Chapter 25
CHAPTER 25
Brooke
Either a giant woodpecker now lives nearby or someone is persistently knocking on my door. I blink my eyes open and push onto my elbows.
I’m on my stomach, lying crossways in the bed with no cover, unless you count all the throw pillows piled on my body. I yawn and pull a strand of hair stuck to my cheek by either sweat or dried tears.
I stagger to stand and stretch. I’m still in my nice jeans and silk shirt from last night. The silk is now a crumpled mess to match my hair.
My natural inclination would be to pee, brush my teeth, and look in a mirror before facing the world. If only the pesky noise would give me a minute.
Someone yells, convincing me it’s not a woodpecker. I stumble downstairs and hear my phone buzzing from the living room. I’d tossed my purse on the floor on my way upstairs, which would explain why I didn’t hear my alarm.
“Coming,” I yell at the door from the bottom of the stairs. Straightening my shirt, I hurry over and swing it open to Aniston. Timothy and Carter play outside a few feet back.
“Morning.” She raises a brow and smirks mischievously. “Looks like someone had a good night.”
I exhale laboriously and collapse my shoulders.
“Oh.” Her expression goes from insinuating to questioning.
“What time is it?”
She holds up her phone. I read nine-thirty. I never sleep past eight-thirty unless I’m sick, even on vacation.
“Are you okay?” She nods back at the boys. “Do I need to take him to your mom?”
I waver my head. “Are you in a hurry?”
“Nope.” She shakes her head.
She’s wearing gym shorts, an oversized T-shirt, and flip-flops. However, that’s typical for Aniston and doesn’t mean she isn’t busy. Half of her parenting vlogs feature her with a messy bun and well-worn makeup.
“Come in.” I drag her inside by the sleeve of her shirt and shut the door.
Her van isn’t cranked, and the boys will be fine outside playing. That’s my justification for using her to unload some baggage before I break down under all the weight.
“Want some coffee?”
“Uh, sure?” She follows me to the tiny kitchen just off the living room.
I turn on the coffee machine and frantically pull K-cups from the cabinet, spouting off all the flavors available.
“Are you okay?”
I don’t answer.
“You’re acting a little scattered. Which is cool, if you’re me . . . but it’s a little out of character for you .”
I drop a handful of K-cups on the kitchen table and collapse in a chair. “I have a major problem.”
“What’s wrong?” Her eyebrows thread together and she frowns.
I bite my bottom lip, remembering how Nate told me not to tell anyone until we came up with a plan.
“I can’t tell anyone.”
“Then how will you get help?”
I drop my head on the table and moan. Aniston ruffles my head, then sits in the chair beside me. I lift my head enough to see her and fold my arms under my chin.
“What if I guess what’s going on? Then you won’t have to tell me.” Her mischievous smirk is back.
I like that idea, so I nod.
“Okay.” She slaps her hands together, causing me to flinch. “Nate has a side piece in Atlanta.”
I scrunch my forehead, then laugh when I realize what she means by that. “No!”
“Good, didn’t think so.” She stares at the ceiling for a beat. “Timothy’s dad found out you’re dating Nate.”
I sit up. What a conundrum.
“Yes,” I answer hesitantly.
“And how did that go?”
I take a deep breath. This is weird, and trying to skirt around the issue is even weirder.
“Timothy’s dad loves Nate.”
“Cool. Most people tend to be fond of handsome pro athletes. So he’s jealous, then, right?”
“I wouldn’t say jealous.”
“Then what? Afraid Timothy will like Nate better than him?”
“Not that either.”
Aniston pulls her long blond hair behind her head and lets it fall as she makes a frustrated noise. “You’re killing me, Smalls! What’s the problem?”
I close my eyes and silently pray she’s good at keeping secrets. I’ve got to talk to someone close to me, but who doesn’t have any relationship with Timothy or Nate. And I know for a fact Morgan can’t keep a secret.
“Nate is Timothy’s dad.”
“I knew it!” She covers her mouth and shrieks.
“You didn’t know it.”
She moves her hands to the table. “May as well. I assumed it was him.”
A hissing sound comes from the kitchen counter and Aniston jerks her head that direction.
“That’s the coffee maker. Want anything?”
She flicks a caramel cappuccino K-cup my way. “But don’t change the subject. Spill the tea while you make the coffee.”
“Promise you won’t tell a soul? I haven’t told Timothy, or anyone else. We’re waiting on the right time and way to do it.”
She makes a cross motion over her head, torso, and shoulders.
I stand with her chosen flavor and start the machine as I give the facts only, not the detailed version of our last day together, taking a pregnancy test about a month later, and how I hid the father’s identity.
“You should’ve told him. It would’ve turned out just fine.”
“That’s what he said last night.” I groan and slide the coffee mug toward her.
“Thanks.”
I nod and choose a vanilla pod for me.
“Everyone will be happy.”
“I know, but you’re missing the point.”
“What?” She sips her cappuccino, then widens her eyes. “Let’s see. The father of your child is the love of your life, who also happens to be rich, handsome, and athletic. Oh, and he and the boy love each other already. What could go wrong?”
I wait on my coffee to drain into the mug, then join her at the table. “You didn’t see his face. I hurt him more than I ever could’ve thought. It was horrific. And can you imagine delivering life-altering news to people you love?”
She clears her throat. “You mean like when I told Willow and Carter they would have to live with me because their parents died instantly in a plane crash?”
“Sorry.” I stare at the table.
She touches my arm. “Hey, I wasn’t meaning that as a jab against you. I’m just saying sometimes we have to say the hard things.” She sighs. “Morgan was actually the one who had to tell them their parents died.”
“Yeah.” I stare at the tablecloth, remembering when that happened.
“It will be hard, but you’ll get through it.” Aniston gives my arm a squeeze before letting go. “There’s no way I could’ve kept this a secret eight years.”
I sit up and glare at her.
She lifts her hands. “I can now. I mean if I were you and it were me, and I had a kid.”
“I understand.” I allow my face to soften. “It was hard keeping it from my parents, but I suspect they know. They’ve always been supportive and never condemned or shamed me either. That made it easier.” I slump down in the chair and glance out the window. “Nate coming back and living a mile away made it hard.”
“I bet.” Aniston sips her drink, then licks her top lip.
“There were days I wanted to tell him, even before we got involved again. It never seemed like the right time.” I swallow some coffee to soothe my scratchy throat, then continue. “Last night we were walking in a familiar place, drinking familiar coffee, and talking about the past. It was too much pressure to keep it all in.”
“You did the right thing.”
“I hope so.”
“You did.” Aniston sets her mug on the table and leans closer. “There’s a reason they say the truth hurts, and sometimes it also hurts the person giving the truth.”
I look her in the eye and frown.
We both glance out the window when we hear the boys laughing. They must be on the porch and possibly about to come inside.
Aniston faces me. “What do you want to do with Timothy? No offense, but you look like crap on a stick and could use some rest.”
I laugh. “None taken. He can go to my parents’. They plan on going to the game.”
She drains the last of her drink, then stands. “Tell you what. I can let him fish with Easton and Carter if that’s fine with you, then bring him to the game. If you’re still not up to it, he can go home with your parents.”
On impulse, I spring from my chair and wrap her in a hug.
Aniston isn’t the huggy-feely type, but she wraps her long, skinny arms around me. “You’re welcome,” she mumbles against my hair.
I let go. “Sorry about the hug.”
“In high school I would’ve kicked you.” She smirks. “Now I kinda like it.”
I smile and follow her onto the porch, where the boys are chasing a frog. It jumps under the steps, and they lose it.
Timothy looks at me with concern. I must really look a mess. I wrap an arm around him. “I’m not feeling well, but Aniston said you can go fishing at her house with Carter and Dr. West.”
His eyes light up and he nods enthusiastically.
“Why don’t we pack you some more clothes and your baseball stuff. I’ll catch up with y’all later.”
I lead him inside while Aniston and Carter wait on the porch. Once we have him packed, he scans me up and down, as if silently assessing my condition. “Mama, are you okay?”
I nod, a nonverbal lie. “I need to rest. I had a rough night last night and didn’t sleep well at all.” That isn’t a lie.
He hugs me, and I wrap him tightly, kissing the top of his head. I can’t believe I deprived Nate of such a special boy. Considering this, I’m both shocked and thankful he reacted as calmly as he did.
* * *
Nate
Last night I couldn’t sleep.
I tried all the tricks like melatonin gummies and staying off any screens, as well as what all the older people in Apple Cart swear by: warm milk, a shot of apple cider vinegar, and the hum of a box fan.
Nothing helped.
If anything, apple cider indirectly made me think of Brooke. That led down a deep trail of what could’ve beens, with me imagining our lives had she told me right away about Timothy.
In my mind, we would’ve married by the holidays and took a Christmas honeymoon. She would’ve moved to Atlanta, and I would’ve come up with some safe and clean living situation or died trying.
Whenever she wanted, she could’ve continued school in Atlanta or online. Worst case scenario, I would’ve convinced Mom to come live nearby and help with the baby. We would’ve made it work.
What’s haunting me now is that we never got the chance to try.
I ate breakfast and lunch with Mom today. Partly because I needed a distraction. However, it also helped comfort me to be with the only family I’ve always had within reach.
She just left for her usual grocery store trip, leaving me in an empty house with thoughts that are anything but empty.
I chug a bottle of water and crumple it in my hand, then toss it in the trash can. I lean against the kitchen sink and scan the oversized eating area. This house was large and impersonal before, but that’s amplified by a thousand since I know I could have a family here.
The night we all ate together made it more like home than ever. I want that again. I want them here with me, forever, not just to share an occasional meal.
I’m not going to call or text Brooke today. I made myself promise I’d allow time to process things.
I reach for another bottle of water and notice the one sheet stuck to my refrigerator. It’s the schedule for Timothy’s games. I want to go watch my son.
Before I talk myself out of it, I grab the water and head for the garage. Halfway there, I realize I’m sock footed and turn around for some shoes.
The game is at our park in thirty minutes. That will give me plenty of time to get there and say hi to the kids. But I won’t be there early enough to make things awkward between Brooke and me.
In a small town, if we don’t talk, other people will—about us not talking.
Thanks to virtually no traffic, I arrive a little early. I sit in the truck a few minutes and watch for Brooke. Morgan walks my way at one point and I duck.
What am I doing? My long body is hunched on my floorboard. Idiot . Like they can’t see my tall, bulky black truck in the parking lot.
I push myself back in the seat, groaning as my shoulder pops. Brooke will spot me eventually unless I watch the entire game from my truck. Again, that would make me look like a stalker.
Unless Jeffrey has me thrown out again.
I get out and pass a 6U game on the way to our field. Timothy spots me before I find any of our team.
“Hey, Nate!” He hugs me.
I hug him back as always, but this time it hits differently. Before, he was a cute kid I loved and admired. Now, he’s my son. Technically he was always my son, but now our mutual admiration makes sense. And it chokes me up a bit.
Maybe coming here was a mistake?
Morgan whistles, and Timothy lets go of me to run to the dugout. I laugh, happy for her distraction from my too-deep moment.
“Hey, slugger.”
I turn around to Aniston. She has a mischievous look.
“Hey.” I nod at her, then cross my arms and turn toward the field.
She steps closer to me and whispers, “I know.”
I ignore her. But inside I’m sweating. Does she know what I think she knows?
“I won’t tell,” she adds in another whisper.
I cut my eyes her way and find her staring at me. She takes a step away but keeps talking. I stay stone cold, arms crossed.
“Nobody else knows, not even Morgan.”
My rigid posture relaxes slightly when she says Morgan doesn’t know.
“Brooke was a mess when I brought Timothy home this morning.”
That gets my attention. I face her and blink. “Where is she now?”
“Still at home. She was so upset, I pressed her to talk. I pretty much guessed it out of her, because she said she couldn’t tell anyone. For what it’s worth, she feels horrible about keeping this a secret so long. Nobody knows but me, and nobody will.” She salutes me. “Scout’s honor.”
“You were a Girl Scout?”
“Heck, no!” She holds up her hand. “Pinky swear?”
I sigh and hook my pinky with hers.
“Ouch,” she says.
“Sorry. Your fingers are wiry.”
She shakes out her hand.
“You know, I lived through both parents dying and didn’t take it well at all. When I heard the news about my sister and brother-in-law’s plane crash, I wanted to die too.” She shuffles uncomfortably. “I had nobody left but Willow and Carter. Then they tell me I need to come raise them. Me, a hippy backpacker, raise two kids.” She laughs.
I chuckle a little too.
“Scared as I was, taking in those two and moving back here was the best thing that ever happened to me.” She sighs and shakes her head. “Would I bring Jennifer and Luke back? In an instant. But we don’t get to go back, we only get to go forward. Life isn’t always as it should be, but we can make it into what it needs to be.”
I stare at her. That’s the most profound thing I’ve ever heard Aniston say. Of course, I’ve never spent much time around her. When we were in high school, she stayed away from the crowd and gave condescending jabs at all the athletes and people who actually cared about school.
“That’s very wise and thoughtful.”
She smiles at me. “It took a while, but I finally realized everyone has problems, even the ones who seemed perfect in high school.”
“I hate you didn’t hang out with everyone more. You’d see none of us had that easy of a life. I barely remember my dad.”
Aniston frowns. “I bet that makes this Timothy bombshell even worse.”
I nod, then pop my knuckles. The crowd cheers as two of our players score. Aniston claps, and I join her. I came to watch the game, but haven’t paid much attention until now.
“I want what’s best for him, no matter what.”
“It will work out. He needs both of you, and you two need each other. She still looks at you like she did in high school, you know.”
I smile. “I do.”
There’s those two words again, strung together like a lasting promise. Maybe I can say them to Brooke one day and have them declare my lifelong allegiance to her—and Timothy.
We stand on the slight hill watching the game. It’s nearing the end, and I need to decide if I want to stick around or go home.
At the top of the last inning, I turn to Aniston. “I want to protect Timothy at all costs, so you can’t say anything to anyone.”
“I won’t.” She half smiles.
“I’m leaving tonight. I don’t want to burden Brooke by showing up at church in the morning.”
Aniston’s face falls. “I think you two really need to talk.”
“We will.” I glance toward the field one more time. “When I figure out what I’m going to say.”
Before she can respond, I head for my truck. In a perfect world, I would stay. I would hug Timothy and kiss Brooke after the game. Then we’d all eat dinner together and relax on the porch.
But as Aniston pointed out, life isn’t always as it should be. I do know what it needs to be, but I need to figure out how to get there.