Chapter 9
CHAPTER
NINE
Audrey
“It was really no problem, Tyler,” I say, smiling at my student on the computer screen. “Next week, try to focus on developing more conceptual depth in your argument. You moved too quickly to evaluation without first explaining the framework.”
He takes off his glasses and sighs. The toll of this program shows on his face. “You’re right, Dr. Van. Thank you for looking this over and giving me feedback.”
“Of course. Do you have any other questions for me?”
“No. That’s it.”
Thank God because the toll of this program is wearing on me, too. “Great. My inbox is open if anything pops up. Have a good weekend.”
“You, too.”
He exits the online chat room before I can close it—which is fine by me. After dissecting ten philosophy papers over the past eight hours, I’m cooked. I don’t want to hear anything else about methodological doubt for a very long time.
I stretch my arms overhead and yawn.
Philosophy used to fascinate me. I loved nothing more than debating with other like-minded individuals over concepts that have been argued for thousands of years.
It felt important. I spent my days dissecting life’s biggest questions and studying how philosophy shapes nearly every other field in academia.
But now? I don’t really care.
And I hate that. I hate that I’ve lost the passion for something that I’ve dedicated so much of my life to. I’ve fought it, wrestled with it. I’ve tried to tell myself I’m just depressed or bored or that the love of academia will return … but it hasn’t. And, at some point, I had to face reality.
I need a change. But where do I go from here?
My body is tight from sitting all day, so I stand and do a few stretches. I’m ten squats in when my phone rings. I glance down and see Astrid’s name on the screen. It’s an instant boost of happiness.
“Hey,” I say. She’s called a few times since I’ve been here, and we’ve texted consistently, but I miss her. “What’s going on?”
“Hey, you. How’s cabin life?”
I glance around, taking in the place that’s starting to feel like home, before sitting at the table. “I still love it. I might just stay here, and you and Gray can stay in Nashville.”
She laughs. “I might be okay with that, but I think Gray would fight you.”
I laugh, too. That’s a fight I could never win. “What’s happening back there?”
“Gray’s been at the Royals facility every day, so I’ve been trying to stay busy. Renn asked me how I would feel about helping Tate and Aurora for a while.”
“Tate, huh?” I giggle. “Your very favorite Brewer brother.”
“Ha.”
I giggle louder.
“He’s better now that he has Aurora. She makes him behave,” Astrid says.
“Well, as much as Tate can behave. But I told Renn I’d do it because it’s something to do and, quite frankly, I love organizing shit and keeping schedules.
And this house they’re building? There’s a lot of organizing and scheduling to be done. ”
“Sounds right up your alley.”
“You know it. So what’s up with you? How are you filling your time?”
I try to remember how I’ve spent the days here, but it’s fuzzy. I sleep in, which is nice. I wander around the pasture behind the cabin, which is fun. I’ve had lunch twice at Piper’s Pizza like a solo-dining professional. And I performed surgery …
A smile stretches across my face immediately as I recall a few days ago when Brooks was here. I’ve wondered how well it’s healing, or if he needs antibiotics, but I have no way of contacting him. Even if I did, I’m not sure I would. But that’s because of the whimsy list.
“What is a whimsy list?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“It’s fascinating …”
“Oh, I’ve been wandering around the ranch,” I say, starting my computer. “I’ve had lunch at Piper’s. Lisa loves you. I got an extra piece of chocolate cake yesterday because of you.”
Astrid laughs. “Lisa is a wild woman. If she invites you anywhere, buckle your seat belt and say a prayer. I mean it.”
I laugh, too. “Noted.”
“So you’re not bored?” Astrid asks.
I stare at the wall, wondering if anyone has told her about my surgical debut.
I haven’t mentioned it, mostly because it feels like a fun little secret between Brooks and me, even though Hartley knows.
And I’m also not sure how to bring it up.
I’ve assumed that someone mentioned it to Gray, who would’ve mentioned it to Astrid … but now? I’m not so sure.
“No, I’m not bored,” I say, carefully. “I caught up on work, have taken my fair share of long bubble baths, sewed up someone’s arm—”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Hartley didn’t mention it?” I ask, wincing.
“No. This is the kind of thing that warrants a call, Auddie.”
She’s right—it does. Guilt swamps me for not calling her when it happened. It might not be a super big deal, but it’s more excitement than I usually have to share.
“I was out walking the other day, and Hartley and Brooks stopped by,” I say, trying to play it like it’s no big deal. “And Brooks cut his forearm on a piece of wire or fence or something in the back of Hartley’s truck.”
“Uh-huh. Go on.”
“And he asked me to sew it shut.”
“And you did it?”
The surprise in her voice catches me off guard. “Yeah,” I say, surprised at her surprise—although I shouldn’t be. Participating in that sort of shenanigan is a bold, non-Audrey thing for me to do. “It saved him a ton of money at the hospital.”
She gasps. “Auddie.”
“What?”
“You, my sweet friend, sewed up Brooks Dempsey’s arm? Is that what I just heard?”
I shrug, knowing she can’t see me, but not sure what to say. Why did she say his name as if he’s someone special? Weird.
“Okay,” she says, settling in. “That’s great. I mean, it sounds a bit dangerous from a medical standpoint, but it’s a very cool story.”
“I made him promise not to sue me if his arm falls off.”
She laughs freely. “Wow. Okay. So this is the second time you’ve had an encounter with Brooks since you got there. Well, the second that I know of. Is he bothering you? Are you good with it? Because I can have Gray threaten him within an inch of his life.”
“No,” I say quickly—far too quickly. “It’s not like that. Both times we’ve seen each other have been random. He’s not searching me out or anything. It’s not a big deal at all.”
I’m talking too much. Too fast. Too … everything. I know it. And by the sound of Astrid’s breathing on the other end of the line, she knows it, too.
“I must admit that I didn’t see this development coming,” she says, a touch of amusement in her voice. “But I kinda like it.”
“What development?” I ask, pretending not to comprehend what she’s implying.
“You and Brooks. Spending time together. It’s an interesting choice, but I’m sure Gianna will approve.”
My eyes fly wide. What is she talking about? “No. What … No. It’s not like that. I mean, he’s been very nice and—”
“Auddie? Brooks isn’t nice. He doesn’t have a nice bone in his body.” She pauses. “Or maybe he does. You’ll have to let me know.”
“Oh, my gosh,” I say over her giggles. “That’s not what’s happening here. You sound like Gianna. Get a grip.”
“Sounds like you’ll be the one gripping something, if you know what I mean.”
“Astrid!” My face burns at her insinuation. “Again, it’s not like that.”
“Why isn’t it like that? Because you don’t want it to be? If not, absolutely fair. But if it’s not like that because of any other reason, then that’s not fair.”
I spring to my feet. My heart rattles my rib cage with its thunderous beats. I’m hot. I’m antsy, I’m … bamboozled.
Astrid can’t really think that Brooks and I would hook up. Can she?
“Listen, when I said he’s not nice, I didn’t mean it like he isn’t kind,” she says. “He actually has a huge heart buried beneath those thick muscles.”
I bite my lip as I remember just how thick and defined his muscles are.
“I just meant that Brooks is … playful.” Astrid takes a breath, undoubtedly choosing her words carefully. “Of course, he’s interested in you.”
“No, he’s not.”
“Audrey Van, yes, he is. I know him. And I also know you. You’re fun, smart, and totally hot. Men find you sexy. You just need to accept that … and accept that it’s okay to be attracted to men who don’t think they’re better than everyone.”
At least she didn’t call me sweet.
I smile sadly. I’ve wasted a lot of time trying to do the right thing and find a snotty, boring guy who would get the sparkling Van seal of approval. But it’s not easy to break years of social conditioning or to heal from being mishandled by unworthy men.
But I’m trying.
“I’m not saying you need to go fuck half of Tennessee as Gianna would suggest, but I am saying that Brooks is a fun guy,” Astrid says.
“He’s safe. If you wanted to have fun with him while you’re on your getaway, I think it might do you some good.
And there’s no doubt he’d be up for it, if you get what I’m saying. ”
Yeah, I get it. I’ve seen just how up he can get.
Memories of his cock pressed against the towel on the first night we met left little to the imagination.
I sigh, pacing the room.
How did this conversation get here? One minute we were talking about cabin life, and the next we’re discussing a possible fling with Brooks.
We’re discussing a possible fling with Brooks. The sentence rolls around my brain, accompanied by a half shriek, half cheer. Goose bumps prick my skin at the thought of it.
But the idea is so irrational that it’s ludicrous.
Sure, there’s a mutual attraction, and I’m far too comfortable around him for my own good.
Despite him seeing the whimsy list, I still wouldn’t blink an eye if he showed up on the porch because he didn’t make me feel foolish or immature about it, and he didn’t laugh at me.
Men always laugh at me. I’d bet my life that he didn’t run and tell his friends, either.
But a fling is impossible. He walks away from every interaction without looking back, almost as if I’m out of his mind as soon as he’s not in front of me. And God knows I’m not bold enough to make the first move.
“Hey, I need to go,” Astrid says. “Gray is calling, and we’re supposed to meet for dinner tonight but—”
“Go. Call me later. Love you.”
“Love you. Bye.”
I end the call and toss my phone on the table. My legs are wobbly from the adrenaline her suggestion sent spiraling through my veins, so I sit. And when I face the table, staring back at me is my list.
“It’s fascinating …”
I stare at it, remembering the day I opened the document and began typing.
Fresh off the plane with tears stinging my eyes after being humiliated by Seth.
I felt small. Managed. Reduced. And as I added to the list, shaking from frustration and grief, something in me collapsed.
It wasn’t loud or dramatic, just a quiet unraveling of the person I’d let myself become.
It was also the day that something else took root—something brave and beautiful. A path to a life that fits.
And it led me here. To now.
To this.
“He’s safe. If you wanted to have fun with him … there’s no doubt he’d be up for it, if you get what I’m saying.”
A knot twists in my stomach, slowly at first, pulling tighter by the minute. I’m caught in a tide, and my balance begins to slip—caught between instinct and expectation. Drawn forward by the promise of hope and held back by the fear of failure.
“Hesitation gets you hit.”
“You know what? Screw it,” I say, highlighting lines and moving them around the screen. A rush of adrenaline hits my bloodstream, and my fingers are shaky against the trackpad. “If I don’t do something now, I never will.”
Whimsy List
Have a one-night stand.
ORGASM! (with a man)
Wear a bold lipstick.
“Wearing lipstick is easy enough,” I say, dropping it into third place. “Let’s put an easy one at the top for the satisfaction of scratching one off.”
Buy more lingerie (and wear it often).
Stop being sweet.
Learn to flirt.
Take a self-defense class.
Get a tattoo.
Sleep in the dark without being scared.
Cut my hair.
Learn to be okay if others are disappointed (even if it’s in me).
Eat alone in public.
Do something spontaneous.
I heave a breath and sit back, taking it all in. I’m twenty-seven years old and haven’t done these things. I wonder … would my sister have done them by now?
I bite my lip and add one final thing.
Make Anna proud.
Seeing my sister’s name in print makes my chest burn with emotion.
What would she have been like? That’s a question I have often wondered over the years. Would we have been best friends? Would she understand me like no one else really does?
I hate that Anna isn’t remembered—that her short life wasn’t deemed important enough to celebrate. She didn’t get the chance to do any of the things I’m fretting over, and that realization stings.
I’m too scared to be fully myself, and Anna didn’t get a chance to be anything at all.
The truth crashes over me, heavy and unavoidable. I don’t fight against it. The shame of wasting my life, of allowing myself to be underrated—of treating my life like it’s expendable and not a gift to be treasured—settles in my soul.
Because that’s the truth. I’m wasting this one, precious life. Why?
There isn’t an acceptable answer.
“No more,” I say, clarity wiping all fog and uncertainty out of my head. “No more wasting time.”
I move the cursor and add another line, placing it between “flirting” and “taking a self-defense class.”
Learn how to give a blow job.
“Might as well be thorough while I have the guts,” I say.
I glance at the clock. It’s already eight thirty on a Friday night—but it’s not too late.
A wave of energy hits me like a tsunami, and I get to my feet. Before I can talk myself out of it, I head to the shower. Because if I’m going to stop hesitating, I’m going to be fresh and smooth everywhere.
My smile stretches across my face as I accept my decision.
I’m going to do this.
Oh, my stars.