Chapter 21
BUMPER PLAY: SLOT PLAYER REDIRECTS PASSES
The town square smells like early fall on Saturday—coffee, leaves, and the faint smell of the lone food truck parked near the entrance.
Normally, I’d be stuck inside grading papers, but I came out here to clear my head.
To breathe. To recalibrate not just because of Brennan but after an incident at school triggered me.
Staying inside felt like I’d do nothing but submerge myself with bad memories and worse aftermath. I worked too hard for too long to slip back into hiding who I am.
It took years of therapy with Dr. Greenburg for me to avoid overreacting when students were suffering similar experiences to what I endured. Thursday’s incident came about as close to me crossing a line as I have in years.
Fortunately our now monthly check-in was yesterday, I reviewed everything that happened, including my sexual intimacy with Brennan as well as my potential overreaction at school that the town is agog about.
She asks me, “Do you think you were overly passionate about it?”
I hesitate. “Yes? No?”
“A very clear cut answer.”
After almost eight years of therapy with her, I do what comes naturally. I stick my tongue out at her.
She grins. “Please tell me you did that very thing to your principal.”
I grouse, “No, but I think he went home with a few new holes in his body.”
She holds up her hand on our video call. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but do you think something else triggered you?”
“Such as?”
“Such as seeing Brennan again?”
I open my mouth but nothing comes out. Because it’s not the wrong question; it’s the answer being presented as one.
Reaching for a bowl of popcorn I munch on when I’m thinking during a session, I take a handful.
Chew, swallow, chase it with a drink of water before admitting, “I didn’t put it together. ”
“Why would you? This is the first time in—” she waits for me to supply the timeline. As she always does.
“Eight or so years.”
“—over eight years you’ve spent any sort of time in his presence. Watching hockey or reading about his exploits in StellaNova doesn’t count.”
“Sure felt like it,” I mutter.
She hums. “Of course it did. Because that was as close as you ever thought you’d be again. But now that he’s in Willow Creek?”
“Now that he’s in Willow Creek, I don’t know what to do. Sure, we ran into one another. He found out the truth. We had sex—great sex. But where does that leave me?” I close my eyes briefly. “Irritable. Snapping at my boss. Unable to forget and uncertain how to move on.”
“Then let’s see how we do that. Because Amy?”
“Yes.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me if you’re asked why you didn’t press criminal charges.”
I could have. I could have burned Brielle’s world to the ground with the amount of digital evidence Christin and Aio accumulated, not to mention the sworn statements I had in my possession.
The problem was, I wasn’t in the right mindset to do anything.
I was broken—surviving one day at a time to earn a future that looked very different than the one I imagined.
By the time I was mentally ready, the statute of limitations had run out.
I learned to accept peace as my reward.
Only now Brennan’s here in Willow Creek, churning up the past and emotions I thought I’d long ago buried.
I’m so engrossed in my thoughts, I don’t look where I’m going until I crash into a hard body. “Umph! I’m so...”
Hands I recognize from the way they gripped my hips the other night send warning signals through my body even before I hear his voice. “No worries, Amy. I wasn’t paying attention either.”
Brennan. I was focused on the way my shoulders finally released their tension, on reminding myself that I did the right thing, I didn’t see him. Automatically, I step back. “Sorry for bumping into you.”
Then his voice says my name. It contains an agony that can’t be expressed using a million words. “Amy.”
I hear the regret, echoes of his bad choices, and a sorrow that overlaps with the one in my soul. Pausing to study him, I realize I’ve never seen him look this bad. He’s pale. Not smiling. He’s a very somber version of the boy I once loved. Relenting slightly, I ask, “Brennan, are you okay?”
“Me? I’m fine.”
I want to shout, Liar, but I restrain myself. “Then what can I help you with?”
Something like hope flickers across his face. “I heard what happened at school.”
“What did you hear, exactly?”
“That you walked into the principal’s office like a storm,” he says. “That you shut down a cyberbullying situation with passion. That you made it clear no one was going to hide behind procedure while a kid got torn apart.”
“That’s the bare minimum of what we all should be doing.”
He shakes his head. “From what I hear, the family didn’t think so. I hear the administration is scrambling.”
Even while I’m astounded by the accuracy of his information, I scoff. “That’s their problem.”
He smiles faintly. “That’s what everyone at The Honeyed Hearth said you told them.”
Frustration over his admiration has me glaring at him. “People gossip too much.”
“They talk about you,” he corrects. “And you deserve all their accolades.”
I don’t want to hear about them. No, what you wanted was for Brennan to believe you when it was happening to you.
He clears his throat. “What you did, it says a lot about accountability. Most especially the necessity of not just teaching it, but living up to your word.”
“I hope so. Kids pay attention whether we want them to or not.” Keeping my eyes locked on his, I note, “It’s unfortunate those lessons don’t carry into adulthood.”
“Yeah,” his voice drops. “I’m starting to understand that.”
I shift my weight. “Did you want to talk about anything else?”
“No,” he admits. “I just wanted to say… I’m proud of you. I know I have no right to be, but I’m just stating a fact.”
I study his face for any half-truths. I shake my head, “I don’t need anyone’s validation for doing the right thing.”
“That’s part of why I said it.”
I frown. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does. You didn’t do it to be seen. You did it because it mattered,” he says. Then, more quietly. “You stood up for a student more than I did for you.”
My brows wing upward. “You’re not trying to apologize again, are you?”
“No,” he says. “I already did that. And I’m not trying to force you to accept it.”
“Then what are you trying to do?”
“Acknowledge something I should have a long time ago.”
I tilt my head. “Which is?”
“That you’re more courageous than every person who didn’t believe you, believe in you.”
I open my mouth, then close it.
“You didn’t even think about the fallout. You didn’t worry about optics or consequences.”
“They don’t matter more than protecting someone.”
His eyes soften. “That’s what I mean.”
I look away, staring at the bustling park. Without looking at him, I ask “Why are you being like this?”
“Like what?”
“Considerate. Careful. Like you’re afraid to say the wrong thing or you’ll spook me.”
He considers that before admitting, “Because I am.”
I huff, even as I turn to face him. “Brennan, I’m a different person than I was when we were together."
“I know.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“I don’t expect you to.”
“Then what do you get out of,” I wave a hand back and forth between us. “This.”
“Nothing more than the chance to say, good job.”
That answer catches me off guard. My eyes narrow on him. “Something’s different,” I conclude.
“I’ve…I’m working on trying to be.”
“Why?”
“Because the guy who walked away from you because of an excuse isn’t someone I want to be anymore.”
“You can’t rewrite our past.”
“No,” he says definitively. “But I can learn from it.”
Silence settles between us, thick but not uncomfortable. A small twitch of his lips warns me something else is coming. Uh-oh.
“People told me something else,” he says.
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“They say you’re the real backbone of that school.”
I feel my cheeks burn even as I refute the claim. “They’re being dramatic.”
He recounts what he’s overheard, ticking the items off on his fingers. “All the students—not just your own—seek you out when things go sideways. Parents trust you. Other teachers listen to you.”
“That’s called doing my job.”
He whispers the last one. “They said you do everything to make school a safe place for kids to be.”
His words hit deeper than I want to admit. “I try. We both know it wasn’t always that way for me.”
“Especially when you needed it.”
I bristle. “Don’t.”
He lifts his hands in surrender. “I’m not apologizing. I’m owning the fact that when it was you who needed someone to fight for you, I didn’t.”
“That’s not why I do what I do,” I say.
“I know,” he replies. “But that's why I noticed it.”
I look at him then—really look. The tension in his shoulders. The restraint in his voice. The absence of expectation.
“You’re not trying to fix anything?” I question.
“No. I’m trying to understand how I could have been one of the people you would defend your kids against today.”
That strikes the tender spot in my heart reserved exclusively for his pain. I wonder, “Why now?”
“Now, that’s dangerous territory.”
“I’m asking.”
He rocks back on his heels before admitting, “I’ve been seeing a therapist because so much of what you said that night was the truth.”
“Such as?”
“If I had the same faith in you—in us—as you did, I’d never have believed that photo.” He shrugs his shoulders helplessly. “I need to understand how I got to that place.”
That surprises me more than anything else he’s said. “I think it’s good you’re doing the work.”
“That means more than I can say.” His words are heartfelt.
I study him for a long time. He says nothing, just watches me in return. Finally, I say, “I should go.”
“Hey Amy?”
“Yes?
He rushes out with, “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out. I’ll be happy to help with…anything.”
More of the tension eases between us. “Okay. Thanks.”
He smiles faintly. “See you around, Amy.”
I turn and walk away, without looking back. I replay his words, wondering why now? Why after all this time is he finally listening instead of leaving?
Why am I hurt it wasn’t sooner?