by Gage Grayson
The town has been abuzz ever since we won our case against the State. Our victory has been shared by newspapers and magazines across the country, detailing our fight and informing the public that if you try hard enough, then the little people can win.
While I appreciate the narrative, the stories tend to omit the fact that we had a world-class lawyer on our case. All they care about is that Dylan was a small-town Texan, just like us.
But that’s not who he is. And, to be honest, it was never who he was—even when he was living here. He always had bigger and brighter dreams.
Which is fine. I support him in chasing his dream career. But it’s also why I have to forget about him. For his benefit and for mine.
“Brooke, you ready?” Jessie asks me.
I blink a few times to bring myself back to reality. Eric, Jessie, and I are being given the keys to the town for everything we’ve done for the school.
I’m touched, but Dylan should be here, too.
I nod my head at Jessie and Eric, whose hands are intertwined. Eric proffers his other hand to me, so I smile and take it as we make our way onto the small stage set-up—appropriately—on the school’s football field.
We are met with uproarious applause from the audience gathered there, and even though I’m used to speaking at school assemblies and pep rallies and football games, the sheer volume of the crowd makes my stomach turn a little. I’m suddenly very, very nervous.
It’s all a blur of color and noise as the three of us shake hands with officials, take the keys to the city, and pose for photos until my cheeks hurt from smiling.
There’s live music afterwards, and the field comes alive with people dancing, singing, eating, drinking, and generally reveling in the moment.
But I can’t find it in myself to enjoy it. Not really.
Suddenly my phone buzzes, and for one stupid, hopeful second, I honestly believe it’s Dylan.
Of course, it isn’t. It’s Helen.
“Brooke, sorry, I had to run off early from the ceremony so I couldn’t speak to you privately,” she says. “Can you come into my office first thing tomorrow morning, please? I have something I wish to discuss with you.”
“Of course,” I say into the phone. “I’ll see you in the morning. I’ll bring the coffee.”
“You’re too good for all of us. I take mine black.”
I laugh softly. “If I didn’t know that by now, then I wouldn’t deserve a place on your staff.”
Helen joins me, laughing.
“Yes, because of course, I judge all of my teachers on whether they know my coffee order. I’ll see you in the morning, Brooke. Now go and enjoy yourself!”
Of course, now I’m far too deathly curious to enjoy the festivities. Eric and Jessie notice.
“What’s up, Sinclair?” Eric asks, gently knocking his knuckles against my head. “You should be enjoying yourself!”
“So, stop thinking of Dylan,” Jessie chimes in, taking a guess at what I’m thinking about.
I wave a hand dismissively. “I’m not thinking about him. I just got off the phone with Principal Barnes. She wants to speak to me in her office tomorrow morning.”
Eric raises an eyebrow. “Did she say what it was about?”
I shake my head in answer. I look at Eric suspiciously, as if he might know something, but his face is innocently blank.
“Aw, don’t give me that look, Brooke. I don’t know anything. Come find me after your meeting and let me know what it’s all about, though.”
“And give me a call after it, too,” Jessie adds.
“You do know I actually have classes to teach, guys. I can’t just shirk them to hang out down by the football pitch and gossip on the phone.”
Jessie giggles. “Some things never change.”
“Ha. Very funny. Anyway, I think I’m gonna head off. I want a good night’s sleep before this meeting, and I’m exhausted.”
“Well, now, that’s definitely because of Dylan.”
I punch Eric in the arm. “Don’t spoil everything by talking about him right now, you dick.”
He holds his hands up in surrender. “All I’m saying is that if you’re losing sleep over the guy, maybe you should call him.”
I look at Jessie, and she seems to be very much in agreement with Eric.
I sigh. “If Dylan wanted to talk, he’d call me. He hasn’t. I’m not gonna fold and call him. It’s not worth it.”
I leave Eric and Jessie before they can say anything further to break my resolve, though I know I won’t get to sleep for a long time, even though I truly am exhausted.
The nausea-inducing, nervous twisting of my stomach that began when I was on stage still doesn’t dissipate as I toss and turn in bed all night, nor does it calm down when I force myself out of bed in the morning, dog-tired.
I feel as if my nerves are frayed. I manage to cover up the mess my brain is in with make-up, hairspray, and nice clothes; but though I can conceal the dark circles under my eyes, I know nothing can cover how I’m feeling.
Resolving to act my heart out once I reach the school, I allow myself to indulge in some overly emotional, angry country music, singing and shouting along as I drive to work.
It actually helps. Especially when I remember that Dylan hates country music—God, I end up cranking the volume up just thinking about it.
I subsequently reach the school in a much better mood, coffee in tow as I make my way to Helen’s office.
“Come in, Brooke,” she calls out when I knock, having anticipated who it is on the other side of her door.
She smiles warmly as I make my way in, close the door behind me, and hand a steaming cup of black coffee over to her before sitting down.
“Mmm, there’s nothing like freshly ground coffee in the morning,” Helen sighs as she takes a sip.
I sit there in silence, waiting for Helen to explain why I’ve been called to the office.
When she sees the look on my face, she laughs.
“Brooke, feel free to look more excited. You’re up for promotion to vice principal next year.”
I gawk at Helen, speechless.
I’m what?
She beams at me. “I’ll take it from your reaction that this comes as a surprise. It shouldn’t. You are an exemplary teacher and an inspiration to the town. There’s not a soul in Texas who doesn’t know how much you care about this school. You’re the natural choice.”
I swallow a few times, my throat suddenly very dry.
“And you…you’re sure?” I let out, stammering a little against my will.
“Of course! Have more confidence in yourself, Miss Sinclair! I know things might be a little bittersweet, what with Mr. Andrews having just left, but…keep your chin up. You’re doing such wonderful work here. You should be proud.”
Finally, I manage to smile, though I have to choke back tears to do so. “Thank you, Principal Barnes. You know this means the world to me.”
“I’m sure you won’t let me down. Now,” Helen says, glancing up at her clock, “I think it’s time you headed to your first class, Brooke! You don’t want to be late.”
I grin at the notion, knowing that Helen is referring to my own high school days of constantly being late for first period, then leave her office.
All around me, decorations for the upcoming prom are being thrown up on the walls, with banners and posters all excitedly advertising the event.
Vote for your prom king and queen!
Make sure to ask that girl you like to prom!
Don’t miss your final chance to confess to the one you love!
It’s as if they’re all taunting me.
To make matters worse, the championship banners from my own high school days have also been strung up along the others, flashing Dylan Andrews’ name in my face again and again.
Entirely against my will, I find myself loitering in front of the trophy case, one finger on the glass, tracing the outline of all of the photos and medals and trophies belonging
to Dylan.
Just as I was doing back in Principal Barnes’ office, I find myself holding back tears.
Why couldn’t you stay, Dylan?
I miss him. I really do. I don’t want to—and I shouldn’t—but I do.
And yet, I made the right decision. My upcoming promotion only serves to emphasize that.
So why on earth do I feel so bad?
Chapter 31
Dylan
My side hurts like hell.
It’s not surprising—it was cut to shreds by glass just a few days ago.
I did go to the hospital and got myself patched up properly—I’m not that big of an idiot—but the slowly healing skin stings and smarts like someone has just poured salt into an open wound.
I keep the pain from showing on my face as I make my way through the glass doors of Parker, McDowell & Emmerich—soon to be Parker, McDowell, Emmerich, & Andrews.
After all, why would I look like I was in pain after having just returned from a Superbowl-sized win?
I wouldn’t.
So, I have to be all pride and smugness and most definitely not appear to be pining after a small-town Texan woman. Nope. Definitely not.
Brooke made it clear she wouldn’t relocate to be with me, so the best thing I can do for myself is forget about her.
So, forget about her I shall.
I know the first thing on the menu today is a meeting with Roland Parker and the other partners. The meeting is going to be a cake walk. I already know I’m their star player—or was, seeing as I’m now one of them.
“Hey, Andrews!” someone bellows at me.
I look over my shoulder as I make my way to the elevator to see who called my name—it’s a lawyer I’ve never even worked with.
“Great work on that Texas case!”
I give him a smile and a nod before getting into the elevator when its doors ping open. And I’m greeted with more accolades from another face I don’t know.
“How the fuck did you pull that off, Dylan?”
“Amazing work, Andrews!”
“You were made to be partner, especially after that Texas school case.”
“Where in the world did you get the gall to make that work, Andrews? I can’t believe you crashed and burned that merger!”
The entire ride up to the main conference room is a cacophony of noise—congratulations, sentiments of bafflement, some vaguely jealous comments.
It’s the kind of stuff I used to revel in. I positively basked in comments like that.
But, they’re all about Texas. And when I think of Texas, I can only think of Brooke.
As partner, I can’t be seen dwelling on a broken heart, so I play along and put on the facade that they all expect. I thank them for their comments and respond to their jibes in kind, all easy smiles and confident laughter as I do so.
It’s a blessing when the elevator doors finally open and I’m free of everyone.
But, of course, it doesn’t stop there. The comments continue as I walk towards the conference room, to the point that I feel my smile getting tighter and more insincere with every step I take.
On impulse, I head to the bathroom before the board meeting. I splash ice-cold water on my face, dry myself off, and close my eyes for a moment. I force myself to take a deep breath.
You’re gonna have to get used to comments about the Texas case. You’re gonna walk into that board meeting like you always belonged there, and you’re going to knock it out the park.
The pep talk works—at least somewhat. It gives me the opportunity to stop smiling for a minute or two, to relax the muscles in my face and shoulders, and to inspect myself in the mirror.
Christ, the shadows under my eyes are bigger than I’ve ever seen them. But I can chalk that down to celebrating my big win a little too hard, rather than the truth.
Other than the dark circles under my eyes, I look exactly the same. Matthew Dunn never managed to hit my face during our bar fight—though he did manage to get in at least one good punch. And the deep gash that earned my stitches certainly can’t be attributed to him, though the pompous prick would likely try to.
No one can see that damage, however, just so long as I can keep the pain from my face—which isn’t all that difficult to do, given my years of playing football in pain.
Taking one more deep breath, I vacate the bathroom and make my way once more towards the conference room, open the door, and stalk in like the cat who got the cream—all with a massive, arrogant grin on my face.
“I hope you all missed me,” I announce to the room, which garners a round of laughter from everyone.
Roland Parker stands up and shakes my hand. “That was deftly done, Andrews. Trust you to pick up a near-unwinnable case while at home, and for a funeral, no less. Congratulations again on the big win.”
Ignoring the twinge of pain I feel at the mention of my mother’s funeral, I shake my head slightly in false modesty as I chuckle at Roland’s words. “You know me. Can’t haul me away from work for anything.”
Both Roland and I take our seats, and without any further ado, the meeting begins.
It passes in a whirl of new cases, current cases, cold cases people wish to reopen with the power of lots of cash, and one mention of pro bono work which is quickly dismissed.
“Get the trainee lawyer to see to that,” McDowell says. “We don’t have the people to spare for it.”
I resist the urge to say that, in reality, we very much can. It wouldn’t have bothered me before, but clearly, my time in Texas—surrounded by people who could never have afforded my help, even if they had sold everything they owned—has changed me.
I made a difference to my home town—one that will not be easily forgotten. And it doesn’t just mean something to the town. It means something to me.
But that’s not how successful, sought-after law firms are run. That’s the reality of the world.
That doesn’t mean I don’t plan to introduce the firm to more pro bono work in the future. That would be the sensible thing to do, after all.
The meeting is over before I know it. It’s not that I didn’t listen to everything being discussed—because of course I did—but it seems very much as though nothing of actual consequence was said.
It unsettles me. Are all partner meetings full of talk but not much action?
But it’s only my first meeting as a partner—things will surely be different once I’ve been in the position for a while longer.
It is with some relief that I make my way over to my old office. I’m getting put in a new office to match my promotion, of course, but first I need to clear out the old one.
“Congratulations on your win in Texas!”
It’s Lisa, my assistant, offering her congratulations this time. I resist the urge to say something sarcastic in response—she doesn’t deserve it. I’m just irritated by the constant reminders of bloody Texas.
“Thank you, Lisa. Could you grab me some of the documents for the Lewiston case and the Dunphy lawsuit?”
“Would you like some coffee, too? You look more tired than normal.”
Leave it to Lisa to notice my fatigue.
“Coffee would be great, thanks.”
She smiles and nods in response before leaving.
The picture of my family is where I left it—face down on my desk. Gingerly, I pick it up.
I run a gentle thumb over my mother’s face. And I feel tears sting my eyes. My mother was a fucking superhero to me. The woman could move mountains with a smile—and now she’s gone.
And there’s a twinge of guilt that feels like a baseball in my throat. I spent a lot of my days buried under paperwork that I didn’t get to see or call her as much as I wanted—or should have. And now there’s no time left to go on those trips we said we would or have those phone calls that always got pushed back.
She’s gone.
But Brooke looked out for my mom. She spent time with her. They were friends. Hell, Mom was always like a second mother t
o Brooke after Brooke lost hers. They loved each other.
And now, I’ve gone and ruined my relationship with the second woman who ever meant anything to me.
I thought it had been difficult to leave Brooke for Harvard but, no, this is much worse. We fought together for something bigger than the two of us, and we won. We were the perfect team—in more ways than one.
Was it really worth my job in New York to abandon her? I wonder what Brooke would say if I turned tail and ran back to Texas, begging for her back. After having walked out on her twice now, I doubt she’d even entertain the idea.
I’ve well and truly fucked myself over. So, I better make sure this promotion was damn well worth it. It has to be. Otherwise, I’ll have thrown away the best thing to have ever happened to me for absolutely nothing.
Steeling myself to face more comments from people I barely know, I finish packing up my things, just as Lisa brings along my coffee and the documents I wanted. I drink it far too quickly, earning myself a scalded throat—just to add to my growing list of hidden injuries—and head over to my new office.
It’s a corner suite. And it’s beautiful. It’s the kind of office you dream about.
“Welcome to your new home,” Lisa smiles, referring to the fact that I barely leave my office.
“My new home…huh.”
But I had a home, and it was wonderful, and I threw it away. And now, it’s too late.
No. For Brooke’s sake and for mine, I have to stick to my decision to remain in New York. I interfered with her life for too long, and it simply wasn’t fair to her. It is in this moment, for the first time in my life, that I begin to understand why country music exists.
What I wouldn’t give for some good old Texan singer with an acoustic guitar to vocalize my feelings right now. Though Eric would argue that there’s a Garth Brooks song perfect for this moment, whatever that song is.
Hmm.
“Hey, Lisa, can you get me Garth Brook’s entire discography?”
I’m never telling Eric about this.
Chapter 32
Brooke
I wake up feeling groggy and nauseous.