Chapter 33 Brooke
Brooke
"Good game, Twelve."
Drew walks through the door to my apartment and smothers me in his arms. "You think?" he asks, resting his head on the top of mine.
I nod, my hair rubbing against his chin. "I do."
Sighing, he releases me and slides his thumb under his chain. "Well, you're probably the only one."
I scoff, walking to the couch. "Drew, you scored twice."
"Yeah and both times I was quiet after. And so was the crowd." He sinks into the spot next to me, throwing his arm across the back of the cushion. I scoot closer to him, sliding my fingertip along the seam running down the side of his jeans.
He's not wrong. This game was as rough as the last, but Drew has kept to his word and stayed true to himself—no parties, dates, celebrations—much to Golden City's dismay.
"They'll get over it. And they'll get used to it."
"By tomorrow at 11a.m.?"
My lips turn in as I hide my doubt. "You keep doing what you're doing, and they'll move on to someone else's drama before you know it."
Drew grins in that way that makes my heart melt and my panties wet. "I think you underestimate your future boyfriend's fan base."
My cheeks grow much warmer than they should as a thirty-one-year-old woman. Drew's used that term so frequently this past week that the crazy is finally starting to wear off, but it's still so wild to think about for the two of us.
"You're ridiculous," I answer.
"It's true."
Remembering Alex's words from just last week, I smile. "So I've been told."
At almost the same time, both our phones buzz, his from his pocket and mine from the coffee table in front of us. We reach for them and groan simultaneously.
"Jane," he says, his voice full of annoyance.
"Is she still begging you to go out with that troll?"
Drew tilts his head down and looks up at me from under raised brows. "You mean, supermodel, Samantha Gray?"
"Isn't that what I said?" I deadpan. We both laugh softly. "I'm kidding. She's literally gorgeous."
"She is," he says. "But she's not you. And yes, that's what Jane's text was about." I nod understandingly as he tucks his phone into his pocket, ignoring her message. "What'd you get?"
I sigh loudly. "My mother."
"Another dinner reminder?"
"As if I could forget," I say, rolling my eyes.
Drew drops his palm onto my thigh, and my body responds as if it's always belonged there. "Is it really that bad?"
I tuck myself under his arm, pulling my legs up onto the couch. "I mean, probably not. It's just my mother's constant reminders and passive-aggressive comments about how I've repeatedly gone against her wishes my entire life."
Drew chuckles, and I pretend to be insulted. "Sorry, it's not funny. I just always thought I was the only one royally fucking with my parent's plan for me."
"Oh, no," I say quickly. "The only difference is, I'm finally coming around to the path my mom wants me to take, and you're just veering off of your dad's."
He goes quiet for a second before he finally replies. "That's because I let him call the shots for the last ten years. At least you were strong enough to do your own thing from the beginning."
I turn my body to face him. He looks at me, and his eyes are full of sadness that I recognize.
I've seen the same upset reflected back at me in the mirror countless times.
"Drew, I..." Playing with the strings on my sweatshirt, I fight my natural urge to blow off what I'm feeling and replace my true thoughts with something lighter.
But I'm not just doing this for me.
"I don't really think strength had anything to do with it. Sure, it was hard to take the hits, and being an outsider in your own family is, well—it's shitty. But going against the grain doesn't take any less strength than hiding who you really are."
"Yeah, well… I guess we all start somewhere."
A silence slips between us until he pulls away. I shift in my seat to find him looking down at me, his expression serious. "What?" I ask.
"I'm proud of you, too. You know that?" My eyes fall to my lap, twirling one string around my finger. "Hey, look at me."
Drew tilts my chin up and cradles my face in his hands.
"I'm serious," he says, his eyes burrowing through me like they did that first night.
"You never gave in—never settled. You held steadfast until you were ready.
You took hold of your life and never fucking let go.
" He brushes my cheek with the pad of his thumb.
"And your mom will be proud too when she comes around. "
"So will your dad," I say quickly. Only, this time, I'm not deflecting. I mean it.
He gives me a small and unconvincing smile, breezing past my comment. "But until then—even after that—I'll be here."
Turning my neck, I press a kiss to his palm. "Don't leave," I say, grinning up at him. It's a play off of what he said before, but as soon as the words are spoken, I realize how much I truly mean them.
He kisses me deeply without a hint of levity. "Not a chance," he says. Slowly, my favorite smile grows on his lips. "I'm about to be your boyfriend, Mystery Girl, remember?"
I roll my eyes. "You're still ridiculous."
"You like me," he argues.
As if on instinct, I kiss him again, and our teeth graze each other as we both smile through it. My heart swells as it always does when Drew and I give another little piece of ourselves to each other.
"Yeah, Twelve. I definitely like you."
"So, how many more days left on the job?" Blake asks, as he gets down on all fours.
"Just this weekend," I answer as my head yanks backward. "My last game will be tomorrow..." My voice trails off as the timeline hits me.
It's coming up fast.
"Then, I'm pretty much finished." With that, Selah rips the doll brush she has in my hair so hard, I see stars. "Ouch!"
"Selah," Blake warns. "Be gentle."
"Sha sha, Book," she says sweetly, patting my head to apologize but hitting it almost as hard as she pulled.
"It's okay, Say Say."
As if my mother finds joy in throwing salt in my wounds, she joins the living room at the perfect time.
"So, what is your plan for after the weekend then?
" she asks, refolding a blanket that I'm pretty sure hasn't left the couch in three years.
Blake sprawls out on his stomach, pulls out his phone, and checks out of the conversation. Traitor.
"Um, I'll go back to The Pub while I continue looking for other jobs like this one. I haven't heard back from the few places I've applied—a couple of hotels, a gym across town, some smaller businesses. The problem is, not everyone has a social media team in their budget."
I peer over just in time to see my mom press her lips into a straight line. "I really loved it, though," I continue. "It barely felt like work, honestly." I picture Drew's face, and although he was part of it, I'm telling the truth. My whole time with the Flames has been so fulfilling.
"Well, that's definitely something to consider," she says as she sits on the couch.
Selah, who must have the opposite sixth-sense as my mother, eases off of my scalp and starts playing with the actual babydoll instead. I quickly take advantage of my release and pull myself up on the sofa across from Mom.
"How's Aunt Ivy," I ask, watching as Selah attempts to gather the doll's hair into some sort of ponytail. A song bursts through the speakers of Blake's phone I don't recognize.
"Sorry," he says, quickly silencing whatever social media video he's escaping to.
Mom shakes off the noise and sighs. "You can ask her yourself if she ever shows up. She told me she'd be here fifteen minutes ago."
"Again?" I ask, surprised. "I think this is the most I've seen Ivy in the last few years."
"Yeah..." Mom says, her voice distant.
I wait for her to go on, and when she doesn't, I sit forward on the cushion. My mother may not often emit positivity, but there's something about the crease in her brow that causes tension in my shoulders. "Mom… is there something you aren't telling—"
"Holy shit!" Blake calls out, pushing himself up into a sitting position. "Did you know about this?"
My eyes—and my mind—dart back and forth between desperation for answers from Mom and curiosity about what Blake's going on about. I try to ignore my brother's antics, but when I look back at him, his phone is turned toward me, and the image on the screen grabs my attention.
"What is it?" I say, leaning forward to read the headline written above a familiar face.
"Is this really Anderson's last season in G.C.?" Blake asks his question looking at me, but my vision tunnels as I reread the words on his device.
Drew Anderson's Talking Titans Trade.
"The Titans?" I whisper. "But they play in—"
"Washington? Yeah." Blake pulls his phone back and shakes his head. "What the hell, man? I didn't even get my damn autograph."
All the blood in my body rushes to my feet, and my chest constricts, my ears ringing despite the silence between us. Without thinking, I reach forward and snag the phone from his hand.
"What the—"
"Brooke, what are you doing?" Mom questions. "Do you even know this boy?"
"Everyone knows him, Mom," Blake explains. "He's the Flames' star forward—their captain."
Amy pops into the picture from the other room. "Ooh, are you talking about—"
"Hey, hey, hey. Don't even start with his muscles. He—"
"Can everyone just please shut up!" My words spew from my mouth much louder than intended, but between their comments and the thoughts in my head, I can’t focus enough to even read the damn article.
It is rumored on good authority that Drew Anderson is looking to make a big change at the end of this season.
Cam Rouke, right wing on the Washington Titans, who holds the same position as Anderson, announced his retirement earlier this week.
This, in turn, sparked assumptions about who Washington would pick up to replace him.
A source, who would like to remain anonymous, but is admittedly very close to Anderson, shared earlier that "Drew has had a great run in Golden City, but is looking to venture out west to join the Titans in their pursuit of a Cup.”
Speculations could be made that the move makes sense, especially after the Flames’ forward has unexpectedly changed his tune recently, which hasn't happened since his failed drug test last season. His typical on-ice personality was clearly toned down during his last few games, and his own team’s Instagram advertised a major change in his iconic image.
Although a haircut and lack of showboating aren’t guaranteed evidence that number twelve plans to leave Golden City, one could argue that these may be small steps toward a greater change.
It’s possible that this franchise player is looking to build a new empire—or maybe he’s simply a fallen hero looking to out-run an old mistake.
When I finally stop reading, my eyes stay frozen on the screen as it fades to black.
I attempt to shove down the emotion in my throat, but my mouth is so dry I can barely swallow.
My mother’s voice seems to grow from a distance until her once faint words push through the fog and pull me back to reality.
"Brooke! Hello? What is going on?”
"I, um—”
"You okay, sis?” Blake asks cautiously. He grabs a hold of the phone as it slips from my grasp, and before I know it, I’m moving toward the door.
"Where are you going?” my mother shouts from the couch, but her voice barely registers. All I can think about are these last few weeks.
The kiss in the street.
Him blowing past my excuses.
The shooting bay. The sauna. The penalty box.
The cemetery.
Everything we've admitted out loud.
Don't leave.
Was he planning this the entire time?
Am I just another adjustment to his image?
My instincts say no. Drew’s never been who they say he is. But maybe it wasn’t calculated. Maybe this opportunity came up, and he didn't know how to tell me.
Ivy always says that timing is everything. Maybe this is just the universe’s way of ending things for us. A quiet way of telling us we’re wrong—it won’t work. Of saving us from even more pain.
But then my biggest fear floats to the forefront of my mind. That none of that’s true, and this has just been his most convincing performance of them all. My heart drops through my feet as they carry me toward the door, and I attempt to reassure myself.
He told me he'd be here. He wouldn't say that if he knew this was coming.
Or would he?
It hasn't been that long. Sure, we have history, and we didn't meet a month ago as strangers. But Drew's young. Maybe he got swept up in the idea of us—of someone sticking by him while everything else shifted.
I couldn't even blame him. As much as he's shaken my world, he's also been the one steady pillar as I navigated this new path in life. I thought this all happened so fast because we were drawn to each other. Understood each other. Were meant to be.
But maybe I was wrong. Maybe that pull wasn't an anchor.
Maybe it was an anvil.
I try to decide where I stand as I throw open the front door, but I'm saved from making any decisions. Or just thrown into a new one.
"Ivy!" I yell as I race toward my aunt lying face down on the sidewalk. "Oh my God." I reach her after what feels like an eternity and brush her matted hair from her face. Her eyes are closed—unresponsive—and blood trickles by her temple. "Ivy," I say again—a whisper this time.
All the emotions from the last ten minutes mix with the ones surfacing now, and the floodgates open, tears blurring my vision and rushing from my eyes. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. Instead, I hear my own name ring out around me.
"Brooke!" my brother calls as he flies down the porch steps. He's followed by my mother, who screams at the sight in front of her house. "Amy, get out here!"
The two of them rush the two of us, and I'm stuck between running from all of this and freezing in place.
When my sister-in-law emerges from the house with my dad behind her holding Selah, I finally back away.
Amy wobbles down the stairs as I hold on to my aunt's limp arm like if I don't let go, it won't be real.
None of it will be.