31.0 #3
She was running circles in the front yard, barefoot, her curls bouncing. Brooks watched her from the steps, sleeves rolled, tie forgotten somewhere inside. I came up beside him, brushing a strand of hair from my face.
"She's never going to sleep tonight," I said."
The Porsche sat in the driveway, gleaming faintly gold under the evening light. It still looked too new, too expensive, too much.
"Want to take her out for a spin?" he asked now, glancing over at me.
I hesitated, still getting used to the fact that my car was parked in his driveway. "You sure? It's kind of late."
"It's only seven."
Alina squealed as she spotted us. "Can we go, Mommy? Please?"
I laughed, shaking my head. "Well that's two against one."
Brooks held the passenger door open for me, but when I reached for the handle, he shook his head with a grin. "You're driving."
"Me?"
"Yeah. It's your car."
It wasn't really a question, so I got in, adjusting the seat while he rounded to the other side and lifted Alina into her car seat. She giggled as he fastened the straps, her tiny hand brushing his cheek.
"You're squishing me," she said between laughs.
Brooks smiled, soft and unguarded. "Good. Keeps you safe."
He shut the door gently, and when he slid into the seat beside me, the smell of his cologne filled the small space — clean, warm, familiar. I turned the key, the engine purring to life.
"Where to?" I asked.
"Anywhere you want," he said. "Just drive."
"Mommy can you play oopsie kitty oopsie kitty." Alina had been obsessed with super kitties and as soon as get into the car that's the only thing she'd allow us to play.
The tires hummed against the pavement as we pulled off the drive, winding down the long road that cut through the trees. The world outside was all gold and shadow, the sky softening into the kind of orange that makes everything feel suspended.
In the rearview mirror, Alina was clutching her stuffed bunny, eyes wide at every passing light. Brooks reached back once to fix the strap on her shoulder, then leaned his elbow against the center console, looking at me.
"You made today easier," he said quietly, voice rough around the edges.
"I didn't do anything."
He smiled faintly, shaking his head. "Thats the point you didn't need to. Yet you just being there made everything feel easier."
I looked over at him, the dashboard light washing his profile in soft blue. "Have you seen how people are responding?"
He shook his head once, eyes on the road ahead. "No. Haven't checked."
"I'll look when I'm back in the office," he said, his tone even, almost detached. "Once I start checking, I'll have to stay in that space. I just wanted tonight to breathe a little before I go back to being everyone's politician again."
I nodded slowly, tracing my thumb over the seam of the seat. "The election's only four months away," I reminded him softly. "You're gonna get really busy soon."
His jaw flexed. "I know," he said. Then, quieter, "But tonight... I don't want to think about votes or headlines. I just want to be here."
He glanced at me then—quick, sure—and for a second, the weight of everything outside that car fell away.
The engine hummed, the road stretched ahead, and for the first time in a long time, it felt like forward was possible.
The hum of the road filled the silence. For the first time in months, maybe years, there was no undercurrent of tension between us. Just the rhythm of our breathing and the sound of Alina's soft humming in the backseat.
We drove past the long stretch of fields, then into the small town where the storefronts were closed and the streetlights blinked awake one by one.
"Mommy," she whispered, "look — the sky looks like dark."
I smiled. "Yeah, baby. It does."
By the time we turned back toward the house, the last of the sun had vanished. The headlights cut through the dark, catching bits of gravel and grass along the drive.
Brooks reached over, brushing his thumb along the back of my hand on the gearshift. It wasn't performative or possessive — just a quiet reminder. Of us. Of what was still standing after everything.
When we parked, Alina was already asleep in her seat, her bunny tucked under her chin. I turned off the engine, letting the quiet settle again.
Brooks got out first, came around, and opened the back door. He lifted Alina carefully, her head resting against his shoulder. She didn't stir.
He looked down at her, then at me over the roof of the car. His voice was barely a whisper. "She falls asleep faster than you."
"Hopefully she stays asleep," I said, half-laughing, half-pleading.
He tilted his head, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Then maybe I'll finally get you to myself for more than five minutes."
"Brooks—"
"I said maybe," he added, grin widening. "Depends how quiet you can be."
I shook my head, biting back a smile as I shut the car door. "You're annoying."
He smiled, tired but soft, and for the first time in a long time, it felt like there was air between us again—not distance, just room to breathe.
We walked back toward the house together, the porch light already glowing warm against the dark.
And for once, it didn't feel like hiding.