Chapter 12 Drew
Drew
Pushing open the door to the locker room, I naturally fall into my usual path over the stark Flames logo on the center of the carpet.
I head for my stall without looking up from my phone, the last chorus of my current hyper-fixation song coming to a close.
The noise blasting through my headphones at full blast fades out as my shins hit the bench in front of my space.
Swiping out of my music, a laugh quickly replaces the beat, and my head swings toward the direction it comes from. At the same time, Ward walks over to me, nudging my shoulder.
"Yo," he says.
"What's that about?" I ask too quickly, tipping my head toward the back of the room where Brooke is laughing unnecessarily loud at whatever Burnsey just said.
"Uh, I don't know?" he says, taking them in. "I just got here like thirty seconds before you."
I nod, my eyes still lingering on Brooke who hasn't spotted me yet. Taking advantage of the time I have to drink her in, I let myself really admire her for the first time since that night at the gala.
Her black denim jeans hug the curve carved perfectly above her hips, her graphic t-shirt tied up in a knot, sitting just above the button. Her hair hangs in loose waves, framing her face that's locked in on Brett's, which is driving me crazy.
What's worse is that she looks so relaxed right now—her weight settled on one boot, her hands dipped casually into her two front pockets. The smile she's wearing is easy—like she's shooting the shit with a friend. Nothing like she is with me.
For a second, it rubs me wrong. I can't quite place it at first, but something about the way she's acting bothers me, and it goes beyond the fact that my charming friend is clearly leaving an impression.
When she lifts her hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, a small butterfly tattoo reveals itself on the bottom of her forearm.
Dropping my backpack onto the bench, I inhale deeply then turn on the ball of my foot.
I get only a few strides closer before Brooke and Brett both turn my way.
I didn't realize it was there before—I guess when her hands were pushed back, pressed against the sides of the sink, I didn't notice.
When she was in that motorcycle jacket or her slouchy sweatshirt, I didn't notice either.
But now I do. And it hits me why her behavior's nagging at me.
That first night Brooke and I were together, she was like a butterfly with me—bold, beautiful. Her wings wore a pattern that was intricate and unreadable, but they were fully spread. Free.
Now, she's different. Still gorgeous—still elusive as hell—but her wings are tucked, her colors turned inward like she's hiding them away. Like she's keeping them from me.
I know she said she's changed since then—that her priorities have shifted, and I don't fit into the rest of her life like I did that night.
But I fucking hate that she's not being herself around me.
Not acting with me like she is right now.
I want the Brooke from that night back. Even if her plans have changed.
Shit, I just want Brooke, period.
"Yo, Cap, what's goin' on?" Brett holds out his hand, and I clap mine to his. Stepping into him, I bring my other palm to his shoulder, all the while, locking eyes with Brooke.
"What's up, man?" We separate, and he crosses his arms. "Coach asked me to give the new girl a little facilities tour before everyone started droppin' trow."
Brooke smothers a laugh, and I grin more at the way her lips meet in a dimple than at Burn's stupid comment. "How far did ya get?" I ask.
"Uh..." Brett looks over my shoulder toward the entrance, then back at his feet. "To about here," he says, rocking back on his heels.
I nod, give Brooke a quick once-over, then look back at him. "How about you let me take over?"
"Nah, it's all good, Cap. I don't—" I lower my chin and cock a brow. "Oh," he drags out. "Oh, okay. I see you." He nudges my arm, then turns to Brooke and fucking bows. "My lady."
"Brett, you don’t have to—" she attempts.
"Get the hell out of here," I say lightheartedly, shoving him back toward the stalls.
He stumbles away, leaving just Brooke and me nearly pressed up against the giant flat screen that hangs on the wall.
"Brett was doing a good job, you know." Brooke crosses her arms and nibbles at her bottom lip.
I dare to take half a step closer to her and shove both hands into my back pockets. "I'll try to do better."
Brooke swallows, dropping her arms and standing up straighter as if I'm talking about more than the tour.
Because I am.
"Alright, well, where were we?"
"No, he was right. We literally only made it this far. I think you got here like two minutes after us."
"Oh." I nod toward the short hallway behind her. "Let's hit the showers then."
Brooke's lips part slightly as I brush past her, only half-grinning to myself.
I walk the few feet it takes to cross from the locker room into the showers, feeling Brooke at my heels as I do. "Alright, well, I'm guessing you'll never need to see this again, but here's where we all get naked."
She glances over slyly, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, I know Levi gave me free reign, but I have a feeling the organization might have an issue with their players being exposed on social media."
"True," I agree. "Which is kind of a shame. Some of the guys have killer shower voices."
Brooke drops her head in an attempt to resist responding, but she fails. "Now that I'd love to see."
"I'll try to record it sometime," I say, causing Brooke to look at me curiously. "The audio, I mean. Just the audio."
She nods through a smile. "Do you ever harmonize? Maybe drop some bars?"
Now it's my turn to gape at her. Not just because of what she says, but that she's continuing conversation at all. "Drop some bars?"
She huffs, shoving my chest like she did before, my skin filling with goosebumps like it also remembers. "You know what I mean."
I shake my head. "No, I don't harmonize." I lean into her. "Or drop bars. That's not really my style of music."
"What do you listen to?"
I purse my lips, inhaling deeply. "Angsty shit," I say, going with Burnsey's favorite description.
Brooke tilts her head, looking me up and down. "Huh… I can see it."
I don't ask her why although the question threatens to burst from my throat. Brooke lit up the second I mentioned music. I'm not risking all of that coming to a grinding halt by going too deep on my end—even if she strangely makes me want to. Instead I say, "How about you?"
"Oh, I definitely sing in the shower. Bars too." She looks at me sideways, giving me maybe the first authentic smirk I've seen on her.
I flash her one back. "I mean, what do you listen to?"
"I like everything."
I nod, though I'm a little disappointed—and pretty surprised—that her response is so cookie-cutter.
"But not in the way that most people say," she continues. "Like they could listen to whatever and be fine with it."
My attitude weakens as she steps forward, beginning a slow circle as she continues taking in the room.
"I genuinely think there's good in all music.
Country calms you down. House pumps you up.
Rap songs have that beat that makes you feel alive.
And the angsty shit?" She turns around, smothering a smile.
"That's the kind of stuff that makes you feel like you're dying inside. But in a good way, ya know?"
She turns back around, continuing to circle, but I don't move or speak because I don't want her to stop—talking or reading my soul. "Like you're being ripped apart. Stripped raw." She completes her journey, landing back in front of me. "Seen."
Looking into her eyes, I find her again. The girl from the gala that somehow sees me whether or not she even realizes it. "Exactly," is all I manage to say, though my voice comes out soft.
Brooke shrugs her shoulders as if she didn't just perfectly explain why I fill my head with the lyrics I do, despite the shit I constantly get from my teammates. "So, anything else to see besides the drains you all piss in?"
My brain is caught so off guard by her words—and my sudden rewiring—that I stand there motionless, my mouth open and eyes wide like a goddamn idiot.
Brooke waits, searching my face for an answer—or maybe any sign of life—before I finally shake my head of her sadly accurate statement.
And my heart of her perfectly sculpted words.
"Uh, yeah, you weirdo," I finally manage to push out, acting unfazed despite feeling the opposite. "No sinks though… if that's what you're looking for." Her guard instantly flies back up, her lips pressed into a flat line. I sigh, dropping it before she completely disappears again. "Out this way."
I spin around toward where we entered the showers—a few minutes and one life-changing conversation earlier—and walk ahead of her. When I step back into the hallway, I turn toward the only other door in this direction.
"Next stop," I say, pressing my thumb into the sensor by the frame.
When it unlatches, I push it open, and Brooke walks up from behind me, stepping into the space. "Holy shit," she says, the view in front of her bringing her back to me. "This is like a five-star resort."
She glances around, taking in the grey and white marbled steam room, top of the line sauna, and glistening cold and hot tubs that fill the space.
There are TVs in front of every amenity and every luxury you could possibly imagine—heated flooring, a stocked mini fridge, towel warmers.
It's all newly renovated and pristinely polished, showing off every cent put into it.
"Yeah, we're pretty lucky. I probably don't use it all as much as I should, but a lot of the guys hang out here at night and watch games while they chill in the hot tub and stuff."
"That's adorable," she says, her eyes still full of wonder. "I can't believe you don't take advantage of this."