CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Let Me Take You Home
"How did your video series with that nice Southern lady go?" Dad asks as I fluff the pillows behind his head.
I smile. Nice Southern lady. That’s a cute way to describe Belle. "It went really well. We’ve got a meeting next week to brainstorm a follow-up series."
"That sounds fun," he says with a warm, tired smile.
"You ready to get out of here?" I ask.
He nods, hopeful. "The sooner, the better."
"Dr. Kulkarni said tomorrow might be the day."
Dad sighs deeply. "Your mom’s been here every day."
"She has." I nod, pride swelling in my chest. "She just went home to shower and change, but she’ll be back tonight to stay with you."
He gives me a pointed look. "Her coming was your doing, wasn’t it?"
I shake my head. "Nope. This was all Brooks."
He exhales and reaches for my hand. "You still sneaking around with him?"
"We’re not sneaking," I say with a roll of my eyes. "We’re just… having fun. And when I go back to LA, he’ll still be here."
Maybe.
Dad doesn’t let go of my hand. "I’ve been thinking about you and Brooks."
I blow out a breath. "Why?"
"Because I was wrong," he says simply. "I’m sorry for insinuating you’d hurt him. That wasn’t fair. I’m just… protective of him. He’s lost so much. I didn’t want to watch him lose again."
"I wouldn’t be an unimaginable loss," I try to joke, though my voice is weak.
"You would," he says, deadly serious. "Elowen, you’d be the one loss he wouldn’t know how to come back from."
I swallow hard. "I’m not trying to hurt anyone, Dad. Brooks is a grown man. If he can’t handle the fact that I might leave, then maybe he shouldn’t have…" I trail off.
Shouldn’t have kissed me. Shouldn’t have broken things off with Mitsy. Shouldn’t have held me like that, or looked at me like I’m the only person in the room.
"Should I be worried that you’re not concerned I might be the one who gets hurt?" I say, shifting the focus.
"You’re Elowen Donovan," he says with a weary smile. "You don’t get hurt."
"That’s not true," I whisper. "You just never saw it. I got good at bleeding where no one could see."
"I’m sorry I didn’t see it." He studies me with soft, heavy eyes. Then, "You like him."
"No," I blurt, too quickly.
A knowing grin tugs at his lips. "You like him a lot."
I look away.
"I don’t," I lie again, because telling the truth means I might have to face it.
"It’s okay if you do," he says gently. "I just didn’t realize… you felt it, too."
"This is not a conversation I want to have with my dad," I mutter, trying to smile through the heat building behind my eyes.
Dad’s voice softens. "Maybe I should be worried you’ll get hurt, too."
I sit on the edge of his bed and force a smile. "I’ll be fine."
"Even when you’re not," he finishes.
My heart throbs. "I love you, Dad."
He squeezes my hand. "I love you more, Ellie Girl."
We hear a throat clear. I turn toward the door and see Mom standing there. "Brooks is waiting in the truck," she says softly, then turns her smile to Dad.
"I’ll see you tomorrow," I say, rising to my feet. I lean down and kiss Dad’s forehead, lingering just a second longer than usual. "We’ll get you home soon."
As I pass Mom, I gently touch her shoulder, a silent thank you for everything she’s been doing. Then I walk down the long hallway, past the machines and nurses and the low hum of fluorescent lights, until I finally walk through the sliding glass doors to the parking lot.
Brooks is waiting, leaning against his old truck, arms crossed, one ankle hooked over the other. He’s in worn jeans and a crisp white button-down, the top buttons undone, revealing the faintest V of sun-kissed skin. He looks like yesterday and a future I didn’t plan for.
Without a word, I walk straight into his arms.
He wraps them around me like they’ve always belonged there, and I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. The breeze stirs the hem of my shirt. The world quiets.
When I finally tip my head back to look at him, his eyes are already waiting.
"I want you," I whisper, echoing the words he gave me days ago. "I want you, too, Brooks."
His lips meet mine in a kiss that feels like a promise. Soft, unhurried, certain.
"Let me take you home, Ellie," he murmurs, and I nod. I could list a hundred reasons to slow down. I choose none of them.
The drive is quiet but electric. We hold hands the entire way, my palm resting in his like it belongs there.
I can feel the truth in every heartbeat.
This isn’t just a summer moment. I want more.
Maybe not today, maybe not even tomorrow.
But someday, when the dust settles and I know who I am and where I belong, I want a life that includes Brooks.
He pulls into the driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. The truck idles as I flip open the glove box and pull out a condom. I hear his low laugh, that deep, knowing sound I’ve come to love.
I glance over as he climbs out of the truck, the door groaning shut behind him.
Alone for just a beat, I breathe. One breath. Then another. This isn’t LA. This isn’t some fleeting, forgettable night. This is Brooks. The boy who grew into a man who never stopped showing up.
And I’m finally ready to meet him there.
I lead him up the creaking porch steps, the air heavy with the scent of cut grass and honeysuckle. The key trembles slightly in my hand as I unlock the front door. It isn’t nerves; it’s recognition.
The house is quiet. Too quiet. Jasper must be out for the night. I don’t ask. I don’t care.
I glance back, catch Brooks watching me with that look. Like I’m everything he’s ever wanted and he’s not trying to resist. Without a word, I take his hand and tug him down the dim hallway toward my room. My heart thunders beneath my ribs.
I stop in the doorway and turn. He’s standing there, backlit by the soft hallway light, all dark eyes and strong hands and steady breathing. He’s everything I never thought to ask for. And the realization of that? It terrifies me.
But walking away from him? That terrifies me more.
I rise onto my toes and kiss him, tasting the faint trace of mint on his lips. His hands slip behind my thighs as he lifts me effortlessly, and I wrap myself around him, clinging to this moment like it’s the only thing anchoring me.
He carries me into the room and kicks the door shut with his boot.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket. A sharp reminder of the outside world, the one always pulling me in different directions. Without looking, I fish it out and press the power button until the screen goes black.
Not tonight. Tonight, the world can wait. I don’t know what it’ll cost me yet, only that—for once—I’m willing to pay.
When Brooks reaches the bed, he holds me tighter, his arms wrapping around me like a cocoon of warmth and steady intention.
I kiss him slowly, as if I’m trying to memorize him—each curve of his lips, the familiar shape of his mouth, the quiet flick of his tongue against mine.
He kisses me back like this might be the last time, like it matters more than either of us is willing to admit.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" he whispers into the dark.
I trace my fingers along his cheek, the faint stubble beneath my touch. "Yes," I say, my voice clear, steady. "I want this."
He lowers me gently to the floor, his eyes searching mine before he reaches for the hem of my shirt.
The old floorboard under my heel creaks, and for a breath it’s only sound, skin, and the steady patience of his hands.
I lift my arms, heart fluttering, and let him peel it away.
His palm drifts along my stomach—tentative, reverent—before his fingers move to the button of my skirt.
I inhale, nerves and excitement tangling in my chest, as he carefully works the button loose. But before going any further, he pauses to kiss me again. Slower this time. Like he needs to anchor himself. Like he’s trying to hold the moment still.
I reach for the collar of his shirt and tug it up, off. My hands slide along his chest, over the warm, smooth skin of his shoulders, the soft curve of his stomach. He’s all lean strength and quiet vulnerability, familiar and brand new at the same time.
We take our time, like we’re building something out of breath and skin and trust.
By the time he lays me down, his body settling over mine, I know my heart is a lost cause. Every wall I built, every reason I gave myself to resist is gone. It’s just him now. Just the weight of his gaze, the warmth of this dark room, and the truth that I’ve been running from for far too long.
His lips never leave mine as he eases forward, slow and careful. It’s been a long time. I’m grateful for the way he doesn’t rush, for how he reads the tension in my body and waits for it to soften beneath him. I breathe through it, every nerve alive as I welcome him deeper.
My skin tingles as his mouth drifts to my jaw, then to the curve of my throat. He sucks lightly, drawing a shaky breath from me, and I arch into him, clinging to the comfort of his rhythm. His body moves with mine, hips rolling in a slow, aching cadence that pulls soft moans from my lips.
"Ellie," he murmurs against my hair, his voice rough and reverent, like my name alone is the prayer he never thought he’d say aloud.
My hands roam the muscles along his back, anchoring me to this moment, to him, to whatever this is that’s blooming between us, wild and uncontrollable and terrifyingly real.
We stay like that—his body moving with mine—until I can’t hold it in anymore. The release crashes through me, fast and consuming. Brooks follows with a low groan, his breath stuttering against my lips as he falls apart in my arms.
Afterward, we collapse into each other, tangled and trembling, the room filled with nothing but the sound of our breathing.
"That was…" he begins, voice still ragged.
"It was," I whisper with a soft laugh, reaching up to cradle his face gently in my palm. His eyes are warm and sleepy.
Time blurs after that. We lie there, limbs entwined, skin flushed, a sheen of sweat cooling between us. My head rises and falls with each breath he takes until sleep finally pulls me under.
But it doesn’t last.
The door to my bedroom crashes open.
Light floods the room, harsh and blinding.
My eyes sting. Brooks’ arm is already around me before I can breathe and yanks the blanket over us as I scramble to sit up.
Jasper stands in the doorway, eyes red, cheeks streaked with tears.
"Why haven’t you been answering your phones?" he shouts, his voice cracking. "I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for the past two hours!"