In the Long Run

by Haley Cass

  “Come in,” Brooke’s voice was low and it wasn’t a question. It was both commanding and coaxing. As much coaxing as Brooke did, anyway.

  Ben’s words circled around in her head, and the truth of the matter that he never voiced aloud settled low inside of her. He didn’t want her here. He didn’t want to talk to her, ever. He didn’t want her to even talk to Jo, not substantially.

  And what felt more important than that in this very moment, was that Brooke didn’t really want her here, either.

  That thought – uncomfortable, uncomfortable, uncomfortable – circled around and around in her head now, and she wrapped her arms even tighter around herself. Not that it mattered; the chill in the air was harsh but miniscule to how that thought made her feel inside.

  “No.” She shook her head. “I’ll go.”

  “Taylor, stop. Just, come in.” Brooke walked closer to the railing, her voice softer as she stared at Taylor with alarm. “Please.” She appeared almost anxious.

  Then again, she’d clearly been so, so incredibly wrong when it came to Brooke, she sort of doubted her ability to read the woman in front of her at all.

  She took half a step back. “I don’t want to invade your space –”

  Brooke cut her off swiftly with a look. “Taylor, it’s raining and it’s cold and you’re soaked and you don’t even have a damn jacket on. Would you get inside the house before I really do get upset?”

  Once again, sure it sounded curt, but also – caring. And that was one of the only thoughts that had given her any warmth all day.

  You show that you care in the weirdest ways. The comment almost slipped out. It would have slipped out, if this had been yesterday morning. Before their conversation.

  The thought immediately soured the slight warmth.

  But she could see in the set of Brooke’s jaw and the way she carefully eyed Taylor, that she would be genuinely more agitated if she turned and left right now. And… there was nowhere else to go.

  “You sure sound a little upset already,” she quietly pointed out as she stepped onto the porch.

  Making sure to keep a distance between them, she carefully walked around Brooke, who opened the door for her and ushered her inside.

  The hit of warmth was immediate and she only realized as she was shivering just how cold she’d been outside, as she stood in the small entry hallway, feeling uncharacteristically uncertain of what exactly to do with herself. Uncertain of how to take up the space around her.

  Brooke’s hands fidgeted, twisting together as she stared at Taylor, her eyes still wide and searching. “You just – I’ll be right back with a towel.”

  Brooke disappeared up the stairs to their left, and Taylor breathed out a sigh, as she peered around.

  The floors were all refurbished, the hard wood gleaming. She followed the short hall forward, peeking into what she knew was the kitchen. Unlike what she remembered, all of the counters and the cabinets were refinished and a small, antique table sat in the center of the room.

  Something was cooking – Brooke liked to cook, a new fun fact she’d learned during these Sunday dinners – and the house smelled delicious.

  Warm and homey.

  Brooke owned what was likely her favorite place in Faircombe. The absurdity, the coincidence, everything just made her shake her head in wonder as she slowly wandered into the next room, the largest one in the house.

  She’d always wondered what it would be – a living room? A study? A library?

  She saw that Brooke had made it into all three. A sizable den, but still smaller than most of the rooms in Taylor’s childhood home. Not big enough to be drafty, but enough that it felt filled without being too full. A plush, comfortable looking couch sat with her bookshelves and her television, two chairs set up in front of the crackling fireplace.

  It felt like Brooke. Like she lived here.

  Taylor jolted out of her thoughts, her exploration coming to an abrupt halt when something brushed up against her leg. Looking down, she met big, curious eyes that stared up at her, and despite the maelstrom of disappointment and guilt and hurt and – god, she could hardly decipher what else, twisting through her, a smile tugged up her lips automatically. “Hi, there. Aren’t you a cutie?”

  Squatting down, she let the cat sniff her hand. Mostly black fur, shot through with minute streaks of orange that gave the cat a mischievous look, the cat headbutted against her hand, before purring. Permission to pet granted.

  “I know I’m a little, well, soaked from the rain. I bet you don’t like that,” she murmured. “I don’t love it either.”

  She only realized as she stroked her hand over the soft fur and looked closer at the couch that there were two others, snuggled up on one of the cushions.

  Brooke Watson, the owner of multiple cats.

  She never would have guessed.

  The stairs creaked and she turned just in time to see Brooke appear in the doorway. God, how much she wanted to tease her about being a cat owner. Surprising softie Brooke Watson, animal lover.

  Her mouth stayed closed, trapping in the comment.

  “I brought some clothes for you to change into. They’re, uh, fresh from the dryer.” Brooke stood behind her, shifting from foot to foot – acting somewhat rather uncharacteristically, herself – as she held a stack of clothing. A towel at the bottom, and what looked like sweatpants and a t-shirt on top.

  “Thanks,” she whispered, giving the cat in front of her another scratch.

  Which drew Brooke’s gaze, causing her to give a double take, her mouth falling open, before she grumbled, “Of course Gremlin likes you.”

  The name made Taylor pause, before her lips ticked up into a grin. “Gremlin?”

  The second Brooke took a step closer to actually offer the clothing to her, Gremlin brushed herself against Taylor’s hand once more, before taking off like a shot out of the room. And Brooke gestured as if to say well, there you go. “She’s a gremlin. Cute, sure, but once I fed her after midnight, it was impossible to make her behave again,” she finished, voice dry.

  “I like her,” Taylor stated as she stood.

  “You would,” Brooke shot back, narrowing her eyes that had that glint in them, and for that moment, things felt normal.

  Before she remembered that she shouldn’t be here.

  As if Brooke could sense her hesitation, she thrust the clothing stack to her. “Here, just – get changed. And don’t argue.”

  “So demanding,” the comment slipped out, but Brooke was sliding the den doors closed to leave Taylor to get dressed.

  The sweatpants hung above her ankles and the hem of the shirt brushed just above her hips, even as the rest of the fit was loose on her. But they were warm, and mostly, they smelled like Brooke.

  It was more of an instinctual comfort than she’d realized it would be, her body automatically settling in at ease at being wrapped up in the warm, clean, Brooke’s clothing.

  But she didn’t know quite what to do with that, given how the last day had turned out.

  There was a sharp knock on the door only moments later, before it slid open again. She turned to face Brooke, as she ran the towel through her hair to dry as best she could. “You didn’t wait to see if I was decent,” she pointed out, teasing.

  Before – fuck. She had no idea how to cut that out. She just didn’t, and she drew in on herself, frowning at the thought as she took a step back. As if distance would help her with that.

  “I figured… I mean. It’s been, like, five minutes, it doesn’t take that long to get dressed!” Brooke insisted. “And I just wanted to grab your clothes and throw them in the laundry.”

  “You don’t have to,” she insisted, as she held her clothes in a wet ball with the arm that she wasn’t using to dry her hair.

  Brooke just shot her a look as she reached out and took the clothes from her. Before she pointed at the comfy looking couch in front of the fireplace. “Well, I am. So you just, go sit down.”

  She complie
d with the order as Brooke went back up the stairs. She wished she could ask to see it up there; she’d never been able to see the second floor in her youth, because those stairs had completely rotted out. But – that felt completely out of bounds, now.

  Stomach twisting, she sat on the edge of the couch, closest to the fire, as she still shivered. The cats on the other cushion both lifted their heads to observe her momentarily before settling back down, like they knew it was a lazy Saturday.

  She shouldn’t be here, she thought again, as she stared around at Brooke’s space. Her private space, where she’d clearly been relaxing by herself earlier.

  And here she was, inserting herself into Brooke’s private space. Even if it was unintentional.

  That feeling, the feeling of being unmoored, sat heavily on her shoulders as she stared into the fire.

  “Okay.” Brooke’s voice was quiet, and Taylor didn’t even realize she’d returned until that moment, as Brooke sat on the middle cushion, between the cats and her. “Do you want to… talk about, uh, it?”

  Taylor stared in surprise, because the last thing she’d expected, really, was Brooke wanting to dive into what they’d talked about yesterday. Her feelings around Taylor making her unc–

  “You know. Why you showed up here, in the middle of the woods, during a storm, freezing your ass off?” Brooke clarified, clearing her throat as she stared intently at Taylor.

  Okay. Not talking about her own feelings. Which was maybe better. Maybe Taylor didn’t even want to dive into those right now, not while she was feeling so wrung out.

  She did want to talk about it; the conversation with Ben played through her mind and she wanted to just purge it from her system. But… she shook her head, biting hard at her bottom lip to stop any words from pouring out, as they crawled up her throat.

  “No.”

  Brooke arched her eyebrow in disbelief. “You don’t want to talk about it?”

  “Not to you,” she pushed out, her throat aching. “Not,” she took in a deep breath and blew it out, trying to calm the twisting of her stomach, the lurching in her chest, “With you.”

  She stared down at her hands, before she turned just enough to see the look on Brooke’s face. As if Taylor’s words had hurt her. Which was new.

  She looked away. “I had an argument with Ben. And given that I kind of know exactly where you’re going to land on this discussion, since you and Ben have always felt the same way about everything…” She swallowed hard, “About me… I’d rather not discuss it. Because I already know how you’ll feel.”

  And she just – she couldn’t handle it right now. Taylor could handle most things and she could handle them by herself; she’d been doing it for her entire adult life since striking out on her own. But hearing Brooke weigh in on her in the same manner that Ben did, right now when she still felt the ache of it, she couldn’t. Something about it would break her, and she knew it.

  Brooke gave her a long, searching look, eyebrows furrowed. “You know, you can talk to me. About stuff.”

  A sad smile played on her lips, as she whispered, “Not really, though.”

  She’d thought maybe they could, after Brooke had shared her story about her mother. But that was maybe their first real meaningful conversation in a long, long time. Maybe ever.

  Brooke’s expression fell and she twisted her hands together in front of her. “I mean… you’re kind of stuck here until the rain passes. And I know you. I know you want to talk things out.”

  She guessed Brooke paid more attention to certain things about her than she’d thought.

  “You can pretend, then.” Brooke nodded with the words, a certainty lighting up those intense hazel eyes. “You can pretend I’m someone you want to unload on. A stranger.”

  A stranger.

  Dangerous words, she would loved to tease, but didn’t. Not just for Brooke’s sake this time, but for her own. She couldn’t tease about that night in San Diego, not now. Not when she questioned every step of it.

  Taylor drew her lips tightly together, twisting into a frown as she stared hard at the fire. And even though she meant to comment on the day, on Ben, on Jo, on Savannah going to Memphis without her – anything, what came out instead was, “Do you know how I found out Amy wasn’t my birth mother?”

  “What?” Brooke’s surprise was palpable.

  And Taylor hadn’t even intended to go there, either, but it was – it was just everything. It was being here in Faircombe for so long, it was seeing all of these reminders of her past, it was her fight with Ben, all coming together, demanding an escape. Demanding to be spoken aloud.

  She couldn’t turn and look at Brooke. She couldn’t, as she felt the words bubble up.

  “I found out Amy wasn’t my birth mother from Kenny Rickards, when I was six. He told me at recess one day.” She could still remember it, so clearly, decades later. “His mom talked about it at home, because – well, everyone knows everything about everyone else here, don’t they?” She let out a dry laugh, shaking her head before she pressed her forehead to her hands. “I mean, my dad married Amy when I was two and they had Ben by the time I was four…” She turned to look at Brooke, searching her gaze. “I don’t remember a time where Amy wasn’t my mom.”

  Brooke nodded slowly, and her eyes were wide, transfixed on Taylor, so focused.

  She broke the eye contact, staring back down at her lap as she whispered, “And I was so confused, when I went home that day. Because, what did Kenny mean by that? Of course, Amy was my mom.” She drew in a deep breath, her chest feeling tight. “But when I asked, my dad got so flustered and upset, and – that was the day I really started to see the differences. Ben, Savannah, and my mom and dad… all with their blonde hair and blue eyes, the fairest skin.”

  Taylor dropped her hands to her lap, looking at the glow of the tan that lingered there, even a couple months after summer had ended. She’d always tanned easily, where her entire family sunburned throughout the summer. “And I stuck out like a sore thumb. I’d never noticed that before.”

  It hurt to remember it. How clear all of the differences were when she’d had it all pointed out to her.

  “Growing up, it just felt like…” She had to clear her throat in order to keep going, rubbing her hands hard against her eyes to stop the sting of tears that threatened. “Like, in a way, my biological mom and I were the practice family that my dad had on accident before he got the perfect family. And I never fit into that perfect life.” The laugh that worked out of her throat felt like gravel. Humorless, but achingly present.

  “They all fit together, so easily. And as I got older, it wasn’t just the way I looked that stood out; it was everything. Every bad grade I got, every time I asked too many questions, every time I stepped a single toe out of line – all it did was highlight how different I was. And every single time I did anything, there were always eyes on me. Always the gossip, the whispers – the comparisons to my mother. That maybe that’s why I was such a troublemaker… just like her,” the venom in her voice shocked even herself, but it clouded everything from back then for her.

  “The night I left Faircombe… Deputy McCord followed me to – well, here.” God, the irony came full circle as she glanced around the room. The room that looked nothing like it had back then. “And I was smoking pot here when he arrested me. He followed me to the edge of town, out in the woods, where I wasn’t bothering anyone. And when he arrested me that night, he marched me right through Town Square, the night of the Fall Festival.”

  The memory was seared into her mind, and she tightened her hands against her knees, before she wrapped them around her waist. Her voice was hoarse, “Everyone stared. Like they always did. And then they started talking. Like they always did. Like, of course I got arrested that night. Like I was just… Taylor Trouble. And I – you know, there were things I loved about Faircombe. Things I really loved about this place, growing up here. There were,” she admitted softly, shocking even herself with the admittance of somet
hing she’d spent a long time not thinking about. “But, I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

  She would never forget that night, when Taylor Trouble followed her around in such an echo, she’d left town with whatever she could carry, unable and unwilling to deal with it any longer.

  “And I hate being called Taylor Trouble,” her words caught and broke on a sob that wrenched out of her throat.

  It just seemed that once these tears started, they didn’t stop. It had been a while since she’d had a good cry, and now everything she’d stored up came pouring out, as she shook her head and wiped at her eyes.

  Her throat was so tight, it hurt to push out, “I’m sorry.”

  She never apologized for tears. They were healthy, they were a part of life. But she didn’t have to look at Brooke to know that she wasn’t comfortable with this level of emotion Taylor was showing.

  It made her cry a little harder, thinking about the fact that Brooke wasn’t just uncomfortable with her crying, but with her just being here.

  Because she wanted to reach out; she wanted the comfort of touch as she so often did. She wanted, she thought dimly, that she not only wanted touch but she wanted Brooke’s touch. Brooke was steady and stable and secure, and she wanted that right now. She craved it, and that realization slammed into her with a startling intensity.

  But uncomfortable, uncomfortable, uncomfortable circled in her head, and she wrapped her arms tighter around herself, instead.

  And then jumped in surprise when she felt Brooke shift closer. She could feel her warmth against her side, and before she could turn to look, Brooke’s arms locked around her and pulled her close, her hands stroking softly up and down Taylor’s back, her sides.

  She knew she shouldn’t let herself, but she couldn’t help but turn into the comfort. Into Brooke. Steady and stable and secure and there, and so warm, and she felt Brooke’s arms band tight around her waist as soon as she turned to face her, as she ducked her head into Brooke’s shoulder, pressing her forehead into the soft, warm skin of her neck.