I normally dread the breaking of dawn, knowing I have to get up for hockey. This morning, I welcome it, jumping out of bed to finish my last-minute packing before sneaking away to see Brooklyn.
As I’m getting ready, I hear a light knocking on my door. It opens slowly before I have a chance to say anything, my father standing in the hallway. There’s something in his expression that’s off. I expect him to be a bit downtrodden at the idea of his oldest child leaving for college, but this is something else.
“Drew.” His voice trembles. “Can you come into the kitchen for a minute?”
“What is it?” I ask cautiously. “Is something wrong?”
His shoulders drop and he shakes his head. “I just…” He blows out a breath. “Just come with me.”
My pulse quickens as I consider what could possibly be going on. My first thought is that the college found out I landed a guy in the hospital and has rescinded my scholarship. Then my father looks at me again, his expression similar to the one he wore the night he warned me to stay away from Brooklyn. Instantly, my heart rockets into my throat, a heat washing over me. The unease filling me only heightens when I walk into the kitchen and see Brooklyn’s father, wearing his uniform, his arms crossed and stance wide.
“Mr. Tanner,” I say, looking from him to my father and back at him. “Is something wrong?”
He tilts his head. “I suppose you could say that.” The tone of his voice gives me pause. It’s not calm or irate. It’s somewhere in the middle.
“I don’t understand.” I try to play it off. We didn’t do anything wrong. We just kissed, nothing more.
“When I went out to get the newspaper early this morning, Mrs. Carhill was walking her dog. You know her. She lives across the street from me.”
I swallow hard, remaining silent.
“She told me some interesting things. How she saw a car pull up after midnight and Brooklyn stepped out, only a blanket wrapped around her. Obviously, that didn’t sound like my Brooklyn, so I decided to check for myself. You see, since I work strange hours, we have a security system that records video from exterior cameras.”
Dread boils in my stomach, my mouth becoming dry, my heart echoing in my ears. That could mean so many things, but I’m doubtful he’s here to thank me for driving his daughter home.
“I’m sorry.” I furrow my brow, confused. “I’m not sure I—”
“She’s fifteen!” His voice bellows through the room as he slams his fist on the counter, a stark contrast to the peacefulness that usually accompanies the early morning hours in this house.
“I know that. I didn’t—”
“I saw you!” His face reddens as he paces the kitchen.
This man has been a part of my life for years. I’ve always known him to be rather strict when it comes to Brooklyn. I suppose that’s what happens when you lose a wife and are solely responsible for raising your child. Once Brooklyn became a teenager and filled out, he became even more overbearing. But I’m the last person Mr. Tanner should be worried about. I care more about his daughter than I’ve ever cared about anyone else in my life.
“I don’t know what you think you saw, but—”
“You want to know what I saw?” He steps toward me and I shrink into my frame. “I saw you pull up in front of my house and walk Brooklyn up the driveway. You were carrying her clothes!” His lips curl up at the corner, his voice like a snarl as he leans into me. “She had a blanket wrapped around her and was wearing nothing but her underwear!”
My eyes widen as I struggle to find the words to explain this. The way he’s describing it certainly makes it look bad. But there’s more to the story he doesn’t know.
“Then you pushed her against the wall of the garage. You had her arms so she couldn’t…” His voice catches as he struggles to regain his composure. “You may not understand what I’m going through. I pray you never have to endure this with a daughter of your own, but that little girl means the world to me. And that’s exactly what she is. A girl.”
“She’ll be sixteen in a few days,” I reply, hating that Brooklyn’s own father doesn’t give her the credit she deserves. He’s treating her like a child incapable of making her own decisions when she’s proven to be more mature than many eighteen-year-olds I know. That’s why her decision to play Strip Uno last night took me by surprise.
“That doesn’t matter! She’s not sixteen yet. I may not be able to protect her forever, but I can protect her now. I can do everything in my power to keep bad things, bad people as far away from her as possible, and that means you.”
A lump forms in my throat. “What are you saying?”
“I’m telling you to stay away from my daughter. I like you, Drew. I really do.” He shoves his hands through his dark hair and I can tell how difficult this is for him. “But I won’t let you hurt her.”
I shake my head, my world spinning. This feels like a bad dream. A few minutes ago, I was on top of the world. Now, it’s all been tilted on its axis.
“What if I don’t want to stay away?” I ask in a moment of defiance. I care about Brooklyn. Hell, I might even love her. I can’t stomach the idea of not seeing her. “I told her I’d come over this morning before I left for the airport.”
“Not anymore.”
My hands form into fists at my side, anger bubbling in my stomach. I want to scream, yell, cry. But mostly, I just want to see Brooklyn, to bask in the warmth her body gives off when enclosed in my embrace.
“This is ridiculous. You can’t shut her away in that house and hope nothing bad ever happens to her. She needs to live, not be so sheltered because you’re still not over losing your wife.”
“Drew.” A hand lands on my arm. I glance at my father, who gives me a knowing look. “Brooklyn’s fifteen,” he reminds me in a low voice, his tone calm. “Regardless of whether anything did happen, what Mr. Tanner saw, what he has video evidence of, certainly gives off the impression something did.” He leans closer and whispers. “He’s agreed not to go to the police as long as you keep your distance. No contact at all…at least while we figure this out.”
“No contact? The police?” I whip my eyes toward Mr. Tanner, bile rising in my throat. His hardened expression cracks momentarily. I’d like to think he wouldn’t do that, but I know better. Brooklyn’s his entire world. He’ll do whatever necessary to protect her. Just like I would.
“I know it sounds unfair and can see how much she means to you, how you’d never do anything to hurt her.” Dad shoots Mr. Tanner an annoyed look, but he holds his head high, remaining firm. My dad and Mr. Tanner used to be close. I have a feeling that all may end today. “Regardless, this can still make a lot of trouble for you, even if you didn’t do anything wrong. Just the suspicion could cost you your scholarship, your place in the World Junior Championship team. Don’t you see the huge opportunity you have? Your name’s being tossed around for the Games next year. Professional teams will be knocking down your door. You’ll be throwing all that away.”
I shake my head, having difficulty processing all this. I tug at my hair, feeling like a hammer has shattered my heart into thousands of pieces. Tears welling in my eyes, I look at Mr. Tanner, pleading with him to reconsider. It was just a few innocent, soul-fulfilling kisses. We could have done a lot more, but I stopped it, not wanting to take advantage of Brooklyn. And this is the thanks I get for doing what I thought was right?
My father taught me to respect the adults in my life, and I always have. But I can’t just walk away without getting in the final word. Regardless of whether Brooklyn finds out about this or not, I’ll know I did everything in my power.
“You say you’re trying to protect her from getting hurt, and I can appreciate that. But this decision is going to hurt her far more than you ever imagined. It’s not me you should be worried about. If I didn’t show up to that party when I did and hauled her out of there, there’s no telling what would have happened to her. I’m not the bad guy here.”
My anger boili
ng over, I punch a hole into the wall of the kitchen as I storm into my room. I flop onto the bed, spying the time.
7:01.
I’m sorry, Brooklyn.
Chapter Eleven
BROOKLYN
The instant I hear my father leave the house and his truck rumble down the street, I jump out of bed and rush into the shower. Butterflies flit in my stomach as I think about what this morning will bring. I take care to shave with more precision than I normally do, even shaving places I usually don’t. The magazines Molly brings over say that men like women who are well-groomed…down there. I do my best to do just that.
With a towel wrapped around my body and my hair, I walk out of the bathroom and back into my room, surveying my closet. Not one article of clothing I possess screams sexy. And today, I want sexy. I want Drew to look at me and not see his little sister’s best friend. I want him to see a woman he can’t go another minute without kissing, touching, loving.
Finally, I decide on a breezy sundress. It has a sweetheart neckline that accentuates my chest. It’s fitted through the waist, then flares out. On most girls, it would hit a few inches above the knee, but due to my height, it ends at mid-thigh. I’m not sure it qualifies as “sexy”, but it’ll have to do.
After drying my hair, I sit in front of my vanity and apply makeup, something I never do. But this isn’t a typical morning. This is a special morning, one I’ll forever remember as the one when I finally became a woman.
As I finish sliding some gloss over my lips, a chime sounds. I fling my eyes to my alarm clock. 7:00. I hurry to finish, then run down the hall, nervous energy filling me as I sit in front of the window, peering outside.
After five minutes, I figure Drew’s just running a little late, as he’s prone to do.
After ten minutes, I figure he just wants to make sure the coast is clear before coming.
After twenty minutes, I figure he’s packing up a few last-minute things.
After thirty minutes, I figure he’s having difficultly sneaking out of his house, although that’s never been a problem before.
After an hour, I figure he’s gotten waylaid by Aunt Gigi, who probably insisted on dragging him to church one last time before he left for college.
By noon, I realize what I fool I’ve been. Drew’s not coming. Everything he said last night was a lie, but I was so desperate to be noticed by someone, I believed it. Drew knew this and took advantage of the situation…took advantage of me.
An ache in my chest, I trudge outside and sit on the swing. I do everything to fight back my tears. Drew doesn’t deserve them. He doesn’t deserve to know I fell for his charms. I want to believe there’s a good reason he’s not here, that everything he said last night had meaning, but this all serves as a painful reminder that we live in two different worlds.
After all, he’s Andrew Brinks. Funny. Handsome. Soon-to-be star collegiate hockey player.
I’m just his sister’s best friend.
I’ve been fooling myself to think he’d ever see me as anything else.
Part Two
Commitment
Chapter One
BROOKLYN
March 2018
“It all starts with a decision.”
Aunt Gigi has said those words to me countless times over the course of my thirty-two years.
“After all,” she would continue to say, “you’re always just one decision away from a completely different life.”
As I sit in my car, I’m unsure why I’m thinking about this right now. Where would I be if I didn’t have a father who pushed me to be the best I could be? Where would I be if I hadn’t looked up when a handsome man approached me one day, re-igniting something I thought I’d never feel again? Where would I be if my mother had waited five more minutes to run to the store the night she was killed by a drunk driver?
Would my life be any different? Would my father still be as overprotective as he is? Would I have been pushed to excel like I was? Would I ever have formed the friendships I did?
Would I ever have gone to that party before the start of my junior year of high school?
They say there are certain moments in our life that define who we are. For some, it’s when they discover their true passion, like music, writing, or hockey. For others, it’s when they see an injustice in the world and decide to make it their life’s mission to stop it, to put an end to hunger, poverty, hate.
For me, as silly as it sounds, the moment that defines my life is Brody Carmichael’s party the summer of 2001. It’s the summer I learned what love is.
It’s also the summer I learned what a broken heart feels like. As Aunt Gigi had told me whenever she noticed a tear trickle down my cheek as I followed my best friend, Molly, down the hallway of her house and past the door to her brother’s room, “It’s okay to be a glowstick once in a while. Sometimes we have to be broken in half before we shine.”
After that summer, I decided I would shine, even if I was as dark as night inside.
A loud horn blares, bringing me back to the present. I glance up to see the stoplight is now green, cars passing on both sides. “Shit,” I mutter to myself, stepping on the gas and rejoining the flow of traffic.
After battling the streets of downtown Boston for fifteen minutes, I pull my economical Honda in front of La Grenouille in the Financial District. A valet attendant strides toward me. I can’t help but feel him turn up his nose at my choice of automobile. Most of the patrons here drive Mercedes, Jaguars, BMWs. My job at the Massachusetts Department of Children and Families doesn’t pay me enough to afford that type of car. I can barely afford the payments on my used one.
With a tight smile, I take the ticket from the attendant, then head toward the front doors of the restaurant. Tourists and professionals alike fill the sidewalks in this popular section of the city. Suit-clad commuters hurry from tall buildings and toward the closest subway station, skirting shoppers weighed down by bags, students hauling backpacks, and couples bickering over where to grab dinner. Boston has an energy I love, which is why I’ve never lived anywhere else. I doubt I ever will.
Approaching the ornate front doors, which appear to be more of a statement than a necessity, I start to pull them open when I stop, staring at myself in the reflective glass. Inadequacy washes over me. I’m about to walk into a restaurant where the price tag on most dishes is more than my mortgage. I don’t even want to consider how much the bottle of wine we’ll have is going to cost. Everyone will be wearing the latest fashion trends from designers whose names have more vowels than I can pronounce. My simple black dress came from a sales rack at a discount clothing store. Will I ever feel like I measure up?
I fill my lungs with air, doing my best to ward off my nerves. I’ve been on dozens of dates like this one. Tonight is no different. But I still can’t shake the feeling deep in my bones that everything’s about to change.
Resolved and calm, I open the door. The instant I cross the threshold, the hustle of downtown Boston disappears, the sound of cars and horns replaced with forks scraping against fine china, low conversation, and ostentation. Such is the life I’ve been immersed in since agreeing to that first date. I thought things would be different, that we’d be a normal couple who went to the movies or bowling. Then again, we aren’t most couples. He isn’t like most men. I’m still not sure whether that’s a good thing.
“Bonsoir,” the pretentious maȋtre d’ greets in a heavy French accent. “Welcome to La Grenouille.”
“I’m meeting someone here. He may have already arrived.”
“Mademoiselle Tanner?” He lifts a brow, surveying my attire.
“That’s me.”
“Magnifique. Your date is waiting. Follow me.”
He turns from me, neither smiling nor frowning, and leads me into the intimate dining area. Heavenly aromas assault my nose, making my stomach growl. Steak. Scallops. Garlic. The tables are filled with people enjoying the most delectable food presented so beautifully, you almost hate to eat
it.
As I walk farther into the dining room, blue eyes catch mine and my initial worry about tonight disappears. He seems so informal, as if he isn’t sitting at a table in a restaurant where a membership fee is required to even dine. Standing, he re-secures the button on his suit jacket, a smile building on his lips. He shaved his face and trimmed his dark hair, but there are still a few curls hanging over his collar.
“My beautiful Brooklyn,” his smooth, deep voice murmurs in the refined Georgia accent that soothes and pacifies me. He leans forward and kisses my cheek, then lingers for a moment, inhaling a deep breath. “You look incredible. And you smell even better.”
I close my eyes, allowing his words to bathe me with a momentary feeling of contentment. It’s not a butterfly-inducing, can’t eat, can’t sleep sensation I feel deep in my bones. There’s only been one person who’s ever made me react that way.
“Thank you, Wes.” I pull back. “You clean up nice, too.” I wink.
The perfect gentleman, he holds my chair out for me, helping me into it. Once I’m settled, the maȋtre d’ places my napkin in my lap. Apparently, those who run five-star restaurants don’t believe we can take care of that small movement ourselves. It’s just another thing I’ve grown accustomed to since I began dating Weston James Bradford.
“How did court go?” he asks after a few moments of awkward silence. I know not to even bother asking for a menu. Wes has likely already ordered for both of us. When we first started dating, I considered it archaic and overbearing. Now it’s just part of what it means to date him. He enjoys taking care of me, making sure all my needs are met. And if he wants to order for me, I won’t complain. He’s yet to choose something I don’t like.
Love Triangle: Six Books of Torn Desire Page 90