CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Collision Course
"You haven’t touched your food," Holden says.
I force a breath. "Sorry, I’m just…"
My mind is spiraling. Distracted? Guilty? Selfish?
I gave everything to my family before I left. I carried them until it nearly broke me. Leaving wasn’t selfish.
Was it?
"You’re what?" Holden prompts, reaching across the table. His fingers brush over mine, wrapping around them lightly.
But the gesture feels cold. Distant. Not right.
You’re selfish, too.
Brooks’ words keep slicing through me, embedding themselves too deep.
"Do you think I’m selfish?" I ask.
Holden pauses, fork twirling between his fingers. "I’ve never thought of you as selfish."
That’s the problem. He never really knew me.
He remembers the girl who laughed too loud at football games. The girl who kissed him behind the bleachers and pretended confidence was the same thing as strength.
But Brooks?
Brooks has always known me.
Our houses shared a forest. And we’ve always shared Jasper.
"You don’t think it was self-centered to leave?" I ask, quieter now. "To move across the country and stop showing up?"
Holden’s smile wavers. "Feels like you want me to say it was."
"I don’t," I say quickly. "I just… I needed to get out. I was tired of holding everything together."
He shrugs. "Taking care of yourself isn’t selfish. That’s what they say, right? You can’t pour from an empty cup."
The words land too neat, too easy.
But they don’t feel true. Not really.
Brooks didn’t give me a tidy answer. He gave me the truth. And it hurt.
It’s not my job to parent my parents. It’s not my job to parent Jasper. But I did leave. And I never checked in on my parents. Not really.
I didn’t call regularly. I didn’t come home for the holidays or even special occasions.
I didn’t just leave, I cut them off.
And I built a life that had nothing to do with them.
I push my plate forward and sit back.
On one hand, Holden’s not wrong. I did what I had to do to survive.
But once I was okay—really okay—I didn’t look back. I didn’t call. I didn’t visit.
I didn’t just leave. I went silent and I called it strength.
"Maybe I wasn’t selfish," I say aloud, more to myself than Holden. "Maybe I was just... tired."
He doesn’t respond.
"Tired of being the one who always held everything together," I continue. "Tired of carrying a family that never felt stable. Tired of being needed."
My chest tightens as I think of Jasper. Of Mom. Of Dad, before the stroke.
Dad tried to carry it all, didn’t he? Before Brooks stepped in, he was the one keeping the whole fragile structure upright. Barely, but he tried.
And now?
I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to carry anymore, or if I even want to.
The weight isn’t on me, but the guilt is. And maybe that’s worse.
"Elowen?" Holden’s voice pulls me back, his hand waving in front of my face. "You okay?"
I nod, forcing a smile. "Yeah. What were you saying?"
"I was asking how the world of social media was going?"
"It’s great," I lie smoothly. "Really exciting, you know?"
Holden nods, but something about his expression doesn’t match his agreement. Like he’s just going through the motions.
"What’s your favorite part of it?" he presses.
I hesitate, my fingers tightening around my fork.
I should eat. I should at least try.
I cut into the chicken parmesan, taking a slow breath. "The people. I get to interact with some really great people."
"I bet you have," he replies, the sound flat. Like he doesn’t really care about my answer.
"What’s your favorite part about being a resident?"
"Being useful," he says. "On the good days."
I keep my eyes on my plate and shove a mouthful of chicken into my mouth instead.
"It feels like you’d rather be anywhere other than here right now," Holden says, watching me closely.
Detective-level observation skills.
"I just have a lot on my mind," I say, picking at my food.
"Tell me about it then," he offers, leaning forward slightly, like he actually wants to listen.
I hesitate. Then, before I can stop myself, I clear my throat and set my fork down. "Brooks said I was selfish because I—"
"Are you really taking advice from the guy who drives the shuttle?"
"He has more than one job," I say, sharper than I mean.
Holden holds up his hands in mock defense.
My stomach dips.
"I think I’m done here," I say, pushing back my chair.
He frowns. "Wait, what?"
"This isn’t working," I say, standing. "I’m heading out."
Holden scrambles to stand. "Wh—what? Elowen, come on."
"Yeah." I wave him off, already stepping away from the table. "I think I’m gonna head home."
"But I drove you," he argues.
I pull out my phone and hold it up with a saccharine smile. "Good thing I know a guy who drives a big white van."
Holden stares at me, speechless, as I turn and head straight for the front doors.
I don’t even look back.
Brooks answers on the first ring. I don’t know whether to laugh or groan at that.
"Any chance you can pick me up?" I ask, already crossing the street.
"The date went that bad, huh?" Brooks sounds way too amused.
I exhale sharply. "Just… pick me up. Little café on Main."
He chuckles. "I’ll be there in five."
The call ends, and I keep walking. Further and further away from Holden.
And, if I’m honest… closer to something else entirely.
Brooks arrives exactly five minutes later.
Almost like he was betting on my date being a disaster and had been waiting nearby.
But when I reach the curb, my steps falter. Someone’s in the front seat.
Not someone. A woman.
I hesitate, suddenly caught off guard.
A woman? Is Brooks even mature enough to be fraternizing with actual women?
"Over here," Brooks hollers, reaching across the cab to shove his seat forward. "You’re in the back."
I glance at the woman beside him, my suspicion doubling. "Am I… interrupting something?" I ask.
Brooks smirks. "Stargazing and… other things." He winks.
Ew.
I grumble in disgust as I slide into the backseat.
He pushes the seat back, and it thunks my knees. I let out a strangled arggh as I try to reposition myself, and that’s when the woman finally turns to look at me.
"Hey!" she says, leaning over the seat with a grin. "Mitsy. We actually went to that camp together in middle school, the one with the big waterfall. Same cabin, bottom bunk. I always wondered if you’d remember." She laughs softly, shrugging. "Small towns, right? You never really lose people."
"That’s enough, Mitsy," Brooks interrupts, his patience thinning. "We’ll drop you off first."
Mitsy pouts, tilting her head toward him. "You aren’t staying the night?"
I furrow my brow.
Does Brooks usually stay the night with her? Is she his girlfriend?
"Not tonight," Brooks says smoothly.
Mitsy coos in response. "Well, another time then."
I shift uncomfortably.
I can’t tell whether I’m disturbed or disgusted. Maybe a little of both.
Brooks pulls back onto the road, taking a winding, twisting back route I’ve been down a thousand times before. My stomach lurches with every bend.
I press a hand against my gut. "Can you open a window?"
Brooks doesn’t hesitate. "Elowen gets carsick real easy in the back seat," he announces.
"Oh, you poor thing," Mitsy sings in sympathy.
I glare at Brooks’ smug reflection in the rearview mirror. "Window," I repeat through gritted teeth. "Or I’ll puke all over the back seat of this truck."
He finally rolls it down. But he doesn’t slow his speed.
I groan, swallowing against the nausea.
The ride feels endless, but eventually, we pull up to Mitsy’s quaint little cabin tucked between the trees.
Before I can even attempt to crawl out of the backseat, Brooks is already out of the truck, walking her to the front door.
I sigh heavily, then make the absolutely terrible decision to climb over the center console.
The process is anything but graceful.
I grumble, groan, and nearly face-plant before finally landing in the now-empty front passenger seat.
Then, I make the mistake of looking out the window.
Brooks is standing beneath the porch light, his head tilted down, Mitsy’s face tipped up toward his.
Then, she leans in.
And Brooks?
He kisses her goodnight.
Something ugly and unfamiliar twists in my chest.
Jealousy? Absolutely not.
This is Brooks. The same Brooks who called me selfish. Who’s been hounding me non-stop since I got here.
But also the same Brooks who looks really, really good without a shirt on.
I clench my jaw. Do not go there.
The driver’s side door swings open, and Brooks slides back into the truck.
I’m already staring out the window, pretending like I didn’t see anything at all.
"The date was really that bad?" Brooks pries, his voice tinged with amusement.
I shrug, refusing to look at him. "It was fine."
"Fine?" He laughs, clearly not buying it. "You mean you realized Holden was—"
"You were on a date," I interrupt, the realization crashing over me all at once.
Brooks shrugs, hands gripping the wheel as he pulls onto the dirt road. "It wasn’t anything serious."
"Does Mitsy know that?" I ask, my eyes narrowing.
He says nothing.
Exactly what I thought.
"And you call me selfish," I taunt.
Brooks’ grip on the steering wheel tightens. "It’s not the same thing, Ellie."
His voice is rough. Raw.
I twist in my seat to face him, the soft glow from the radio console casting flickering shadows across his face.
"It is the same thing," I argue. "You stood there and called me selfish, and you’re no different. The only difference is, while I’m supposedly shirking responsibilities with my family, you’re leading on a perfectly innocent woman. "
Brooks snorts. "She’s hardly innocent."
I grimace. "Don’t be gross." Then, I shake my head, laughing bitterly. "I can’t believe I actually had an existential crisis over what you said. But you’re no better than me. You just call it something different because you can."
Brooks exhales sharply, then, suddenly, pulls over to the side of the road. The truck rumbles into stillness, leaving us in near darkness, save for the faint blue glow of the dashboard.
He turns to me, his eyes dark and intense. And I know I’ve hit a nerve.
"It’s not the same damn thing," he says, low, controlled.
"Really?" I challenge.
"Mitsy knows I’m not building anything serious. I told her that from the start."
"Then what’s the point of stringing her along?" I demand, frustration bubbling in my chest. "If it’s not serious, then why even bother?"
Brooks drags a hand over his face. "Maybe I’m not like you." His words are quieter now, less sharp, but heavier somehow. "Maybe I don’t like being alone all the time."
The words sting. Because I feel that. Because I know exactly what that’s like.
"I don’t like being alone either," I admit, my voice softer. "I hate it. It’s literally the worst feeling in the world. But at least I’m honest about it.
" I take a deep breath, my pulse hammering in my ears.
"Yeah, I’ve been a shitty daughter and a shitty sister," I say.
"Can you say you’ve been a shitty… whatever it is Mitsy calls you? "
Brooks looks at me for a long moment. Then, he lies. "We’re friends."
I let out a hollow laugh. "You don’t take friends stargazing, Brooks."
He says nothing.
I run a frustrated hand through my hair, shaking my head. "Seriously, I can’t believe I let you ruin my date with Holden when you’re…" I trail off.
Because suddenly, it’s so obvious.
Brooks isn’t any better than I am.
And somehow, that makes everything so much worse.
Maybe I ran from the ache. Maybe he tried to drown it.
"What do you want me to do, Ellie?" Brooks asks quietly.
I grip the seatbelt across my chest, my stomach still churning from the winding roads and the argument lingering between us.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
Brooks exhales, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. "You want me to end things with Mitsy?" He volunteers, voice edged with something I can’t quite place. "Do you want me to devote every waking moment of my existence to celibacy? What is it that you want me to do?"
I inhale deeply, willing the nausea away.
I don’t know what I want.
Or maybe I do. Maybe it’s this exact moment that forces me to admit it.
I swallow, meeting his gaze. "I want you to…" I trail off.
Brooks waits.
Then, I decide. "I want you to be the guy back on the porch earlier tonight," I say. "The one who called me on my shit. The one who wasn’t just doing the same thing I am, but actually holding me accountable."
The words hang in the air.
Brooks leans closer, just enough for the glow of the radio to illuminate his face. His jaw is tense. His expression unreadable. "Is that really what you want?"
I nod. "Yes."
Something shifts.
"This isn’t fair to her," he says, mostly to the night.
Without another word, Brooks shifts the truck into reverse.
His arm extends behind my seat, his hand resting against the headrest as he smoothly backs down the dirt road.
"What—" But before I can finish, he turns the truck around and heads straight back toward Mitsy’s cabin.
My stomach rolls with nausea.
"What are you…" I trail off, watching as he parks in front of her place and gets out.
I don’t move.
I can’t move.
I sit there, holding my breath as he knocks on the door.
Mitsy answers, her robe wrapped tightly around her frame. Brooks says something. Her face falls. She nods slowly, clutching her robe like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.
Then, Brooks hugs her.
She stands there, watching, as he turns and walks back to the truck. I catch it in her face. Disappointed, not blindsided. So she knew the rules. Still hurts, though.
He slides into the driver’s seat, buckles his seatbelt, and turns on the radio like nothing just happened.
I can’t look away.
"I don’t understand," I finally manage to say.
Brooks doesn’t hesitate. "I told her it was over."
My breath catches as the truck rumbles to life and he pulls back onto the road.
And as we drive home, my heart won’t stop racing.
He watches the road. I watch the choice he just made.