Chapter 31 Brooke
Brooke
"Ihope this is okay," Drew says, taking my hand and walking me down the quiet path. A cool breeze blows past us, and I try not to overthink the chill it sends up my spine. "You don't have to talk or anything."
"It's a little unexpected, but..." I drop my free hand onto the one holding mine. "Definitely okay."
His eyes fill with relief as he smiles softly, leading me further into the cemetery.
This isn't a place that I frequent—I'm lucky enough to not have any tombstones to decorate or deceased friends or family to visit.
I assumed I'd be majorly uncomfortable—maybe minorly nauseous—but surprisingly, I'm only borderline uneasy.
I think the idea of Drew taking me to see his mom is numbing all possible negative emotions.
I know how much this means to him. And that in turn, means more to me than I realized.
"Right over here," he says, pointing through the lush scenery toward a site that's well-kept and looks freshly polished.
I read the name written across it, Joy Anderson, and my heart-rate picks up.
I know I'm not meeting his mother in a traditional sense, but it still feels big—colossal considering our current situation.
As we approach the tombstone, Drew drops my hand, stepping in front of me as he gets closer. "Hey, Mom," he says, touching the marble. All of my nervous energy dissipates as my entire being swells for him. "I brought someone I want you to meet."
He glances over his shoulder at me, and I take in his new look for the hundredth time. He really does look different, but it's not so much the hair that's changed. It's as if the light I see in flickers is slowly coming back to stay. "Hey, uh, hi, Mrs. Anderson," I stutter awkwardly. "I'm Brooke."
Drew sinks into the grass, pulling his knees to his chest and leaning back on his palms. He taps the spot next to him, more relaxed than I've ever seen him.
For a fleeting moment, my heart aches. I'll never actually get to meet the woman that he talks about with such reverence—the one who shaped him into who he really is.
But then I remind myself… if this is as close as I'll ever get, I can't waste it being inside my head.
I sit beside him, choosing to lean in like he asked me to before—feelings and all this time. If this is hard for me, I can't imagine what it's like for him. The least I can do is give them both my best.
"So, what do you think, Mrs. A?" I ask, my voice stronger now. "Do we like the hair?"
Drew laughs quietly and nonchalantly slides his hand closer to me, curling his pinky over mine. "She'd like it. She liked everything. I don't think I ever heard her criticize anything about anyone."
"My kind of lady," I say, thinking about my own mother's habits. Guilt washes over me as I consider the lingering dread I always have for going to my parents for Family Dinner Night, when Drew has to visit his mom here.
"Brooke's the girl I've been telling you about."
My head whips his way, and he flashes me his boyish grin. "It better all have been good," I grind quietly through my teeth.
He leans into me as if his mom can hear us. "It was… mostly." He slides his vibrating phone from his pocket as I slap his arm before turning back to the stone.
"I've heard a lot about you, too."
Drew taps my shoulder and nods his head toward the open field behind us before standing. I watch him walk away as he brings his phone to his ear, but besides a What's up? I can't hear much of anything else.
When I twist back around, I realize I'm alone at the gravesite. It's interesting how even though she's not really here, the same anxiety pools in my belly as it probably would if Drew left the two of us together. It feels like I should keep talking—I probably would if it really was just her and I.
"Drew really misses you," I start, picking at the thick grass by my ankle.
"He's a lot like me in the sense that he doesn't come right out and say it, but I can tell.
It's in the songs he listens to and the way he talks about you.
There's a hole I think he's gotten used to, but the emptiness is still there. "
An all too familiar lump begins forming in my throat as I continue.
"I'm sure you can tell that he's not necessarily happy.
That there's a lot going on right now that's eating at him.
" The mass grows as I pluck a long blade and begin rolling it between my fingers.
"I mean, you're his mom, I'm sure you can tell.
But he's really working on it, ya know?" My voice breaks as tears build behind my eyes.
"The hair's pretty obvious," I laugh, sniffling back what I can.
"But there's other stuff too—the things you can't see.
" I tear the piece of grass in three pieces before reaching for another one.
"I'm proud of him," I add. "You should be proud of him.
He's doing everything he can to step out of his comfort zone so he can exist in this world without judgement or retribution for being himself—whatever that looks like.
" A tear rolls down my cheek that I can no longer hold back.
"But I don't have to tell you to celebrate that, do I?
You just know. And you'd love him regardless.
" I wipe away new tears that fall and tuck my hair behind my ear. "Most moms would."
I sit there awhile, so lost in my thoughts and comparisons to my own life that I miss the crunching of footsteps as they approach.
"Sorry, that was Scott, my agent. My—hey." Drew searches my face as I look up at him, my cheeks wet, my makeup most likely starting to run. He kneels down beside me. "Hey, what's wrong?" He pulls me into him, and I seek comfort in his familiar smell and the way I fit perfectly against his chest.
"I'm good," I answer, nuzzling into him.
"Brooke..." Drew places his hands on my shoulders and pulls me away from him. "Talk to me."
I shake my head, wiping at my cheeks. "No, your mom's just..." I bring my eyes back to the light gray marble, her first name sticking out even more to me now. "I bet she was a really good listener."
He glances at the stone as well and smiles. "She was," he says. "With a heart of gold." I nod thoughtfully. "Kind of like someone else I know." I tilt my chin up to him, smiling, and he brushes the corner of my eye with his thumb. "I definitely like you, Brooke Larkin."
I huff out a laugh, glancing down toward my lap. "Hey, you didn't call me Mystery Girl," I throw back, my tone dripping with sarcasm.
Drew drops his head, and when his eyes meet mine, the blue is so clear I can almost see my reflection. "Well, yeah. That's because I’ve finally got you all figured out.”
"Oh, do you?”
"I do.”
"Huh..." I roll my tongue over my teeth. "Well, that makes one of us.”
Drew grins and stands, extending his hand to me. I take it, and he yanks me up, but rather than stopping when I land on my feet, he continues the momentum and throws me over his shoulder.
"Don’t worry," he calls over my squeals. "I can carry the team.”
"Okay, Brett, tell me about yourself."
Burns glances around the players' lounge, his knee bouncing as he sits at the edge of the black leather couch. He tosses an M&M into his mouth before bringing his attention back to me. "What do you want to know, InstaBrooke?"
I huff out a laugh as he scans the room again, shaking the bag of trail mix in his hand. Trying to get his attention, I snap in his direction. "Well, first, I'd like to know what is happening right now?"
Brett looks over his shoulder, clearly still distracted. "I, uh..." He clicks his tongue. "I'm just—where's Cap?"
I throw my hands in the air, then press stop on my recording app. "What?" I ask slightly exasperated. We've been sitting here for ten minutes already, and all he has done is munch snacks and kill time.
"Where's Drew?" He wrinkles his forehead but smiles as if he's completely unbothered.
"No, I understood the qu—nevermind. I don't know where he is. On the phone or something, maybe. Why?"
Brett clears his throat, searching for another piece of chocolate among the mixed nuts. When he finds one, he throws it into the air, catches it in his mouth, then chews before responding. "Maybe we should wait."
"For Drew? So you can tell me fun facts about your life?"
He shrugs and twists to study the other guys around the room.
A few players I don't know well, because they rarely touch the ice, are posted up on the high-back stools by the bar counter, eating sandwiches and watching game film on the flatscreen TV.
Hughes and Petrov sit together at opposite ends of the conference table, both of their heads buried in their phones, and Ward is on his back on the floor, his eyes closed and his legs up on the wall.
Brett finishes his scan then shifts closer to me on the loveseat next to him, tucked in the corner of the lounge. "Cap's my best friend, InstaBrooke. If he sees you flirting with me—"
"What? Brett, this is for social media. I am not flirting with you."
"Well, not yet. But that's why we need him here. So you don't get swept up in the Burns' Effect, eh?"
I stare at him blankly, wondering what twilight zone I've somehow entered—and why he'd say that anyway. "Okay, first, I think we're probably good on that." I reach forward and pat his shoulder. "But I appreciate the concern."
He smiles, and it's admittedly adorable, but, especially after today, I'm too far gone for his captain for it to have any greater effect on me. "Second..." This time it's me who leans in, curious. "What would even make you say that?"
He takes a long swig of his purple Gatorade, grinning at me beneath the bottle. He lowers it and swallows, then spins the lid back on and settles into the cushion. "Like I said, Cap's my best friend."