Chapter 10
Emryn
“Stop stepping on my toes,” Brooks grumbles, a deep laugh hiding behind the grumpiness of his words.
I scoff, “I’m not stepping on your toes. You’re stepping on mine.”
Other couples dance smoothly around us, holding each other while the guy leads and the woman follows.
Brooks and I look like a couple of baby ducks compared to those surrounding us, but I can also say that this is the most fun I’ve had in a long time. Even though we both apparently have two left feet when it comes to ballroom dancing, it’s fun figuring it out with him.
The sides of my stomach ache from laughing as Brooks pulls me closer, lifting me to stand on the tops of his boots, and begins to move. It’s my favorite way to dance with him.
“I think this is cheating,” I whisper, looking around to see who is watching, but all the other couples are wrapped up in each other, paying us no mind. The instructor, a young kid doing this for extra money, has her head in her phone on the other side of the room. We are free to dance as we please.
“Nah,” Brooks smirks, “just smart thinking.”
I roll my eyes but don’t argue with his logic because I don’t want him to stop holding me. It’s easy to get lost in his arms—forget everything that has me stressed and just let myself be with him. It’s why I’ve loved him most of my life. Even when we were younger, there was a string that pulled me to him. His presence was always peaceful.
“How did your last final go today?” Brooks asks, laying his cheek against the top of my head. His lips brush over my hair, leaving a soft kiss behind, and a shiver runs from the place where they landed down to my toes.
It’s hard to concentrate when he does that. I have to clear my throat and blink a couple of times before realizing he’s asked me a question.
“It was a disaster, honestly. I’ve studied all week, but I’m not sure if I retained any of it. I’ve had too many other things on my mind. I saw your note this morning…” I trail off, unsure of how to approach this.
I know Brooks supports me, but I’m not sure if that’s enough because the truth is, I can’t split myself into two different places—home and at school.
“And?” Brooks asks, his voice full of smoke and gravel.
“Would you cheer for me even if I quit?”
I didn’t know it was a question I needed an answer to until it was past my lips—too late to take it back.
Brooks pulls his head from mine, leaning back, and I tilt my chin to look at him. He stops dancing, and we stand in the middle of the dance floor—me on his feet and his arms still wrapped around me—as couples twirl around us. “I’ll be your cheerleader no matter what you decide to do, but I’m also going to be your husband who tells you how he sees it, even if you don’t want to hear it. And right now, I think you need that more.”
My feathers are bristled by Brooks’s straightforward tone. “Then go on. Tell me what you think I need to hear—but just know, you might be sleeping on the couch.”
I don’t mean it, but I’m slightly annoyed.
He doesn’t get mad, though. He just lifts my hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing it and then grinning. “Never again, pretty girl. I spent too many nights sleeping on the couch without you last year. Where you sleep, I’m sleeping, too.”
It’s stupid how fast I melt when he says things like that.
“Fine,” I say with a shake of my head, but a smile plays on my lips, “no couch. Let’s hear what it is you have to say then.”
“I think you’re scared.” He says it like that’s the simplest explanation in the world, and I scoff.
“I’m not scared.”
Brooks doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to when his face screams, “Really?”
Offering him the same deadpan stare, I wait for him to say what he has to say.
Sighing, he says, “Come on. Let’s sit for a while, and we can talk about it.”
He leads me off the dance floor, weaving through the other couples until we are standing in front of a bench at the far back of the room. I move to sit, but he’s faster, taking the spot I was going for and pulling me into his lap.
“People are looking.”
“And?” Brooks asks, clearly unbothered. “You’re my wife. I can hold you if I want to. Let them look. Besides, you can’t smack me when I’m holding you.”
“Fair point,” I say, despite the heat crawling up my neck from the stares thrown our way. “Now tell me what you think I’m scared of.”
My husband shrugs, “Yourself.”
He’s right. It’s a good thing I’m sitting here. Otherwise, I would have smacked him.
“What an insightful answer.” My voice is flat as I stare at him.
He huffs, exasperated with my sarcasm, and then he takes my face between his hands and holds it gently. “Whether you realize it or not, you think you have to be perfect in everything you do. So if you give up, then you don’t have to fail.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re one to talk.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, and I think about leaning in and kissing the spot that makes his dimple pop. “You’re right. I’m the same way, and I’m working on it. But the first step is acceptance.”
“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”
His smile tugs into a full-blown grin when he says, “Generally, yeah.”
And even though I have to scoot off his lap to do it, I stand and smack him in the shoulder, finding satisfaction with the thunk that comes with the contact.
“Hey,” he cries, “what was that for?”
Leaning down, I drop a kiss on his lips and say, “For being you—and for being right. It’s kind of annoying.”
I committed his laugh to memory a long time ago, but the memories could never compare to the real thing. It’s deep and raspy—a sound I never want to forget.
______________________
The house is dark as we pull up the driveway. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this time with Brooks—and I’m glad we went—but now the realities settle in as Brooks shuts off the engine and walks to my side, opening the door for me.
“How do you think it went?” I ask, my hand shaking as I place it in Brook’s waiting one.
“Well, the house is still standing, and we didn’t get any phone calls. That at least has to be a good sign.”
I sigh and nod, squeezing Brooks’s hand as we walk up the front steps. Brooks must feel the same nervous tension in his stomach because his grip is just as tight on my hand.
With quiet movements, I open the door, turning the handle slowly so it doesn’t squeak. I feel like a teenager sneaking out to see Brooks again. Only now we are sneaking in, and the person on the other side isn’t my parents—it’s our daughter who does not like to be disturbed when sleeping.
She gets that from her dad.
Despite my best efforts, the hinges on the door creak as I push it open, and Brooks and I both freeze. If someone were recording this, they’d get a good laugh. We have to look comical, sneaking into our own house.
A shadow appears to the right, and I let out a yelp, unprepared to find Kip standing in a doorway in the dark.
But even in the dark, I can see the grin on Kip’s face.
“It’s past your curfew,” he says, a stern look on every part of his face except his lips. His smile gives him away.
“Can we be grounded?” Brooks asks, “I wouldn’t mind a timeout with my wife.”
Gasping, I smack his chest, but when I turn around to look at him, he’s grinning at me, unfazed.
“Did we wake you, Kip? We’re sorry. We tried to be quiet.”
On nights that Kip watches Avery for us to go on our dates, he sleeps in the guest bedroom. It’s why it’s so weird to find him standing here now. He always sleeps through us coming home.
“Nah,” he says, avoiding looking at Brooks and me, “just couldn’t sleep.”
Worry sinks deeper into my gut.
“Are you okay?” Brooks asks from behind me, his voice a rumble against the silence.
“Just dandy, son.” Kip’s smile grows wider, but I can’t help but notice that it doesn’t look real. There’s a stiltedness to it tonight that doesn’t usually exist.
“Have you heard from your doctor?” I hate to be the one who asks, but someone needs to. We’ve all been tiptoeing around this topic, and eventually, we have to talk about it. Tonight seems as good of a time as any.
He shakes his head. “Nothing other than what I’ve already heard. We need to do a biopsy to know what’s going on.”
The pain and worry on his face have me stepping away from Brooks and wrapping Kip up in a hug. His arms come around me, one hand resting on the back of my head and the other on my upper back. We stay like that for a moment, neither one saying anything. When I feel his hand start to tremble, I lean back and look him in the face. “Why haven’t you scheduled the biopsy, Kip?”
“I’ve tested death a lot in my life. There’s no reason I should be standing in front of you today—not with the number of bad decisions I’ve made in my lifetime—but I’m—I’m afraid that now that I’ve got my life together and have my family around—” he stops, getting choked up on his words, and when he speaks again his voice is rough, breaking as he tries to get the words out. “I just want to be oblivious for a little while longer.”
“Dad,” Brooks says from behind me, stepping closer to where we are standing, “that’s not how this works. You have to make the appointment because the longer you let it go, the worse it could be. Or—it could be nothing at all, but we will never know unless you schedule the appointment.”
Kip steps out of my hold and glares at his son from under bushy eyebrows. “I don’t need a lecture from my own kid.”
Brooks mirrors his glare, placing his hands on his hips, and it strikes me at that moment how similar they look—but now is probably not a good time to mention that. Instead, I step between the two as Brooks says, “Seems to me like you do. You’re a stubborn old man.”
“Brooks,” I scold.
He sighs and looks at his dad. “Look, you don’t have to do this alone—you won’t do it alone. We will be there the whole time, but we are all living in limbo right now. It’s time to schedule the appointment. If not for you, do it for your granddaughter. She’s scared, Dad.”
Kip’s face softens at the mention of Avery, the defiance slowly leaking out of him. He’s proven he would do anything for her. “You’re right. I’ll make the appointment.”
Brooks nods, his face solemn. “Thank you.”