by Leigh, T. K.
“I told her I was talking about her,” I interrupt. That night’s fuzzy, but I remember leaving that bar with the intention of going to see her, to make up for standing her up all those years ago. It’s the last thing I can remember until the next morning.
It’s silent for a moment as I process this, trying to force more of that night back to the surface, but nothing comes. I return my gaze to Molly. “What else did she say?” My eyes are pleading, desperate for even the most meaningless piece of information.
“She didn’t go into detail, just that you told her you loved her.”
“Fuck,” I breathe, rubbing my temples. For once, Gigi doesn’t admonish me for my language. Even she realizes the severity of the situation requires it.
“It sounded like things got hot and heavy, but you stopped just short of having sex. You told her you wanted to be sober the first time you made love.”
If I felt like an ass before, it’s worse now, knowing what I told her. I gave her hope only to destroy it. History repeating itself. No wonder Brooklyn wants nothing to do with me.
“The next morning, she got up to make breakfast. That’s when she overheard you talking on your phone.”
“To Carla,” I say, resigned, the ache in my chest building with each passing moment.
Molly nods. “She was able to decipher enough of the conversation to learn Carla was pregnant.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to relieve the tension, to no avail. “I remember waking up in her bed and panicking. I was so worried I took advantage of her.” I can only imagine what Brooklyn must have thought of me when I stumbled from her room after learning I was going to be a father again and asked if anything happened between us the night before.
“It sounds like you did,” Gigi interjects. I shoot my eyes to her steely glare. “Just in a different way.”
“I had no memory of how I got from the bar to her bed. I still don’t. I was young and stupid. It’s not an excuse, but alcohol was my go-to stress reliever, regardless of its detrimental effect on me. After a bad game. After a fight. After learning my wife wanted to leave me. I just… I lost it. I was a different person back then. I don’t know how Brooklyn could have stayed my friend after everything.”
“That’s who she is,” Molly remarks. “Loyal to a fault.”
“Always putting other people’s needs before her own.”
“She probably didn’t want to say anything because of our friendship,” she states, then furrows her brow. “I just don’t understand. Brooklyn’s always been a bit guarded when it comes to offering her heart. If it was just one night… I guess I don’t see why it affects her like it does.”
I look from her toward Gigi, who nods, wordlessly telling me it’s time to finally tell someone.
“Because it wasn’t just one night.”
Molly’s brows furrow. “You hooked up with her again?”
“Kind of.” Shaking my head, I prepare myself to finally talk about the night I first kissed Brooklyn, the night I thought I was flying, only to learn it was with broken wings. “Do you remember that party you went to the summer before your junior year of high school.”
“I went to a lot of parties,” she answers.
“I know, but this was the first one Brooklyn’s father allowed her to attend.”
Understanding washes over her face as the memory seems to return. “The Strip Uno incident.”
“Yes.” I run my hands along my jeans. “We kissed that night. Not just a peck, but a real kiss.” My lips curve up slightly in the corners. “I was her first kiss. She wanted more, but she’d been drinking. I didn’t want her first time to be at some high school party. We made plans to get together the following morning after her father left for work and before I had to leave for the airport to catch my flight to Minnesota.
“The next day, I got up early. As I was getting ready, there was a knock on my door. It was Dad, asking me to come with him. I followed him into the kitchen, surprised to see Mr. Tanner.”
“Brooklyn’s dad?” Molly asks. “What was he doing there?”
I close my eyes, the ache of walking into my kitchen and seeing Mr. Tanner standing there returning full force, regardless of the passing of years. Gigi’s hand clasps mine, encouraging me.
“One of Brooklyn’s neighbors saw me dropping her off the night before. Since I’d hauled her out of that house right before she was about to strip to nothing, she was still just in her bra and panties, a blanket draped around her. I should have made her put her clothes back on in my car, but hindsight’s always 20/20. I didn’t. When I walked her up to the house, things got pretty heated again.”
I bury my head in my hands, tugging at my hair. “The next morning, as Brooklyn’s dad was bringing in the paper, a neighbor told him what she saw. So he went to look at the footage from the security cameras he’d installed.”
Molly’s mouth grows slack. “Oh shit.”
“It didn’t look good. And this wasn’t the first time he’d caught us in a compromising position. Earlier that summer, we’d almost kissed before he interrupted. After that, he gave Dad a not-so-subtle reminder that I was eighteen and she was only fifteen. So when he saw that video…” I swallow hard through the lump in my throat. “He gave me a choice. Leave for college without seeing her or he’d go to the police. It didn’t matter that we hadn’t slept together. The video of us walking up to her house, her in just her bra and panties, then kissing her the way I did… It didn’t look good. Even if I was innocent, he could make a lot of trouble. Just the appearance of wrongdoing could have ruined a lot of things for me. I hated doing it, but I didn’t have a choice. So I got on that plane without saying another word to Brooklyn.”
Molly slumps onto the stool beside me, her lower lip trembling. “Holy shit. It all makes sense now. Every time I teased her about her crush on you, she’d say how she valued our friendship above everything. Now I feel like an ass. I should have known there was something going on, something bigger than her not wanting to ruin our friendship. And these past few weeks…” She trails off.
“What?”
Cringing, she faces me. “I’ve been questioning her decision to marry Wes. And at her shower…” She chews on her lower lip.
“What did you do?” My voice is guarded. Knowing Molly like I do, I have a feeling I’m not going to like what she’s about to tell me.
“It wasn’t intentional. I thought it would be fun, but I surprised her with a shower game.”
“What kind of shower game?”
“A modified version of the Newlywed Game.” She’s unnaturally shy as she avoids my gaze. “I reached out to Mrs. Bradford with the idea and she was on board. So I went to Wes’ office and recorded him answering a few questions — his favorite movie, childhood pet, stuff like that. The goal was to see how well the couple knew each other.” She looks at me through remorse-filled eyes. Just by her expression, I can tell her idea backfired. “But Brooklyn could only answer a few questions about him. And when I asked what Wes’ favorite movie was, do you know what she said?”
I remain silent, swallowing hard.
“The Godfather. His favorite movie is It’s a Wonderful Life. And if we’re being honest, even I knew that answer. He said as much last Christmas.”
“I remember.”
“But she couldn’t. When we were talking earlier…” She gestures with her head toward the French doors leading to the back yard. “I accused her of settling. That’s when she told me everything.”
“She’s just marrying Wes because of me.”
“It’s possible,” Molly responds. “I didn’t have a chance to dig deeper before she ran off.”
“No. She is,” I state. “A few weeks ago, she mentioned something along the lines of settling being better for all involved.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I guess I did the same thing with Carla, but Brooklyn deserves better. She deserves to marry someone who makes her happy.”
“I think Wes does make her happy,” Gigi i
nterjects, joining the conversation.
“You do?”
She scrunches her brows, a moment of silent contemplation passing. “I do. He treats her well, dotes upon her as if she’s a treasure, makes her a priority. For Brooklyn, maybe that is happiness.”
“I’ve treated her well,” I argue, shooting to my feet. “I’ve always treated her with respect.”
“Except for the night you almost fucked her when you were hammered and can’t remember even doing it,” Molly bites out.
Gigi glares at her before returning her attention to me. “Look at things from Brooklyn’s point of view. If you were in her shoes, knowing what you know now, what would you think?”
I open my mouth, then snap it shut. “That I’ve done nothing but disappoint her.”
Placing her hand on mine, her lips form into a small smile full of compassion. “Brooklyn is…special.”
“I know that.”
“She processes things differently,” she continues. “I’m not her mother, but once Molly brought her into our family, I like to think she became like another one of my kids. She’s practical, but she’s always had this romantic side to her, as well. She’s always believed in the idea of finding a love so strong it hurts. And I think she did, but it hurt too much.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt her. I had no idea—”
“I know you didn’t. But for Brooklyn, love isn’t about showering her with gifts and flowers. It’s about putting in the effort, about making her a priority. Unfortunately…”
“In her eyes, I never did that,” I say, finishing her thought, sinking back onto the barstool.
“Imagine how Brooklyn felt that night, then the following morning, especially considering your history. One minute, she thought all her dreams were finally coming true. The next, she learned your wife was pregnant. How did you expect her to react?”
“The truth might have been nice.”
“Perhaps. It might be nice for Brooklyn, too.”
“You know why I can’t do that, Gigi,” I remind her in a low voice.
“I understand you don’t want to do anything to ruin her relationship with her father, and it’s admirable. Just like you think you deserved to know the truth all those years ago, perhaps Brooklyn does, too.” Her tone is harsher than usual, her dark eyes firm.
I sit still for several long moments, processing everything in my head, feeling like I’m seeing a completely different side of Brooklyn, of me, of us. Abruptly, I stand, heading toward the door.
“Ah, ah, ah.” Gigi’s in front of me before I can leave. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To find Brooklyn. To show her I’ll make her a priority.”
“But she’s engaged.” She smirks, crossing her arms over her chest.
“So? That didn’t stop you from trying to play matchmaker a few weeks ago.”
A sly grin builds on her lips as she raises herself onto her tiptoes, kissing my cheek. “Tread carefully, Andrew. You won’t win her heart overnight. It’s going to take some time.”
“How long?”
She shrugs, then retreats, returning to check on the sauce simmering on the stove. “Does it matter?”
Grinning, I respond without a moment’s hesitation. “No, it doesn’t.”
“Good answer.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Brooklyn
The most dangerous lies are the ones you tell yourself. They fester and churn, burning like acid, painful and biting until the lie becomes who you are, becomes the only identity you know.
For the past seventeen years, I’ve been lying to myself, doing everything to convince myself I can move past everything I’ve endured. After all, Drew’s just a friend. The problem is that’s not true.
Drew and I have a history, one I once cherished and held dear, but now only want to forget. And it’s this history and connection that’s turned our friendship into something more. It gave me hope, gave me faith, gave me promise. Each smile, each hug, each wink misled me to have even more hope, more faith, more promise. I can’t do this to myself anymore.
I won’t do this to myself anymore.
My hands shake as I bring my keyring up to the lock on my front door, relentless tears still flowing down my cheeks as his words replay in my mind.
“Please, Brooklyn. Let me be your last.”
It took every ounce of resolve not to fling myself into his arms at his heartfelt plea. But staying away is the only way I’ll ever have a chance at repairing my damaged heart.
I disappear into my townhouse, blowing out a relieved breath once I’m secure in my own private sanctuary. I collapse onto the couch, only to come face-to-face with a framed photo of Drew, Molly, and me from our childhood. Drew’s in his hockey gear, Molly and me on either side of him, his arms pulling both of us close. I’ve always loved this photo, but now it makes the tears fall even harder, my entire body trembling.
I thought I could escape him here, but I can’t. He’s everywhere. In the air. On the walls. In the foundation. This is the reason I need to marry Wes. Drew may not see it. Hell, even Molly may not see it. But it needs to happen. I need to move on, to forget the past and the unrequited love I’ve held onto for too long now.
As I lay there, struggling to pull myself together, a car door slams, jolting me. It could be one of my neighbors, but I recognize that particular car door…as ridiculous as that sounds. It’s known and familiar, like the rhythm of a loved one’s breathing. I shoot up, staring out the window behind the couch to see Drew walking toward the door. I scurry from the couch, unsure where to go, scanning the small living space for an escape plan.
His footsteps up the stairs and onto the porch echo, my breathing increasing with each one. I duck, hiding beneath the window of the front door. His fist pounds on the wood, making me jump.
“Brooklyn! Open up! I need to talk to you.”
I hold my breath, praying he’s unable to sense me sitting just on the other side of the door.
“I know you’re in there. Your car’s in the driveway.”
“Shit,” I mutter.
“Please,” he begs, his voice growing soft. “I just… I just want to talk.”
There’s a pause and I hold still, trying not to move so much as a hair for fear he’ll know. This behavior is childish. I should open the door and confront him, but I feel too vulnerable, too exposed. I’ve kept this secret from him for seven years. How can I look into his eyes now that he knows the truth? What will I see when I do? Regret? Remorse? Nothing? The idea of seeing nothing is more than I can bear.
When the porch creaks with his shifting weight, followed by a labored sigh, I slowly lift myself to peek outside, seeing a shaggy mess of dark hair below the window. His voice rings out as I crouch back to my hiding position.
“Remember when you had the chicken pox?”
My heart thumps in my chest and I blink, wondering what he’s doing, why he’s talking to my door. Then I pull my knees into my body, comforted by his proximity. Just like I can always sense when he enters a room without setting eyes on him, he can do the same with me. He must know I’m sitting less than a foot away, only a thick piece of wood between us.
“I think I was in fourth grade, so you would have been in second. Both you and Molly had it at the same time. Gigi offered to take care of you so your dad didn’t have to miss any work. You stayed at our house for the week.” He laughs slightly, his voice growing more animated. “And it was during our February break from school. Molly didn’t shut up about it. Every other kid who caught the chicken pox got to miss a week of school. She was so pissed she couldn’t. But you…” He pauses. I hear the faintest hint of a shallow sigh as I imagine his entire body relaxing. I’ve heard that sigh before when he settled onto the couch with me, effortlessly throwing an arm across my shoulders as we watched a movie with the girls. “You were relieved you got sick during the school break because you wouldn’t have to miss anything.”
The memory brings a smile to my fa
ce and I close my eyes, returning to that time in my life, a time when things were simple.
“Gigi told me to stay away from you two since I hadn’t gotten chicken pox yet and had a big hockey tournament in a few weeks…or at least as big a hockey tournament as there can be when you’re nine. Even when we were kids, there was something inside me. This innate need to take care of you. So I ignored Gigi’s warnings and checked in on you, bringing you soup and watching TV with you. Do you remember?”
Tears prickle my eyes as I listen to him recount the bond we’ve always shared, even as kids. “Yes,” I say in a soft voice. I can almost feel his smile.
“I was too young to know what love was, how complicated and fucked up it can be, how much it can hurt. But, even back then, I knew I cared for you, Brooklyn. I never…” He trails off, then draws in a deep breath, as if collecting himself.
“I never meant to hurt you. And I’m sorry things turned out like they did. That day I punched Damian Murphy and came to see you, I was so nervous. You may not believe me, but I was. As I pushed you on that swing in your front yard, this electricity filled me. And it hurt because I thought you were too good for me. I still think that. Still think I’m completely undeserving of any amount of time you’ll give me. As much as I wish I could rewind the clock to simpler times, to go back to the day I left for college…” There’s a pause and I hold my breath, waiting for his next words, craving them.
“I can’t,” he finally says, almost as if to himself. “We’ve grown up. We’ve both done things we regret. At least I have.” His voice is quiet, contemplative.
“We’ve done things to hurt each other. I can sit here and apologize all I want, but my words don’t mean shit to you, and rightly so. You don’t have to open the door to talk to me. I’ll give you the space you need to figure this out since being near me has caused you nothing but pain lately. But I want you to know I’ll fight for you, Brooklyn. Just like I risked being sick and not playing in that tournament all those years ago, I’ll put it all on the line again just to be with you. You have to decide what you want, what path to take.”