Chapter 12 #2
Brooks hung up and made the final turn onto a tree-lined street in Cooper’s Bend, Georgia.
He had no idea whether the public statement he’d issued, taking all the fault for the dissolution of their relationship, would actually do a damned thing.
But he’d had to do something. God willing, Aspen hadn’t seen any of that coverage.
He really hoped she hadn’t. She didn’t need that kind of negativity in her condition.
“Your destination is on the right.”
He pulled his G-Wagon to the curb and looked at the neat brick duplex nestled back amid some trees.
The attached garage was closed, so he couldn’t see if there was a vehicle home.
Rubbing his palms on his jeans, he braced himself.
It felt more than a little stalkerish just showing up at her place, but if there was one bonus to the invasive search of the press, it had been in helping track down exactly where he needed to go to win Aspen back.
He’d driven the sixteen hours from Camp Firefly Falls, all the way to Aspen’s hometown with only a handful of stops and not nearly enough sleep.
Jittery from all the coffee and energy drinks that had fueled his mission, he slid out of the driver’s seat and strode up the walk, knocking on her door.
No one answered.
Maybe she was hiding inside.
Brooks knocked again, harder this time. “Aspen! It’s me. Please open up.”
The door to the other half of the duplex opened, and some guy stuck his head out. “You looking for Aspen?”
“Yeah.”
“She doesn’t live there anymore. She moved out.”
What the actual fuck? Were things so bad that she’d moved the moment she got home?
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Do you know where she went?”
“Sorry, man. No.”
“Thanks.”
It was only as he slid back into his SUV that he remembered Aspen’s father had gifted her the house she’d grown up in.
Maybe she’d gone there. Except, he had no idea where that was.
It seemed to be the one piece the media hadn’t dug up, whether because they hadn’t thought to look, or because that was where the locals drew the line in violating her privacy.
But there had to be someone here who both knew where she was and would be willing to tell him.
Opening up social media, Brooks scrolled to her profile.
There wasn’t a lot on there. As he’d known, Aspen was a pretty private person.
But there were quite a few pictures she’d been tagged in by someone named Linnea Barton.
Clicking the link, he browsed her profile.
Linnea was a lot more public, evidently because she owned the local coffee shop, The Sword and the Scone.
That was as good a place as any to try next.
Plugging the address into his GPS, he set out for downtown Cooper’s Bend.
The town itself was cute, if a little run down.
The sort of place that was probably one sneeze away from a revival if the right person took the helm.
Settled along the banks of a river, the downtown had historic appeal mixed with the sort of heavily timber-based architecture that was common in mountain towns.
He found a parking space and circled back on Cohutta Street toward The Sword and the Scone.
Brooks didn’t know exactly what he’d expected from the name, but stepping into something that felt like the set of a Renaissance Faire hadn’t quite been it.
Under other circumstances, he’d have been amused by the commitment to the theme.
Right now, his only concern was finding Linnea Barton and prying Aspen’s location out of her.
He didn’t spot his quarry behind the counter.
Not ready to give up, he joined the early lunch line that was already half-a-dozen deep, and snaking back toward the door.
He did his best to be patient and not cut in front of all the other waiting patrons, though every instinct was shouting that he needed to hurry.
Abruptly, the older black woman working the register looked past the customer she was ringing up and spotted him. There was zero question from the look on her face that she’d recognized him. As she stared, everyone else waiting turned around and looked, clearly curious.
“I’ll get that order ready for you in just a minute, sugar. Excuse me for a sec.” The woman scooted out from behind the counter and made straight for him.
“Brooks?”
“Yes.”
She snagged him by the arm and began towing him back toward the door. Oh hell, was he about to be thrown out? “I’m not here to cause trouble. I just need to find Linnea Barton.”
Instead of dragging him outside, the woman tugged him into one of the alcoves of tables. “Linnea isn’t here. But that’s not really who you’re looking for, is it?”
“No. I’m trying to find Aspen Fairchild. But you knew that already, didn’t you?”
“Mmmhmm.” The woman crossed her arms, and Brooks could practically see the walls going up. This would be the dragon protecting her charge. Fitting, given the name of the coffeeshop. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to talk to her.”
“Talk? Really?”
Brooks didn’t want to get into their personal shit with a stranger.
But he had a feeling that if he didn’t give her something, he wasn’t going to get anywhere.
“She didn’t give me a chance. She made a decision for me about the state of our relationship, and I’m not okay with that.
I don’t want to hurt her. I just want to have a conversation. ”
From the front of the line, the guy who’d been the last to order called out, “Hey Adojah, can you hurry it on up? I’ve got somewhere to be.”
“Hush your mouth, Peter. This is more important.” Adojah’s deep, dark eyes studied him. “Do you love her?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. He’d had plenty of hours of driving to come to terms with that. “I know she’s going through some shit. I’m not going to let her go through it alone.”
Brooks knew by the relaxing of her face that this had been the right answer.
“Good. That girl’s been through enjoy in her life. She needs a good man. But she’s not here. Not even in town. Linnea took her for surgery this afternoon. If you hurry, you should be able to catch her before she goes in for the procedure.”
Surgery. Shit.
“Tell me where.”
Adojah gave him the information, down to the address of the surgery center.
Brooks squeezed her shoulder. “Thanks.”
She put a hand on his arm, stilling him. “Don’t disappoint me, boy. If you hurt her, there’s a boatload of people here who’ll be ready to kick your behind, professional athlete or not.”
“Understood.”
“Take care of her.”
“I intend to.”
Then he took off at a dead run to get to his vehicle.