My sister is unyielding.
“You have school. Not to mention, Dad would never let you get on a plane alone.”
“Let me handle Dad. He’s so sick of hearing me complain about the reporters around here, I bet he’d put me on a plane himself.”
The last thing I need is Tate.
The first thing I need is a drink.
“Don’t ask Dad for anything,” I order, hitting the elevator button to my suite.
As I step in, Tate suggests, “What if I got Mom to come with me? Then would you let me come to L.A.?”
My mother in L.A.? Fuck no.
“I’m about to hang up on you, Tate.”
“No, you’re not. You’re homesick. Admit it.”
I am homesick. Homesick for the days when my life was spent solely on me; what I wanted, what I planned. Hell, if it got me away from all this, I’d agree to lunch with George McLain every day for a week. I’d turn myself inside out to ensure I was more worthy in every way that made my dad proud.
Stepping off the elevator, continuing to listen to my sister’s pleas for me to call Dad, I run into the absolute unexpected.
“Tate, I need to go.”
“You said this already, but I think you need...”
Dropping the phone in my pocket once I’ve disconnected the call, I take a few cautious steps toward Brooke. She’s sitting outside my hotel door, elbows to her knees with her head looking to the floor.
“Brooke?”
When her eyes come to mine, they’re swollen from tears. The puffiness on the outside adds to the redness within. She looks as miserable as I feel.
In broken words, sounding a lot like broken English, Brooke rushes out, “I fucked up, Brock. I did this. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to—”
“Stop talking,” I demand. Brooke Malloy in tears is gut wrenching. The sadness is comparable to a broken bird trying to take flight.
Wiping her cheeks, she asks, “Can I come in? I promise what I have to say won’t take but a minute.”
I want to tell her to come in, to stay the night. Fuck, I still want her to stay forever, and I’d say or do whatever it took to convince to her never leave. The issue, though, is that this has to be her decision. She needs to make any and all choices for herself without my influence.
“Come on. Get up. You look terrible,” I instruct, but joking, of course. Crying or not, Brooke’s beautiful to me.
Wiping her face as she stands, she smiles. “Now you’re being bossy and rude.”
Once I’ve opened the door to my suite, I push it further and step out of the way for her to pass. The familiar scent of her hair travels the small distance, and I have to plead with myself to stay in control.
With her arms crossed over her waist, Brooke looks around my suite, as if for the first time. I’ve hardly spoken to her once after admitting I was falling in love with her, at least not about anything that mattered. Her reticent reaction broke my heart, crushed my hope, and admittedly damaged my ego.
“Our official date is Friday,” she starts, finally turning around to face me. My back is against the door, supporting my weight in case this doesn’t go the way I want it to. “Two days from now,” she adds.
“Yeah?”
“I’m here to give you the chance to call it off. I can tell Matt and Willow—”
“I’m not doing that,” I assure. “I planned this date to my exact specifications.”
“You did?”
“Yes. Jerry had no input.”
“He didn’t?” Her voice is hopeful, as is my resilience to keep going.
Walking toward her with careful steps, I’m hesitant in case she bolts. At the very least, I wait for her to back away. When she doesn’t, I keep moving in her direction.
“Tell me why you’re here,” I insist. “Tell me you’re not here, expecting me to cancel our date.”
Shaking her head as I hold her cheek, Brooke gazes at my chest. “No,” she mumbles. “I didn’t want you to cancel it.”
“Tell me why you’re here then.”
Lifting her head, I note not only are her eyes swollen, but they’re tired. Brooke’s exhausted.
“I miss talking to you,” she says first. “I don’t have anyone but Ryleigh and Addie. They’re sick of me.”
“I bet they are,” I concur. “I bet they’re sick to death of you.”
“What?” she gasps, hardly able to get her reply out.
Smiling down at her, I pull her into me. Once I know she’s not going to battle to get away, I whisper into the top of her head, “Tell me why you came here.”
“I just did,” she speaks into my chest, her words muffled and unclear.
“You came to hear me tell you I was sorry,” I press, knowing that’s not the reason, but offering us both an out anyway. I owe her an apology. One delivered face-to-face, if not heart to heart.
“Yes,” she tells me. “That’s exactly why I’m here. So, go ahead.”
“If I say it, are you staying?”
Pulling her head back from my chest, her neck cranes as she looks up. “If I say it, will you let me?”
“For as long as you want.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
If only I had realized all this sooner.
Brooke
-
Everything is dark, and the room is quiet.
Brock’s arm holds me tightly to his chest. His breathing isn’t steady, so I know he’s awake. The lazy graze of his fingertips circling my outer thigh is light, but there. Giving into my body’s shiver, I close my eyes and savor our time alone. Our time hasn’t been like this, just he and I, for weeks.
After Brock apologized, I did the same. We talked, but not for long. The sex that came after wasn’t about releasing our pent-up frustrations, or encouraging the playful banter that often times precedes it.
Brock made love to me.
For the first time in my life, I found such a notion existed. Even before, when things began to change between us, I never felt this between us.
His kisses weren’t pressing. His touch wasn’t deliberate. Brock was taking his time, slow and easy. Since the first night we met, I didn’t try to freeze the moment and save it to memory. Not because it wasn’t beautiful, because it was. After I tell him what I have yet to tell him, my hope is that it’s always like this. The threat of forgetting what we once had together won’t be there anymore. Because if I’m blessed, I’ll always have him.
“You’re awake,” I whisper, covering his hand on my thigh with my own.
He kisses the back of my head, and the warmth from his breath lingers through his question. “Have you slept at all?”
No, I haven’t slept.
I tried closing my eyes, but the urgency for me to say what I came here to say has kept me awake. The fear he wouldn’t return it, or worse, wouldn’t accept it, clouded my thoughts.
“Not yet.”
Moving his arm around my waist, tucking his fingers beneath my side, he continues to hold me as close as he can.
“Why not?”
“There’s more to say,” I explain. “And I want to say it before we leave this room.”
His voice is raspy. From worry or sleep, I can’t tell. “Brooke? What is it?”
Staring outside the hotel window to the glowing city in all its beauty, I admit, “I love you. I should’ve told you before you left—”
“Don’t say it,” he clips. “I was an ass. I fucked up.”
Smiling at the memory, now that it hurts less to remember, I agree. “You were an ass. But I knew how you felt, and I should’ve told you then.”
“You love me,” he states plainly. The vibration of Brock’s chest against my back sends a shiver down my spine. “This is good,” he says with relief.
Continuing my gaze to the outside world, I wait for him to return the sentiment. When he doesn’t, I prod, “Are you okay?”
Sighing heavily, he answers. “I’m debating.”
“Debating on what?”
His hand drops from my waist, and in that millisecond, I start to panic. The knee-jerk reaction would be for me to get up, dress, and run as fast as I can. I beat it back though and wait.
When I feel his hand drop below my stomach, inching between my thighs, I close my eyes and inhale.
“I could say it now, because I really want to. Or I can wait until I’m inside you, showing you how I feel when you hear me say it.”
His fingers dip into the skin of my inner thigh, so I spread them to grant him access.
“You’re with me?” he questions, his fingers prodding my entrance, but then hesitating. “You’re with me at the end of this?”
All things considered, I hadn’t given thought to marrying him. With everything that’s happened, all the good and all the bad, I do know I’d take everything Brock was willing to give me.
“Yes.”
He releases a heavy sigh and sits up. Without delay, he positions me beneath him and blankets his body over mine. The city lights cast a glow on the side of his face. The sincerity in his eyes is evident, the sincerity in his voice is blatant, as he slides into me while saying, “I love you.”
Tears I hadn’t realized I was holding streak my temples as they cascade effortlessly on each side of my face. The ache of relief floods my stomach as I wrap my legs around his waist. Our hips move in sync as he pushes inside before pulling out, rocking our bodies in unison.
This is what I’ve waited all my adult life to feel.
Desire.
Passion.
Peace and understanding.
“I love you,” he whispers again, this time peppering small kisses to each tear that’s fallen. “And I’m sorry.”
When Brock positions his hands beneath me, tilting my hips to his, he drives deep. Fast and furious, the spiraling moments of all our times together come back piece by piece.
My body shakes, readying for release, while at the same time, Brock slides inside one last time. “Don’t walk away from this again,” he whispers.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Blood-sucking temptress does one better.
Brock
-
“So, do you live on a farm?” Drew ignorantly questions, grabbing a beer from my mini-fridge and not offering anyone else one of their own. “I mean, like, do you have cows and shit?”
Addie, being the spitfire she is, takes immediate offense. “Cows and shit?” she hisses. Janet’s frustration with Jack is funny. Brooke and I have enjoyed their never-ending banter. “Not everyone in the Midwest owns a farm. And there’s nothing wrong with farming, anyway.”
“Unless you’re Mary Ann,” Brooke mumbles to herself at my side, but I clearly caught it.
“That’s funny?” I snap, grabbing her chair and pulling her in close.
Rather than go out and see the city as Matt suggested to us all to do, the four of us grabbed a set of playing cards from the break room, sent Clive to get a couple of cases of beer, and came back to my room to play strip poker.
“Is it funny you dated a vegetarian farmer’s daughter? Yes.”
“I came out of it okay.”
“Because you thought of me the whole time.”
“I did,” I freely admit. “Your body and your mouth, actually.”
Shaking her head and feigning insult, she tsks. “I came out on top that night.”
“Could you guys lay off the public displays? Brock, you lost. Lose something.”
Looking down, I contemplate. Addie’s in a bra, as is Brooke, but to save Drew the trouble of getting a fist to the face for gawking at her, I made her hold a pillow between her and the table. He doesn’t get to see what I now know is mine.
Grabbing the back of my shirt, I pull it off in one quick motion. Brooke gasps, and Addie laughs. When I turn to look at Brooke, her eyes are wide as she stares at my chest. Her face turns red.
“Jesus Christ,” Drew gasps. “What the fuck?”
Looking down, taking in what I already know is there, I turn my head to the side and smirk. Not one, but two hickeys decorate my chest.
“She’s a sucker,” I say.
“Oh my,” Addie breathes. “Brooke...oh, my.”
Grabbing the pillow from her chest, Brooke throws it at me. Drew turns to Brooke, where as any natural born man would look, he zones in on her chest.
“Drew,” I clip, shaking my head. “No way.”
Turning in his place, Drew looks to Addie at his side. “I’m not looking. Just tell me when it’s my turn.”
“I can’t look away,” Addie informs, studying my chest. “I’m not sure if I’m jealous or turned on.”
Suddenly, Drew stands, throws the cards on the table, then grabs Addie’s arm.
“You’re leaving?” Brooke admonishes. “I was about to win the pot.”
Pointing to my chest, Addie hisses, “Like you haven’t already won the biggest jackpot. I’m going back to my room. I’m going to shower, put on my pjs, and watch a movie.”
Brooke sits back in her chair, thankfully taking the pillow with her as she does, and mumbles inaudibly under her breath.
“We’ll catch you guys after your date tomorrow,” Drew bids, following Addie to the door. “Brooke,” he nods. “My buddy bruises like a peach. Go easy.”
“Oh my God,” she whispers in return.
After Drew and Addie file out, I turn to my flushed soon-to-be fiancée and grin.
I mean, she’s already undressed. What else are we going to do?
Chapter Forty-Nine
She’ll say yes. She has to say yes.
Brock
-
I’m ready.
In my pocket, I have the ring I picked out myself, the proposal speech I’ve rehearsed in my head hundreds of times, and the confidence I’ve somehow seemed to muster. I’m ready.
I’m lying. I’m a fucking mess.
Sitting alone at a table for two in the seemingly popular Mexican restaurant as the cameras roll in every corner, I’m doing a shit job in beating back the nerves that twist in my gut.
Brooke’s the one.
It doesn’t matter where, how, or why we met, all of this was meant to happen. She’s the girl I’ve waited for. Brooke fits my life. All the craziness, cattiness, and emotional torture we’ve endured will soon be worth it.
Technically, I’m supposed to wait until that final episode. Theoretically, I should give her the chance to turn Evan down in front of viewers should he ask for her hand himself. However, nothing about our relationship thus far has been conventional. Brooke deserves a proper proposal, and that’s what she’ll get from me. The only thing I couldn’t cover was calling her dad and asking permission. I’ve never met him, but from hearing Brooke talk about their relationship, he trusts her.
“Can I get you another drink while you wait, Mr. LaDuece?” the tall, young waiter questions as he holds a bottle of wine at my side.
I look down to my second empty glass and then to my watch. Brooke’s late. Thirty-minutes late.
“No, thank you. I’m okay.”
The sweat on my brow has to be shining for the cameras. The patrons sitting at the bar next to me continue to stare as they wait for Brooke to arrive. Those who were dining when we got here were all clued in on what was about to take place. The women swooned in their chairs. The men smiled with mockery and agreed to watch and stay quiet until it was over.
But, Brooke’s late for her own proposal.
Clearing my throat first, I pull out my cell phone to check for messages. When I find there’s nothing, I send her a quick text.
Me 07:43 p.m.: Where are you? And why am spending our first official date alone?
Setting the phone on the table, I wait for a response.
“Brock,” Clive calls for my attention.
Once at my side, he stands close. As I crane my neck to look up, I immediately note his expression is grave. Clive’s one of the easiest going men I’ve ever met. So, to see him appear stricken with whatever news he’s ab
out to impart is unsettling.
“What is it?”
Quietly, he leans down and informs me, “Matt needs you to go back to the hotel.”
What the fuck?
“I’m a little busy,” I bite back. I don’t give a shit what Matt thinks he needs me to do. Now’s not a good time. “Tell him I’ll call him when Brooke and I are finished.”
Clive’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder. Being as I’ve never seen him look so uneasy, his added gesture of comfort is alarming.
“What is it?” I ask again. “Just tell me.”
His head lifts, and his eyes scan the restaurant as he takes in a deep breath.
“He didn’t say, man. He called and said you have a meeting with both him and Willow in an hour.”
“Willow?”
“Yeah. And, if I had to guess, all this is about Brooke. I’m thinkin’ something’s happened.”
Standing, I toss my napkin on the table and shake my head quickly to clear it. A thousand possibilities plague my mind, filtering through slowly, one a time. Brooke refused the date. Brooke’s been in an accident. Brooke’s chosen Evan. All my contemplations soon turn to irrational reasoning and my blood burns in response.
“What the fuck is going on? Where is she?”
“I’m telling you, Brock, he didn’t say. Come on. You can ride with me so cameras don’t follow.”
On the way back to the hotel, Clive stays quiet. There’s no conversation or music to interrupt my thoughts. The ring is still in my pocket. The speech I was ready to give alongside my proposal has been left unsaid.
Where the fuck is Brooke?
Chapter Fifty
My heart is sick, too.
Brooke
-
“Deep breaths, Brooke. Come on, honey. You’re not thinking clearly.”
Hell no, I’m not.
In a matter of seconds, my life has flipped upside down, completely turning itself inside out. I have no balance. My body has become no heavier than a feather in the wind, mindlessly attempting to adhere itself to something safe and true, but in the empty void of time and circumstance, there’s nothing within my grasp.
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