10. Brooks
TEN
Brooks
W aking up and finding Indie gone wasn’t really surprising, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t sting a bit. Knowing and understanding her, however, has made me feel a bit more confident that I’ll see her again and soon.
Pulling my shirt on as I come down the stairs into the bar, I lock eyes with Nick as he smirks knowingly.
“And there’s the other half of the dynamic duo,” he jokes.
“Don’t start.”
He’s leaning over paperwork, and I don’t pay attention to what it is as I grab a bottle of water out of the fridge beneath the bar, taking long drags as my mind runs through flash images of Indie last night, riding me, her beautiful hair, and soft moans…
“Hey, earth to Brooks?” Nick says, bringing me out of my head effectively.
“What? Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”
“Well, I’m sure your brain is full of other shit, but someone from the bank called a bit ago, and he seemed really adamant he needed to get a hold of you; I thought I’d give you the message before I forgot.”
“Fuck.”
“The number and all that is by the phone.”
Walking over to the register, I look down on the pad where Nick took down Walt’s name from the First Abaline bank and his extension.
I’m not ready for another letdown, but I no longer have to worry about that.
Not with Indie’s deal on the table. Both of us can start fresh and get out of all the bullshit we’re wading through.
“What’s going on? Why is the bank calling you?”
I swallow, meeting his eyes and trying to decide if it’s wise to tell the truth.
I just got him back.
“No reason. Business.”
His brows tug together in concern. “Well, being that this bar is a family endeavor, I’d think I was qualified to handle whatever’s happening.”
I close my eyes. “Don’t worry about it, Nick.”
“Bullshit. Whatever you’re into, whatever the issue is, I’m right here, Brooks. You’re not alone. Stop shouldering everything for both of us like we’re fucking kids. I’m a grown fucking man.”
He tosses the pen he’d been using to write across the bar, and it bounces and falls over the edge to the floor.
“I said don’t worry about it. It doesn’t concern you.”
I snatch Walt’s number off the pad, stuffing it in my pocket.
“Fuck that, Brooks. Whatever concerns you concerns me. You’re my brother!” he shouts after me as I head for the stairs that lead back to the apartment.
I stop, turning to look at him, really look at him. There are no longer dark clouds in his eyes. Does he still have nightmares? The night sweats? The flashbacks?
You can’t chance it.
“There’s no problem. Not anymore. I took care of it.”
“Great. Fine. Once again, Brooks fixes everything himself. Got it.”
I groan, brushing my hand through my hair. “Are you still covering the bar for me tonight? I have that rehearsal dance thing for the wedding.”
He looks as if he’s going to curse me out for the change of subject for a minute, but he sighs and then nods. “Yeah, I got you.”
“Thank you,” I add, hoping it’ll put a temporary Band-Aid on the scars from our fight.
I just need a little more time. Soon, this won’t be an issue, and the bar will be caught up. Sure, it all hangs on some harebrained scheme with a spiteful redhead, but it’s the best thing that’s fallen into my lap in a long time.
My brain spins jokes about her being in my lap last night, and I fight the urge to give it more than a passing thought.
My phone is losing its fucking mind on the kitchen counter when I get back to the apartment, and I take a few deep breaths before swiping it open to see texts from Taylor about the time for tonight, along with threats to be on time or getting a hot poker through my eye.
Shaking my head, I make for the shower, needing to drown out everything spinning through my mind and all the ways it could go wrong.
M s. Daisy’s School of Dance is usually used for small productions and rehearsals for the local kids who attend after school, but every now and again, things like this are held inside—for a nominal fee, I’m sure.
The space is open inside and air-conditioned, and the walls are all tacky plank wood. It’ll suit what Taylor is trying to do, however, to ensure we don’t embarrass her on her perfect day.
Indie’s standing amongst the horde of bridesmaids when I walk inside, saying hello to Ms. Daisy briefly before locking eyes with her across the empty dance space.
I tip my hat to her, casually touching the brim with a finger in silent greeting.
She pulls her lip into her mouth, worrying it a bit between her teeth.
The moment is lost on everyone in the hall except for the two of us. The air sizzling between us makes all the hairs on my body stand on end as I try to get control of my reaction.
I can’t let her know she has this much sway over me. She’s going to blow out of town as messily as she blew in. She’ll take half the money and fix her big life in California while I’m back in Abaline—better off but missing her.
That’s if I don’t get a hold of myself.
“Hey there, big guy,” she says, sidling up with a cup of pungent punch in her hand, the scent of which could knock out a dead horse.
“Please tell me that’s not Sally’s punch.”
“I don’t know who made it, but it’s delicious. After the day I had, I deserve it,” she says, her eyes glassy from the motor oil she’s currently sipping.
“Listen, Sally’s punch could remove paint from walls.” Leaning forward, I sniff the cup as she pulls it back in defense.
“Hey, let me have my fun. I’m on vacation.”
I shrug, stuffing my hands in my pockets. “Well, when I have to carry you out of here, don’t give too much fight, is all I’m sayin’.”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “I can handle my drink.”
I look around the room as if searching for something.
“Who are you looking for?” she asks as if I could possibly see anyone but her in a room full of people.
“A bar. I figure I better warn someone to watch out for you and your wild antics if there’s one around.”
She shoves my shoulder. “Knock it off.”
I spy Taylor looking over toward us with intrigue on her face.
“We’ve got an audience,” I tell Indie, and she remains facing me as she takes a big swallow of her paint thinner.
“I know. That’s why I need you to pretend like you love me.”
I laugh. “Over the top, don’t you think? We do need it to be realistic.”
“Look at me; how could you not fall in love with me instantly?” Her personality is fusing with the drink in her hand, turning her into a force to be reckoned with, a category five hurricane hitting land in Abaline, one target intended.
“You’ve got a point,” I tell her, tipping her chin up with my thumb and forefinger and leaning down to hover near her lips.
Her breathing changes.
Last night flits through my brain, and my body buzzes to life.
“I don’t know how I’ll resist. Do you have any pointers?”
Her pupils blow wide, and a soft exhale passes her pretty lips. “I?—”
I smirk, dropping my hand away and straightening away from her. “I have a bit of my own charm. I think I’ll be alright.”
“You—” she starts, but the instructor calls the class to order, and she startles as her voice comes over the microphone louder than intended.
We watch as Taylor and Spencer are walked through a few dances.
Indie is wistful, and I blame the empty cup in her hand she’s dancing with.
The instructor then announces the waltz will be where we all join the happy couple and runs through the dance for those who don’t know how to do it. She tells us to break off into pairs and that she’ll work around the room to correct us if needed.
I take Indie’s cup before someone else can pair up with the spitfire. If I’m going to behave myself, it’ll be with only my hands on her.
I place her hands correctly, one in mine and one on my shoulder, before leading her. I take the first box step with my left foot before box-stepping right. Then it’s her turn to move us back and make her move, and she does it eloquently.
In delight, Ms. Daisy comes around with her hands clasped before her face. “See, class. These two are just perfect! Anyone having trouble, watch Brooks and…”
“Indie,” I insert.
“Brooks and Indie,” Daisy says into the microphone.
I catch a smug smirk from Taylor, and I swirl Indie around, so my back is to the little fiend.
I can’t say I’m mad at having met Indie or upset that I’m in a dance class. I can say that she’s turned my world upside down, and I’m not yet sure if it’s for the better.
“You can dance,” Indie breathes, her face looking dazzled.
“I can. I learned from the best.”
Curiosity brims in her eyes. “Are you going to make me prod you to go on?”
I laugh, nodding toward Daisy.
“No. You took classes?”
“Not much to do in a small town after school. My mom thought it would do Nick and me some good to learn to be a little less…”
“Brutish?” she asks, a goofy smile on her face, adding to the beautiful rouge on her cheeks from the drink she had.
“Something like that.”
“Well, it’s something I’m sure the ladies appreciate,” she says as we continue to move through the invisible box we’re dancing in.
“I wouldn’t know. Do you appreciate it? You’re the only woman I’ve ever used the talent on.”
Something about that admission has her lost for words, and she stutter-steps, tangling her foot with mine. I stumble, grabbing her around the waist as I knock her backward, but try to keep her from hitting the floor. I flip us so that my back hits the floor, and Indie lands on my chest, her laugh barreling through the dance hall like she’s just gotten off a roller coaster at Disney World .
“Well, maybe don’t watch Indie and Brooks,” Ms. Daisy adds, walking past and giving us a disapproving look from above as I realize I’m still holding Indie close to my chest as she lies atop me laughing.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened,” she says as I help her up after pulling my own massive body off the wood floor.
“I do. Sally’s punch.”
Ms. Sally, the local gossip, sits in the corner, tapping her foot as she looks on at the dance with a cup of punch in her hand.
I pull us back onto the floor, joining in on the same waltz, now with a new song. There are a few couples who can’t get their shit together, and it allows me more time to press Indie close and tuck into the buzzing feeling I have when I’m near her.
“So, you snuck out this morning,” I whisper in her ear.
She tugs deeper into my arms. “I was late for a spa day. Taylor was freaking out.”
“Can’t have that, now can we?” I reply, realizing we’re staring at one another, our faces inching closer together as we’ve stopped waltzing and are only swaying lazily across the floor.
“No, we can’t.”
“Indie,” I breathe, a haze of attraction encircling us, blocking out the world around us entirely.
“Yeah?”
“What’s the plan for PDA in this scheme of ours?” I ask, hovering near her mouth as my breathing speeds and my body begs me to close the distance.