24. Blaze
Blaze
I roll my eyes, leave Misty in the cab, and let myself in the front door. A chime sounds, but no one’s at the front desk.
“Can I help—” my sister’s words die in her throat when she sees me. I always get a kick out of her in work scrubs, her hair pinned back all professional. “What’s wrong?” she asks, eyes widening.
“Nothing,” I say, and her shoulders instantly sag in relief. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Is everything okay, Brooke?” A man’s voice comes from around the corner.
“All good. It’s my brother,” she calls back.
“I thought we could get some dinner and talk,” I say, feeling out of place.
“Oh. Well.” She looks over her shoulder at the man walking into the reception area. “Rocky, you remember my brother.”
I set my gaze on Dr. McCallum and take him in with a critical eye.
The guy my sister’s dating is average height, with brown hair, brown eyes, a couple of moles dotting his clean-shaven oval face.
He’s very ordinary. My mind settles on the word with a meanness that surprises me.
But he’s offering me a hand to shake, along with a smile that seems genuine.
“Blaze, nice to see you again.”
I shake his hand with a touch more force than necessary. “Thanks. Yeah. I was just seeing if Brooke wanted to get some dinner.”
“Rocky and I were going to—”
“Oh, that’s okay, you two can go ahead—”
They talk over each other, and I break through the stalemate. “You can come too, doctor, uh, Rocky.”
“Are you sure?” Brooke asks.
I nod. “Why not?”
So that’s how we find ourselves at a pizza joint on Route 302 with a pitcher of beer on the table and an extra-large pepperoni on the way.
My sister’s got the shearling jacket I gave her last Christmas over her scrubs, and Dr. Rocky has a blazer on over a collared shirt. Could the guy be any more square?
We make small talk, and Rocky’s gaze flicks over to the TV in the corner. “Hartford versus Atlanta tonight,” he says when I glance at the screen, too.
“Who do you like?” I ask.
“The Laurels all the way. Atlanta sucks,” he says without hesitation.
I laugh, relaxing into my chair a little. “Good answer.”
“Speaking of the Laurels,” Brooke says, “where’s Shawn tonight?”
“He’s doing his own thing,” I say, hoping he got my note and isn’t wondering where I am.
“Shawn?” Rocky asks.
“Shawn Camden,” Brooke clarifies. “He and Blaze are dating.”
“Shawn Camden, the shortstop?” Rocky sits up straight. “Seriously?”
I hesitate, and Brooke jumps in, “You can’t tell me you aren’t dating now when you’ve had at least one official date.”
“Okay, fine, we’re dating. I guess.” I’m not about to say sleeping together would be more accurate, because I don’t know that’s even true.
“Cool,” Rocky says. “I can’t believe they cut him midseason.”
“Me neither.”
“Why did they cut him?” Brooke asks, looking between us.
“He didn’t come back from Tommy John surgery right, or that was the story,” Rocky says.
Shawn alluded to something like that, but we haven’t talked about it in detail. “You a big baseball fan?”
“Pretty big,” he answers. We talk about the playoffs for a minute, while Brooke drinks her weak beer and makes faces. But I think she’s pleased we have something in common.
The pizza arrives, and we dig in. Rocky is considerate of my sister, making sure she has what she needs before he takes his. She sticks close to him on their side of the booth. I get that she wants to be close to someone. I feel the same way. If Shawn were here, we’d be sitting close, too.
I suddenly wish he were here with a jolt of longing so fierce it startles me. But I have to deal with one emotional minefield at a time.
As we eat and talk, I finally get it. Rocky is ordinary, and that’s the appeal.
My sister wants the stability of a normal job and a steady partner.
They’ll probably get a dog and have two kids, and I’ll get to be the uncle who spoils them when I babysit.
I understand why they would want to live in town, near the sports fields and the schools and the dog park—they want to build an ordinary life.
No easy feat, but I’m rooting for them.
It still hurts a little that I’m only learning about them now, because Brooke didn’t think I could handle her being ready to leave home.
I’d like to think I’m stronger than she gives me credit for, and that we’ve worked hard enough on our relationship that she could share the important things in her life with me.
By the time we leave the pizza place, the Laurels are up by two runs, and Rocky and I have made tentative plans to go to a car show in Portland in a few weeks.
“Oh, and bonfire night. You both have to come,” I remind them as we head to the parking lot, and I greet Misty with a stolen crust of pizza.
“We’ll be there,” Rocky says.
“See you at home?” I say to Brooke.
She frowns. “I thought maybe you’d visit Shawn.”
I check my watch. It’s getting late, and I don’t know how he’d feel about me showing up with my dog at this hour. “Nah.”
“I’ll take Misty home for you.” Brooke must think I’m really hard up.
“Well, if you don’t mind.” Before I even finish the sentence, she’s calling Misty into her car and waving goodbye.
I watch her taillights as she drives away, then look at my cell. I programmed the phone number for cabin three into my phone a few days ago.
I make the call.