After All

by McLaughlin, Heidi

“I shouldn’t be here,” Brooklyn mumbled, and Monroe let go of her. “It’s one thing to see everyone at the bar, but here . . .”

  Carly came toward her and slipped her hand into Brooklyn’s, tugging her along as she walked toward the group. Brooklyn thought about fighting her but shuffled her feet forward reluctantly.

  “Mrs. Woods, here, have my seat.” Jason Randolph stood and held out his hand, helping Carly to a spot on the log. He then turned to Brooklyn and pulled her into a strong, welcoming hug. “It’s so good to see you,” he said to her.

  “You too.” They pulled away and studied each other. “What are you up to these days?”

  He smiled so widely Brooklyn couldn’t help but do the same. “I’m a doctor. Just finished my residency at Mass General.”

  “That’s awesome, Jason.”

  “Bowie told me what you do. I looked at your website; it’s incredible. My fiancée is always watching those home makeover shows and taking notes.”

  “Thanks. I like it.”

  “And you have a daughter?”

  She glanced toward Brystol and Luke.

  “Stop hogging her,” Monroe said, pulling Brooklyn away from Jason. “We have lots of catching up to do.”

  Brooklyn followed Monroe over to the bonfire. She sat, keeping her eyes on Bowie. He stared at her intently, and she couldn’t decipher if he was angry that she was there or if something else was going on in his mind.

  TWENTY

  Every year since Austin had passed, Bowie and his friends had gotten together as if they hadn’t seen each other almost every day. Sometimes all their friends returned, and other times, it was only Monroe, Graham, Grady, and him. This year, though, it was everyone. He was surprised to see Jason trudging through the sand earlier with a case of beer under his arm. He was quickly followed by Mila, who said fifteen was a milestone and that everyone needed to be together. Truthfully, Bowie wanted this gathering to stop. The reminiscing was painful. Grady was evidence of that. And Bowie wanted one year where they, as a group, didn’t sit around and talk about Austin. Even their high school reunions, which, oddly enough, happened every summer as well, were geared toward remembering Austin. Sure, to the town he was a saint, but to Bowie, his best friend was a spoiled, self-centered asshole who didn’t know how good he had it. Still, he had loved Austin, and hated himself for thinking harshly of him.

  As Jason hugged Brooklyn, Bowie watched her. He desperately wanted to have his arms around her, to feel her body pressed against his. He missed the days when she would confide in him, when she would come running to him because of something Austin had done. He wished for the days when they were younger, holding hands as they jumped off the rocks and into the river together. He would keep his hands on her waist as they treaded water, acting chivalrous even though Brooklyn was more than capable of staying afloat without his help. It was his excuse to touch her without looking suspicious. Not that Austin was paying attention. There was always a girl or two at the beach with them, flirting any chance they could. It bothered Bowie that Austin would encourage it, that he would act like what he was doing wasn’t a big deal. Bowie knew otherwise. He had spent countless hours consoling Brooklyn, being her confidant, hoping she would leave him. Only she never did.

  Of all the places for Brooklyn to sit, she sat across from Bowie. He thought about going to Monroe to thank her for thinking of him but knew it was all happenstance. Their bonfire area wasn’t big, by any means, but still from where he sat, he had a full view of Brooklyn. For years, he had buried his feelings. Did everything he could to forget, and now they were back, and there was no stopping them. The floodgates had opened the second he had figured out she was driving the SUV that almost ran him over. As much as he wanted to hate her, he couldn’t. His heart, body, and mind wouldn’t allow it, and as much as he wanted to stay away from her, to protect himself from being hurt, he found himself in her proximity, always trying to be near her. He tried to fight the connection he felt, tried to ignore it, but he couldn’t. Watching her now, speaking with Monroe, he couldn’t help but long for her. He wanted to lie out under the stars with her by his side, listening to her life. He yearned to hear the details of where her job had taken her, how she had managed to build such a successful business and raise a smart daughter.

  He took stock of the differences from when she was twenty-two until now. The years had been good to her. He loved that she wore her hair longer, that she had filled out with curves he longed to touch. She was reserved, careful with what she said around people, almost as if the outgoing girl he once knew had changed into a shy, quiet woman. When they were alone, she closed herself off, even though he could see in her eyes she wanted to be there with him, to kiss him, feel his hands pressed against her. Yet, she held back, and he was fairly confident that Brooklyn planned to leave once the job at the inn was finished. Bowie wasn’t going to let her go, not without a fight.

  And now, here she was, looking directly at him instead of paying attention to whatever Monroe was saying to her. Their eyes locked, and even though a small distance separated them, Bowie could see her staring at him. He didn’t dare look away. He wanted her to know he was doing the same thing, watching her.

  He stepped toward her with intentions of taking her down to the surf so they could talk, but Monroe finally grabbed her attention, forcing Brooklyn to look away. He sat and focused on the red flames and embers from the bonfire, trying his hardest to sit there and pretend to mingle with his classmates. It was hot out and the fire was unnecessary, but it was their thing. They always had one. Back when they were teens, one of them—he couldn’t recall who because they all suggested something stupid at least once a day—had the bright idea of burning a pile of driftwood. The blue and lavender flames were a sight to see and attracted beachgoers from all along the shoreline. What the boys hadn’t counted on was becoming sick from the dioxins released by the burning logs. After a trip to the emergency room, they had learned their lesson. Shortly after the incident, the town banned all driftwood fires. Now that Bowie thought about it, they likely did so because Austin was involved, and nothing bad could happen to their precious Austin.

  Bowie hated himself right now for thinking ill of his friend. The animosity he thought he had long buried was alive and kicking, and for no good reason. Austin wasn’t there to defend himself, and Brooklyn . . . he could never find the right moment after Austin passed away to tell her how he felt, until it was too late. Carrying about the bitterness wasn’t good for him or anyone around him. He studied their group. Brooklyn was deep in conversation with Monroe, while Carly spoke to Graham. He had no idea where Grady had run off to, probably back to the bar, but he saw Luke frolicking with Brystol and decided he’d rather be with them. He dug through the cooler and pulled out a fresh beer and bottle of water and made his way toward her.

  “Mind if I sit?” he asked her. She glanced up at him, her eyes shining like a bright blue sky. Brooklyn’s daughter was beautiful, a spitting image of her mother mixed with the best of her father. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her freckled nose and smiled. He had hated wearing his glasses and was so thankful that his parents had allowed him to get contacts in middle school. Even now, he’d rather go to bed blind than put his specs on.

  “Nonnie says you do this every year.” She pointed toward the bonfire. “I’ve never been to one before.”

  Bowie handed her the bottle of water before he sat down in the sand. He pulled his knees toward his chest and rested his arms there. “You’re not really there now, are you?”

  She shrugged. “I like hanging out with Luke.” Brystol nuzzled the dog, who pushed himself into her embrace.

  “He loves you. I used to think he was my best friend until you came along. You know, I tried to use him as a pillow, like I had seen you do before, and he growled at me.”

  Brystol giggled, and it was the best sound he had heard in a long time. “Maybe I can visit him after you’re done working on my nonnie’s house?”

  “Are
you staying here?” he asked, knowing full well he was pumping the teenager for information about her mother. He wanted a little tidbit of information, something to tide him over until he came to his senses about Brooklyn.

  “I told you earlier that I’m here every summer.”

  “How come we haven’t seen you around then?” he fired back.

  “Maybe you weren’t looking in the right places.”

  “Touché, kid.” He brought his bottle of beer to his lips and took a long drink. The amber liquid wasn’t satisfying. “How old are you?”

  “Fourteen. I’ll be a freshman in the fall.”

  “Do you even go to school?” The question came out wrong, and before he could take it back or apologize, Brystol gave him a chiding look. He had seen it before. He had been on the receiving end of the same glare from her mother many, many times. He chuckled and decided the beer tasted just fine and took another drink. “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “I’m homeschooled.”

  All he could do was nod. He wasn’t a parent by any means but knew growing up this way was not what Austin would’ve wanted for his daughter. Of course, Austin would’ve had the girl fishing by now and probably spitting tobacco and wrestling gators or something.

  “I know you don’t like my mom,” she blurted out.

  He glanced at her but quickly turned away. Her eyes were sharp and accusing. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her mother. But not in the sense that he couldn’t be cordial. Bowie couldn’t explain his feelings for Brooklyn. He hated her and loved her at the same time.

  “I . . . uh . . .”

  “I know it’s a complicated adult matter. That’s what my mom says every time she wants to avoid talking about ‘adult’ things.” The use of air quotes caused Bowie to laugh, which made Brystol chuckle.

  “I’d like to get to know you, Brystol. Maybe teach you some of the things your dad would’ve done if he were here.”

  “Like how to fish?”

  He smiled so wide he felt his cheeks stretch. “And how to sail. We could go hiking. Rock jumping. As much as your dad loved being on the water, he loved nature, and you’re in one of the most beautiful states there is to explore.”

  “I’d like that, as long as my mom says it’s okay.”

  Bowie peered over his shoulder and caught Brooklyn staring at them. Had she been watching them the whole time, wondering what he could possibly be telling her daughter? He held her gaze until she tore her eyes away. He watched her look down at the sand and wrap her arms around her torso. Was she cold? Not possible. So, what was she hiding herself from?

  He longed to hold her, to ask her where she’d been and why she hadn’t told him she was leaving. Hell, he wanted to know why she didn’t ask him to go with her. They could’ve been great together, and Brystol would have a father because he knew, without a doubt and any hesitation, he would’ve stepped in to raise Austin’s child as his own. They could’ve built a family, either here or someplace else. All he wanted was to be with her. Even now he had thoughts of what it would be like to start over, to move on. Thing was, he wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to forgive her.

  “Do you have any questions about your dad that I can answer for you?”

  Brystol adjusted the way she sat by bringing her legs up. Luke moved as well and sat so he could lean up against his new best friend. “Why do you come out here every year on the anniversary of his death?”

  “How do you know we do this every year?”

  “Nonnie told me.”

  “Are you here when we do this?” Curiosity ran rampant through his mind.

  She straightened her legs and pushed her feet into the sand. “No, Simi takes us to Seattle for dinner with my grandparents, except for this year. Nonnie wanted to go to the street fair.”

  “And did you go?” His mother was working a booth down there, and he wondered if they had crossed paths.

  She nodded. “Twice. I went with Simi last night. It was a lot of fun. Everyone loved seeing Nonnie.”

  Anger moved through his veins. Everyone in town had dismissed Carly Woods. He and everyone around him had a lot of things to make up for now that she had opened the door back into her life.

  “Do you know why you’re named Brystol?” he asked her. He knew the answer without even conferring with Brooklyn but wanted to make sure Brystol knew.

  She shook her head. “I don’t think I ever thought of my name having a meaning other than my mom and grandma’s names starting with a B.”

  Bowie smiled. He set his bottle down in the sand, pulled his legs up so he could rest his arms on his knees, and told her. “After we graduated high school, your dad and I, along with Jason and Graham, who are over there, and Graham’s brother, Grady, piled into my mom’s small sedan and drove from here to Bristol, Tennessee, to go to a NASCAR race. This was your dad’s favorite track. It was one of the worst and best things we ever did as friends because the car didn’t have a working air conditioner, and driving across country in August was miserable, but we had a blast. We each took turns driving so others could sleep, we ate off dollar menus from various fast-food places, used truck stops to shower, and would stop and visit tourist traps just so we could say we’ve been somewhere. The race, though, I remember it like it was yesterday—hot, humid, and under the lights. The roar of the engines, the smell of burning gas and rubber, and the feel of forty-three cars rumbling toward the first turn was something I’ve never forgotten. Nor does one forget that Dale Earnhardt won the race after starting twenty-sixth, making history, the way only the man known as the Intimidator could do.”

  “I don’t know him.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. Your mom was never a fan of racing, even though we made her come to the track with us all the time.”

  “So I’m named after a racetrack?” She sounded skeptical.

  Bowie nodded and then started second-guessing himself. “That’s my best guess. Only your mom can confirm.”

  “My mom says that you and my dad were best friends.”

  “Every memory I have from growing up has your dad in it.”

  “That’s pretty cool. I told my mom I think it would be funny if I went to the same high school as her and my dad. I don’t know, though.”

  “About what?”

  She glanced over to where her mom was. “If we’re staying.”

  “Do you want to?”

  “Yeah.” She went back to petting Luke. “I like here better than Seattle. It’s so quiet, and I can be on the beach whenever I want.”

  Bowie wanted her to stay. He wanted Brooklyn to stay as well and wondered if he could do anything to encourage her to make the decision to call Cape Harbor their home. He focused on his group of friends again and noticed not only that Rennie was here but also that Grady was approaching. He stumbled and almost fell into the firepit; however, Graham was there to catch his brother before he face-planted into the fire.

  “You!” Grady screamed and pointed toward Brooklyn. “You,” he said again, but this time the hairs on Bowie’s arms rose to attention. “Stay here,” he said to Brystol as he stood and ran toward his friends.

  “Come on, Grady—you’re drunk. Let’s go home.” Graham was trying to defuse the situation.

  “When isn’t he drunk?” Bowie heard Mila yell out.

  Bowie stood on one side of Grady, while Graham tried to keep him in place, but the man was using his might to push through. “I fucking hate you,” he screamed toward Brooklyn. Bowie looked toward her, but she was staring at the ground. Brystol, however, was right behind her, having disobeyed him. Her eyes were wide, and he felt the need to go to her, to shelter her from what was happening. Bowie didn’t want Brystol to witness Grady’s outburst and tried to push him away, but he held strong. “It’s you who should’ve died. Not him. You don’t deserve to live after what you did to him. You stupid bitch. Austin loved you, and you . . .” Grady stopped talking. He fell to the sand with the help of Graham. “She hurt him,” he mumbled.

&
nbsp; Brooklyn’s head popped up, and her mouth dropped open. She glared directly at Bowie, who felt his heart fall into the pit of his stomach. Why would Grady say such a thing? And why was he so angry with Brooklyn? There was only one answer, but he couldn’t ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue, and now wasn’t the time to ask Graham. With that, Brooklyn stood, wiped angrily at her cheek while scowling at Bowie, and started toward the house with Rennie hot on her heels.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Brooklyn stormed through the house, slamming doors, stomping up the stairs to her room, and yelling about how stupid Bowie Holmes was. Rennie followed her and agreed with everything she said. That’s what friends did. When it dawned on her that Rennie was echoing her sentiments, she stopped ranting and worked to control her breathing. She pointed toward the window, in the direction where the bonfire took place, and grunted. Rennie laughed.

  “How can you laugh at a time like this?”

  “Easy, you’re being a bit overdramatic. So what if the town drunk says he hates you?”

  “Rennie, he said I should be the one who died . . . in front of my daughter.” Brooklyn held her hand to her chest. “I just . . . I shouldn’t be here. It was a mistake coming back, and now Carly . . .” She let her words trail off. She never wanted Carly to think poorly of her, but the things that Grady had insinuated were enough to put a rift between her and Austin’s mother.

  “Who cares?”

  “I do.”

  Rennie came to her and placed her hands on her forearms. “Carly’s a smart woman. Hell, I bet everyone out there thinks that Grady Chamberlain is nothing more than a loose cannon. Of course he’s going to blame you—you took off while everyone else dealt with the aftermath. You’re an easy target. Let it go.”

  “What if Bowie told him?”

  “Do you honestly think he would’ve done that, especially under the circumstances?”

  She shook her head slowly, and as her body temperature started to regulate, she began to feel overdramatic, as Rennie had said. She covered her face with her hands and mumbled how there was no possible way she could go back out there, not after she’d stormed off.