CHAPTER ELEVEN
Hook, Line, Disaster
It’s Friday.
I need a break.
From everything. From everyone.
So I stay in bed, listening. Waiting.
Only when I’m sure Mom has cleared out of the kitchen and Jasper—along with his ever-present sidekick, Brooks—has left the premises do I finally peel back the covers. I didn’t think coming back here would be this exhausting.
Five days of hospital visits.
Five days of trying to rebuild something with Jasper.
Five days of tiptoeing around Mom, terrified of setting her off.
And five days of Brooks being everywhere I turn.
I need space. Breathing room.
Just one day where no one asks me how I’m feeling.
Or worse—assumes they already know.
My feet drag down the hallway as I run a tired hand over my face, willing the exhaustion to leave my body. It doesn’t.
I grab a mug from the cabinet above the microwave and shuffle to the coffee pot. It’s still on, so I pour myself a generous amount and take a slow sip, letting the warmth settle in my chest.
Then, I turn.
And nearly choke.
Brooks is standing by the fridge, arms crossed, a smug smirk plastered on his stupid, stupid face.
"Elowen," he drawls, like he’s been waiting for me.
I grip the mug tighter, willing myself not to throw it at his head. Violence is frowned upon, after all. Deep breaths.
"Why?" I ask flatly.
He blinks. "Why what?"
I exhale sharply. "Why are you always here, Brooks? Go. Home."
Ignoring me entirely, he announces, "We’re going fishing today."
I let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, no. We are not doing anything." I gesture between us with my mug. "I’m taking a long, hot shower, watching TV show reruns, and doing absolutely nothing until this evening when I go back to the hospital to sit with my dad."
Brooks tilts his head like he didn’t hear a single word. "We’re fishing," he decides. "Go get dressed."
I let out an aggravated groan. "I’m not going anywhere with you and Jasp today." My voice sharpens as I glare at him. "You’re like black mold, Brooks. Creeping in where no one wants you until suddenly, you’re everywhere."
He grins. "That’s a new one."
Before I can tell him exactly where to shove that grin, Mom’s voice calls from the living room.
"Elowen?"
I close my eyes, groaning. What now? "Yeah?"
"If you’re going to be home today, do you think you could help me clean out the hall closet?"
Both Brooks and I freeze.
The hall closet.
The graveyard where the mice go to die. Where their shriveled little carcasses are unearthed once a year in some kind of horrifying, cursed tradition.
No. Absolutely not.
"Sorry, Mom," I call back, straightening. "I’m fishing today."
Brooks' smirk deepens. "Thought you weren’t going anywhere with me."
Honestly, hanging out with the boys might not be so bad after all.
I shoot him a glare over my coffee. "I will drown you."
"Maybe tomorrow then?" Mom adds from the living room.
"Maybe," I hedge.
Brooks chuckles, and I hate how satisfied he looks.
Because somehow, once again, he wins.
Twenty minutes later, I’m climbing into Brooks’ truck, my jean shorts sticking to the hot leather seat as I adjust the strap of my white flowy top. A bag filled with sunscreen, towels, a hat, and oversized sunglasses sits beside me. Prepared for anything.
Except, apparently, for this.
I glance around the yard, scanning for Jasper. "Where’s my brother?"
Brooks smirks as he starts the engine. "Jasp is on a date."
My head snaps toward him. "I’m sorry, what?"
He chuckles. "Iced coffee with Wren Cassidy."
My mouth drops open. "Wren Cassidy? The space-camp girl obsessed with constellations, now on track to be an astronaut?"
Brooks barely holds back a grin. "Space Camp girl who only wears the color blue? Yep, that Wren Cassidy." He nods. "The very one."
I blink, momentarily stunned. "That’s… kind of adorable." Except for the fact that he still hasn’t visited Dad in the hospital.
But he can take a girl to coffee?
"She’s always been sweet on him," Brooks agrees, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. "Took him, what? A decade to finally work up the nerve to ask her out?"
"Does she live around here?" I ask.
Brooks shakes his head. "No. She's in town visiting family. And Jasper, I guess."
I open my mouth to respond, but then realization slams into me like a truck going sixty on the highway. My spine stiffens.
"Wait…" I pause, dread creeping in. "Does this mean we’re fishing…" I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. "Alone together?"
Brooks slides on a pair of blacked-out sunglasses, then waggles his stupid, stupid eyebrows. "Yep."
Before I can protest, Brooks shifts into reverse, backing out of the driveway like I’ve already agreed to this ridiculous plan.
And somehow…
The urge to fight him fades as I sink into the seat, staring out the window. Between Mom refusing to leave the house and Dad’s precarious condition, maybe an afternoon at the lake—fresh air, open water, space—won’t be the worst thing in the world.
Wait.
What am I saying?
***
"How’s it going over there?" Brooks calls from the dock.
I crack one eye open from where I’m sprawled in a swinging chair, my fishing line bobbing lazily about thirty feet off the shore.
The sun beats down, warming my skin, while the lake laps gently against the pebbled shoreline.
A cool thermos of water rests against my thigh. It’s peaceful. Perfect, even.
Until he opened his mouth.
"You’re scaring the fish," I warn, not bothering to move. "Be quiet."
Brooks chuckles, the sound deep and unbothered.
"You haven’t caught a single thing all afternoon," he points out. "Are you sure it’s not you scaring them away?"
I groan, finally glancing over at him just in time to regret it.
He’s shirtless, muscles shifting as he reels in a cast. I snap my gaze back to the water before I do something stupid.
This? This is dangerous.
I force myself to focus—to breathe—to not think about Brooks' stupid back muscles.
But then my heart does a little flip.
And I hate that it does a little flip.
"Ellie!" Brooks shouts. "Your line!"
My head jerks up just in time to realize my red and white bobber is gone.
Panic surges through me as I grab my fishing pole and scramble to my feet. "Brooks!" I holler, but he’s already moving.
"Reel it in!" he yells, sprinting toward me.
I yank up on the rod, my grip unsteady as I start to crank the reel. It’s pulling back. Hard. I dig my heels into the pebbled shore, my arms straining as I fight against the weight on the other end of the line.
Brooks is suddenly right there, his presence grounding me. "Don’t yank too hard," he warns, his voice gentler now. "Just take it slow. Steady. Keep reeling it in."
I nod, biting my lip as I concentrate. Slowly, carefully, I reel until—
There it is.
A little fish, flopping wildly in the shallows.
Brooks moves first, crouching beside it. With practiced ease, he reaches down and secures it, his fingers working to free the hook from its mouth.
I set the pole down and hurry over. "What kind of fish is it?"
Brooks glances up, his mouth curving into a smirk. "Crappie."
I raise an eyebrow. "You’re lying."
He huffs out a laugh. "Swear on my life, Ellie. Crappie."
"It felt like a thirty-pound catfish," I huff.
Brooks just laughs.
"You want to release it?"
I stare at him, unsure if he’s messing with me, before rolling my eyes. "Fine."
He holds out the fish, its greenish-brown scales glistening in the sun, translucent fins flicking in protest. I hesitate, then cup my hands together. Brooks carefully transfers it to my palms, his fingers brushing against mine for a half-second too long.
I swallow.
Turning toward the water, I kneel, submerging my hands in the cool lake. The fish wriggles once—twice—then, with a flick of its tail, it slips from my grasp and disappears beneath the surface.
I exhale, watching it vanish.
Brooks leans down beside me, forearms resting on his knees. "Not bad for someone who spent the whole afternoon scaring the fish away."
I elbow him. "Shut up."
He just chuckles, nudging me right back.
I spend the next hour not looking at Brooks.
Which is difficult, considering he’s still on the dock, reeling in fish like it’s nothing. Everything Brooks does seems effortless. Fitting in with my family. Unhooking fish with ease. Existing.
I don’t know why I never noticed before.
Or maybe I did, I just never let myself commit it to memory.
Eventually, a still shirtless Brooks makes his way over, cracking open the ice chest. I risk a peek through my sunglasses. He’s all tanned skin and defined muscle, his abs obnoxiously well-defined as he grabs a bottle of water.
Then, just to torture me, he tilts his head back, taking a long, slow drink.
"You thirsty?" Brooks asks, voice casual, like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing.
I swallow hard. "Uh, nope."
He smirks, stretching his arms over his head, his biceps flexing in a way that should be illegal.
"You ready to pack up? If you wanna make it back to the hospital before it gets too dark, we should head out soon."
I force myself to nod, ignoring how dry my mouth suddenly feels. "Yeah. Good plan."
I reel in my line, hand him the fishing pole, and break down my chair, tossing it into the truck bed. Brooks, of course, lifts the ice chest like it weighs nothing and slides it in without breaking a sweat. I don’t know why that annoys me, but it does.
And I definitely don’t imagine how his chest would look glistening in the—
Elowen. Stop thinking about Brooks' chest.
I’m on the verge of a full mental breakdown when he interrupts my spiral.
"Can I ask you something?"
I clear my throat. "Sure," I say, a little too quickly.
Brooks stands in front of me, slowly pulling his shirt over his head. "Why don’t you ever reach out to Jasper? You know, when you’re not here? Just call him up and ask him how he's doing?"
I reach out. On his birthday. On Christmas. That’s more enough, right?
The look on Brooks’ face says otherwise.
Guilt lodges itself in my throat like a stone. "I, uh… I don’t know, really."
Brooks watches me. "He misses you."
I shift my weight. "I thought everyone was fine here."
He huffs out a quiet laugh, but there’s no humor in it. "You know they didn’t do well when you left. Especially Jasper."
How was I supposed to know that my brother struggled? He holes himself up in his room, or disappears into the woods to collect rocks and sticks. Even if I wanted to, I can't read his mind.
"He could’ve called me," I argue, defensive. "And I have tried to reach out. I mean, I share his videos. I text on holidays."
"The bare minimum," Brooks scoffs.
I cross my arms over my chest. "It’s not easy living with my family, okay? Mom’s a recluse. Jasper’s practically a forest spirit. And Dad never really ventured beyond the lumber mill. I’m not like them."
Brooks studies me for a long moment, then nods, slow and understanding. "They’re still your family. The only one you’ve got." The words sting as he says them. Brooks doesn't have family. Not like I do.
"I know," I say, and it comes out quieter than I mean for it to.
Brooks exhales, eyes softening. "For what it’s worth, I consider you family, too."
Something warm and dangerous flutters in my chest. "Really?"
He shrugs. "Family… with benefits, ideally."
I gasp, slapping his very solid stomach. "Brooks!"
He laughs, dodging another slap as he motions toward the truck. "Come on, Ellie. Let’s get you home."