't a nightmare. This is the best thing I've ever done, and I'm terrified I'll mess it up.
I check the rearview mirror. My collar feels too tight. I run my hand through my hair, then wipe my palms on my jeans for the fourth time today. My heart pounds visibly in my throat, and I swallow hard against the copper taste of nerves.
The door opens, and she steps out.
My mouth goes dry.
The dress hugs every curve I've memorized with my hands and mouth.
Her curls fall loose around her shoulders, catching the evening light.
She's smiling. Not nervous. Not uncertain.
Just happy to see me, like I'm not about to upend both our lives with a question that's been burning in my chest since the night she refused to let me run.
I'm out of the truck and around to her side before she reaches the door.
"You look beautiful," I say with awe in my voice.
"Thank you." She tilts her head, studying me with those eyes that see too much. "Where are we going?"
"It's a surprise."
My hand finds the small of her back as I help her into the truck. When she slides past me, vanilla shampoo and something uniquely her hits me hard enough to make my knees lock. I grip the door frame for a beat before I trust myself to walk around to my side.
I climb in and start the engine, pulling onto the road that leads toward the mountains. Toward Eagle's Crest Trail. Toward the overlook where I first knew I was going to marry this woman.
Seven days ago. That's all it's been. One week since I went to get coffee at a bookstore café during a storm, and she made me believe in something other than guilt and ghosts.
One week and I'm asking her to marry me. My hands tighten on the wheel. I know it's reckless, but my chest just feels warm. Certain. Like I've been waiting for her my whole life without knowing it.
"Brooks." Her voice is careful. "You're really nervous. Should I be worried?"
"No. Yeah. Maybe." I glance at her, then back to the road. "I just want this to be perfect."
"Want what to be perfect?"
"You'll see."
She settles back in her seat, watching the mountains grow closer through the windshield. The road winds up into the foothills, pines crowding close on either side. The sun hangs low on the horizon, painting everything gold and purple.
She recognizes the road when I take the fork toward Eagle's Crest Trail.
"We're going to the overlook?" Curiosity colors her voice.
"Yeah."
"Why?" She shifts toward me, and I feel the weight of her attention. "Brooks, you're scaring me a little."
"Good scared or bad scared?"
"I don't know yet." But she's smiling, and that smile steadies something in my chest.
I swallow hard. "Because it's where I was when I first knew."
"Knew what?"
"That I was going to marry you."
Her breath catches, sharp and audible in the quiet cab. Her fingers twist in her lap. I don't elaborate. Let her wonder. Let the anticipation build while I try to remember a single word of the speech I've practiced a hundred times.
My mind is blank except for the pounding of my heart and the weight of the ring box against my ribs.
The trailhead parking lot is empty when we pull in. Good. I want this moment to be ours, without tourists or hikers or anyone else witnessing me potentially fumble the most important question I'll ever ask.
I cut the engine and sit there for a second, hands still gripping the wheel. My palms are damp again. I wipe them on my jeans one more time.
"Brooks." Her warm, steady hand covers mine. "Whatever this is, it's going to be perfect. Because it's us."
I turn to look at her, and the certainty in her face steadies the panic inside me. She's right. This is us. No performance. No pretending. Just two people who found each other in a storm and decided to stay.
I nod and climb out, circling to open her door. My hand lingers on her waist as I help her down, and I feel her pulse fluttering under my palm.
"Can you hike in that dress?" I ask.
"I'll manage." She grins up at me, and the sight of it makes my chest ache.
I take her hand and start up the trail. The path is familiar, less than fifteen minutes to the overlook, but now, every step feels weighted with significance.
The scent of pine fills the air: damp earth and coming winter and her vanilla cutting through it all.
An owl calls from somewhere deep in the trees, and wind sighs through the branches overhead.
She talks as we walk, something about Sophie's expansion plans for the bookstore and the new patio contractor coming Monday.
I make the appropriate sounds, but my breathing is too loud in my ears.
My boots scrape against the path. Her dress rustles with each step, and I'm only half-listening.
The other half is focused on not tripping over roots, not dropping the ring box, not somehow ruining this before I even get the question out.
Halfway up, I stop walking. She bumps into me.
"What's wrong?"
What if she says no? The thought slams into me, irrational and terrifying. What if a week isn't enough? What if I'm asking too much too soon?
"Brooks?" Her hand squeezes mine.
I shake my head and start walking again. She's here. She said she's staying. She chose me even when I tried to run. That has to be enough.
The trail opens onto the rocky outcrop, and the valley spreads below us.
Pine Valley and Ridgeway AFB nestle between peaks, lights beginning to flicker on as dusk deepens.
The bookstore is a tiny dot of warmth somewhere in the center, Elorie’s dream job.
Mountains frame us in every direction, solid and permanent, and exactly what I want to build with her.
The temperature has dropped, and she shivers slightly.
I shrug out of my jacket and drape it around her shoulders.
"It's beautiful," she breathes, pulling the jacket close.
"Yeah." But I'm looking at her, not the view. She looks up at me.
Her gaze holds mine, and I see the moment she realizes what's happening. Her lips part. Her breathing goes shallow. But she doesn't pull away.
I swallow twice before the words come. My throat clicks.
"Elorie, I’m choosing to stay. Choosing to fight. Choosing you over fear." My voice shakes, and I have to pause. "Seven days ago, I was drowning. You grabbed my hand and refused to let go."
Tears already shine in her eyes, catching the sunset.
"You made me believe I was worth loving even when I was terrified and broken. You gave me a reason to stop running and start building something real." I pause, my chest tight. "I know it's fast. I know people will say we're crazy. But I've never been more sure of anything."
My hand shakes as I reach into my pocket. The ring box feels impossibly heavy, impossibly light. I pull it out and fumble with it, nearly dropping it.
Her hand flies to her mouth.
I open the box. The simple band catches the dying light, nothing flashy, nothing that screams, just solid and real and meant to last.
She's close enough I feel her breath hitch. Close enough I can feel her heat and see her pulse hammering at the base of her throat. I want to press my mouth there, feel that flutter against my lips, but first I need her answer.
"Marry me." The words tear out of me, raw and desperate. "Let me hold on to you forever. Let me spend the rest of my life proving I'll never let go.”
"Yes."
The word bursts from her before I finish, half sob and half laugh. Tears track down her cheeks, and she's not trying to stop them.
"Yes, Brooks. Yes, yes, yes."
My hands shake so hard I almost drop the ring. She reaches out and steadies them with hers, and together we slide the band onto her finger. She stares at it, simple, perfect, exactly right, and fresh tears spill over.
"The box is beautiful."
"I wanted you to have something that said Missus without screaming it."
The ring warms against her skin, solid proof that this is real. That she said yes. That she's mine.
Then my mouth crashes into hers.
The kiss tastes like salt and relief, and every tomorrow we're going to build together. My hands frame her face, thumbs brushing away her tears even as my own fall. I feel my whole body trembling, seven years of running and fear and guilt cracking open to let in something I didn't think I deserved.
Her arms wrap around my neck, and she holds on tight. Anchoring me. Choosing me. Saying yes to all my broken pieces and jagged edges.
When we finally break apart, my forehead rests against hers. My hands stay cupped around her face like I'm afraid she'll disappear if I let go.
"I love you." My voice is wrecked, barely holding together. "I stayed for you, and it was worth everything."
"I love you too." Her hands slide into my hair, gripping tight. "Thank you for staying. For fighting. For choosing me every single day."
"Always." I kiss her again, softer this time, but no less intense. "Always you."
We stand there wrapped in each other while the sun dips behind the mountains and the valley comes alive with lights below. Stars begin to emerge overhead, one by one, and I think about how a week ago I sat in my truck outside her bookstore, paralyzed by fear.
Now I'm holding my future wife.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I ignore it.