30. Brooks #2
“You’re an ass,” Bernice says plainly, crossing her arms. “A grade-A, certified, small-town fool. We’ve been watching that poor girl in the bakery for three days.
She’s working extra shifts for Marge, looking like her dog died, and she’s still out there helping old Mr. Henderson carry his groceries to his car with a smile on her face even though her eyes look like two burnt holes in a blanket. ”
“She’s a delight,” Dotty adds, poking a sharp finger right into the center of my chest, exactly where my uniform badge sits.
“She came to our knitting group last Thursday, Brooks. She didn’t know a purl stitch from a hole in the wall, but she sat there for two hours, bought us all lemon bars, and listened to Bernice complain about her sciatica without rolling her eyes once.
She’s got more heart in her pinky finger than you have in your whole massive, stubborn body. ”
The finger pokes harder, right into my ribs.
“We know what happened on Friday,” Hazel says. “Word gets around. You used the shift at the station as an excuse to run like a scared rabbit.”
“I didn’t run,” I snap.
The three women don’t even blink. They just stare at me with a collective, unimpressed squint.
“We know you had a hell of a shift, Brooks. We live in this town, we hear the sirens,” Bernice says, her tone shifting from angry to something much worse—profoundly disappointed.
“But you’re missing the entire point. You think you’re being a hero by shutting her out?
You think you’re protecting your little girl by keeping your life in a little plastic box where nothing can touch it? ”
“I have to keep Sophie safe,” I say, my voice dropping. “You don’t understand. This job… it’s dangerous. If I let Ember into our lives, if I let myself… I can’t put that kind of stress on her. I can’t risk breaking her world because my reality is messy.”
The three ladies exchange a long, knowing look. Dotty lets out a soft, pitying sigh, her expression softening just a fraction as she steps closer to me.
“Brooks,” Dotty says. “Are you falling in love with her?”
The question hangs in the crisp valley air, heavy and absolute.
I look at the bakery window. I look at the dirt on my boots. My chest aches so badly I can barely stand up straight.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, of course. I’m terrified of losing her, Dotty. That’s the point. If I let myself have this, if I let myself have her, and then something happens to me… it’ll ruin them both.”
“You idiot,” Bernice says. “You think keeping her at arm’s length means she won’t get hurt? Look at her in there, Brooks. She’s already ruined. She’s already in it. You can’t protect people from life by refusing to live it.”
“Ember isn’t some fragile little flower you need to shield from the wind, Chief,” Hazel says. “She’s a storm all on her own. She knows exactly what your job is. She knows you have a daughter. And she chose to walk across that grass anyway. She wanted to be there for the mess.”
“And Sophie?” Dotty asks. “You think you’re protecting Sophie by keeping her father miserable and lonely in that big house?
Children don’t need a perfect, risk-free life, Brooks.
They just need a house full of love. And right now, you’re starving that house of the one thing that could make it whole. ”
The words hit me like a physical impact, shifting something massive and stubborn inside my brain.
They just need a house full of love.
I’ve spent five years building a fortress around my daughter, fully convinced that safety meant keeping out any variable I couldn’t control.
I thought I was being a good man by rejecting Ember, thought I was sacrificing my own happiness for the sake of duty and fatherhood.
But the truth is, I was just terrified.
I was a coward hiding behind a badge, using my responsibilities as an excuse to avoid the beautiful, terrifying risk of actually being happy again.
Ember didn’t want a perfect, structured life. She wanted me. Even with the grease, even with the sirens, even with the little pink backpack by the door. And I am letting her drift away because I was too stubborn to realize that the disaster isn’t her—the disaster is a life without her.
“Son of a bitch.”
“Language, Chief,” Bernice warns, but a massive, triumphant grin is already spreading across her wrinkled face.
I don’t wait for another word. I pivot toward the storefront, my eyes scanning the interior, but the counter is empty.
The “Closed” sign is already flipped toward the street.
“Thank you,” I call back over my shoulder, not even waiting for a response. I bolt toward my truck, already reaching for the keys, desperate to beat the light fading over the valley.
“Go get her, you big dummy!” Dotty shouts after me.
I jam the truck into reverse, the gravel spraying beneath the tires as I pull out of the lot. I drive straight toward our road, the black command truck tearing down the asphalt faster than it ever has for an emergency call.
Because this is an emergency.
The biggest one of my life.
I pull into my driveway, kill the engine, and don’t even bother closing the truck door. I sprint across the lawn, my eyes locked on the farmhouse.
I reach her steps, taking them two at a time, and throw open the screen door without knocking.
“Ember!”
She’s standing in the center of the kitchen, having just walked in from her bakery shift. The big apron is gone, but the flour-dusted pencil is still stuck in her messy bun.
She turns around at the sound of the door, her eyes wide, her face pale as she stares at me, completely caught off guard.
The flat, empty look from the bakery is gone, replaced by a sudden, sharp flicker of vulnerability that makes her look breathless.
I don’t give her a chance to speak. I don’t give her a chance to erect her defense cases or deliver a witty retort.
I close the distance between us in three massive strides, my arm reaching out to grab her, pulling her flush against my chest until the air leaves her in a sharp, startled gasp.
“Brooks, what are you—”
“I’m an idiot,” I say, my nose brushing against hers. “I’m a stupid, stubborn, terrified idiot, Emmy. And I’m done running.”