I turn back to the fridge and open it. My eyes instantly widen because the thing is fully stocked—like overcapacity stocked. I move a couple of things around and grab the milk. Setting the plastic gallon on top of the granite countertop, I slide onto the stool beside Eric. He pours me a glass of milk, then drops three Oreos in the glass.
“Are we drinking cookies or eating them?” I question.
“You’ve never eaten them like this before?”
I shake my head and he hands me a spoon.
“Brooklyn, this is the only way to eat an Oreo.”
I take the spoon from him, but I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do with it. Who the hell eats cookies with a spoon? Sensing I’m waiting for some kind of instruction, he grabs his spoon and pushes the Oreos all the way to the bottom of the glass. Then he takes a big gulp of milk, draining half the glass. He looks at me and tips his chin toward the glass in front of me.
“Your turn.”
I lift the glass to my lips and take a sip. I’ve never really been a fan of milk unless it’s in cereal, but the Oreos give it a sweet taste and the second sip is even better because there are little crumbles of cookie mixed into it. Eric smiles slightly as I lower the glass. Then he takes his spoon and fishes a soggy Oreo from the glass and pops it into his mouth. Following his lead, I do the same and I realize he’s right…this is the only way to eat an Oreo. Before I can stop it, a moan slips past my lips and the playful smile on Eric’s face quickly fades.
Embarrassment floods me and my cheeks burn.
“A category five,” he mumbles.
“What?” I rasp.
“You, you’re a category five hurricane.”
A frown ticks the corners of my lips, and I push my glass away. I’m no weather expert, but I’m pretty sure that’s the most destructive hurricane.
Great.
“Why the frown?”
Is he kidding me?
“You just compared me to a lethal storm.”
He shakes his head.
“No, that’s not what I meant.” He rubs a hand over his face. “There is something fascinating about a storm,” he continues. “Don’t you think?”
Um…no.
“I’ve never really given it much thought.”
“I have,” he confesses, turning to face me. “I don’t know what it is about storms, but I’ve always been drawn to them and while others tend to run away and hunker down until they’ve passed, I don’t. Never did.” He pauses for a moment and a small smile ticks the corners of his lips. “As a kid, I’d play outside and at the first sound of thunder, my mom would yell for me to come inside the house. I always gave her shit because I wanted to wait it out. I wanted to feel the wind, hear the roar of the thunder, and wait for it all to blow over because I knew once the sky cleared there was something beautiful waiting to be seen.”
Yeah, I don’t see it. I’m the kind of girl who snuggles under the covers with a book when it rains. I don’t chase storms; I hide from them.
“Storms are full of destruction and that isn’t beautiful,” I argue, still staring at him.
It’s depressing and sad. It’s tragic…like me.
Like my whole damn life.
Maybe that’s what he means.
Lifting his chin, Eric turns to meet my gaze. I wait for him to disagree, but instead, he just stares at me thoughtfully. I’m about to tell him that it’s just my opinion, and he’s entitled to his, but he shocks me by lifting his hand and brushing a stray hair away from my eyes.
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. You see destruction, I see strength. I see the one thing still after everything else has fallen to shit.” His hand drops away from my face as his words render me speechless. I like to think I’m a levelheaded girl, that I’m not one of those silly teenagers who easily falls for lines. That I’m not the girl sitting in front of a boy with stars in her eyes, wondering if he sees my strength…if he sees my beauty.
His eyes dart to my glass and I quickly push the notion to the back of my head.
Strength and beauty don’t live in the dark.
“Finish your cookies, there’s something I want to show you.”
But for one night, I can pretend they do.
For one night I can be a beautiful hurricane.
Eight
Eric
I’m starting to sense a pattern of mistakes here.
Like big mistakes.
Gigantic, really.
The first one happened when I slept with Jade. The second was when I failed my road test and stole my uncle’s car an hour later. But the biggest one of all is the one I made when I dragged my ass up the stairs in the middle of the night and stole one of Bella’s Capri Suns.
Ah.
That’s a big fat lie.
I couldn’t fucking sleep and it wasn’t because I was thirsty. It had nothing to do with the pull-out mattress either. I came upstairs because I couldn’t shake Brooklyn from my mind. We barely had any interaction, and she was consuming my every thought. I was powerless, and I didn’t like it. So I did what any self-respecting Montgomery would do, and I went searching for the Oreos, after all, in this house, we are raised on the belief there is nothing a sleeve of Oreos and a gallon of milk can’t fix. Until now, I was a firm believer my parents were onto something, but now I know it’s all bullshit.
All the cookies in all the land and a pasture of cows couldn’t fix the mistake I was about to make.
I should’ve left Brooklyn in the kitchen as soon as she caught me sucking down my sister’s favorite drink, but Danny got in my fucking head this afternoon, and instead of fleeing, I froze. Not like a deer caught in headlights, but more like an imbecile who forgot how to act around a girl. I mean, I’m no expert, but I’ve got some game.
Just not around Brooklyn.
She called me out on not talking to her and it went downhill from there.
“So, is it just me that you don’t want to talk to?”
It wasn’t the words themselves that kept me rooted in place; it was the tone of her voice.
It was the desperation.
Hers to talk.
Mine to stay.
And that’s when I made the biggest mistake of all because as soon as she started to ramble on, I knew I could never truly walk away from her. Not now, not ten years from now. Not ever. There was some crazy force pulling me to this girl. A force from heaven, maybe, but one forged in hell for sure.
It took me a minute to get my bearings, to stop my eyes from traveling the length of her. She wore shorts and an oversized t-shirt that hung off her shoulder, exposing a sliver of skin. It was distracting as fuck and I found myself clenching my fists simply because I didn’t trust myself not to close the distance between us and touch her. I managed to keep my hands to myself and lifted my gaze a little higher. Her hair was pulled in a high ponytail, drawing my attention to her face, and although it looked hella drawn, she was still so damn pretty.
Brooklyn was a hurricane, all right—a storm so fucking powerful she made you want to stand in the center of it and let the wind take you on a ride.
The more she rambled on about my bed, I realized everything was starting to catch up with her. It was time to make my move. I thought if I got in her good graces before she made the decision to hate me, then maybe, just maybe, I could do like Danny said and befriend her.
We’d be besties.
Bosom buddies.
Definitely not friends with benefits.
No, sir.
There’d be none of that.
Now, in the name of friendship, I’m on the verge of making another mistake. I think we’re in the double digits, but whatever. You live and you learn and if you don’t then you ain’t living.
I glance over my shoulder to make sure she’s behind me before leading her into the garage. My hand travels the wall in search of the light switch. Flicking it on, I step inside and make room for her to join me. Her eyes dart around aimlessly before looking back at me.
“You wanted to show me the garage?” she questions, pulling her eyebrows together in confusion.
I open my mouth to explain, but Flo Rida decides he wants in on the action and squawks. Brooklyn nearly jumps out of her skin at the sound and smacks a hand against my bare chest. It’s an innocent act. A gut reaction. But it feels like a brand.
A scalding hot, irreversible brand.
“What the hell is that?!” she shrieks, inching even closer to me.
My brain shorts as she brings her other hand to my chest.
“Eric, there’s a wild animal or something in your garage! Don’t you hear that?”
Oh, I hear it, and to be honest, I’ve never liked the damn bird, but right now, I’m the president of the cockatoo fan club. Steadying her, I place my hands on her hips. The simple touch snaps her out of the state of panic and instead of searching the garage for the squawking bird, she stares at me. My heart races and when she quickly snatches her hands away from my chest, I wonder if she felt it hammering against her hand.
I swallow.
I quietly curse too.
“Relax,” I say hoarsely, my hands still firmly planted on her hips.
She stares at me quietly, looking slightly confused, and a little spooked. I guess the little game of handsy is done.
Bummer.
Tearing my eyes away from her, I release her and tip my chin to the cage in the corner of the garage.
“It’s just Flo Rida, our bird,” I say.
“You have a bird?”
Needing to put more distance between us before I touch her again, I step around her and make my way to the cage. We rarely bother draping it with a cloth because the garage is dark, but it’s like Luna Park in here and poor Flo Rida is bopping around like his feathers are on fire.
“He’s Bella’s,” I explain as I search for something to throw over the cage. Spotting one of my dad’s old t-shirts, I throw it over the cage.
It’s lights out for Flo Rida.
Tomorrow I’ll have him dance for her, maybe it will cheer her up.
Turning back to Brooklyn, I take in the perplexed look on her pretty face.
“What?”
“I didn’t peg you guys to be bird people. I mean, with all the talk of kittens and tigers, I figured you might have a bunch of cats running around here, but a bird…I didn’t see that one coming.”
I laugh. The girl has a point.
The confusion fades from her face and she smiles back at me.
“I’m allergic to cats by the way.”
“Then it’s a good thing we don’t have one.”
Her smile vanishes instantly, and I play back my words to see what I could’ve said that would spark a change. My mind wanders back to the kitchen. When she was rambling on, she made it sound like she was a burden to my family. It’s the very reason I brought her in here, but I got distracted when she put her hands on me.
“Hey,” I call. Her eyes snap back to mine. “Stop doing that.”
“What am I doing?”
“You think you don’t belong here.”
Surprise clouds her pretty features.
Oh, pretty little hurricane, you’re so transparent.
“I don’t,” she argues softly. After a beat, she blows out an exasperated breath. “This wasn’t the plan, Eric. I wasn’t supposed to land on your parents’ doorstep.”
I don’t know about that.
“What if you were?”
“What?”
“Plans change, that’s why there are detours.”
“Detours,” she repeats, looking shocked by my choice of words.
Danny’s voice sounds in my head.
“You’ve got it planted in your head that you took her father from her, but if you tell her about him and give her a chance to know him like we do, it’ll be like you’re giving him back to her.”
I lift my eyes back to hers.
What if all this is just another detour?
“I don’t know what you know about your dad, but he was big on them,” I rasp, clearing my throat.
She swallows hard and I swear there are tears in her eyes. While the sight makes me want to take her in my arms, I keep my distance and continue, reminding myself I’m doing her a favor. I’m doing Bones a service. I’m introducing his daughter to his memory.
“My mom and dad didn’t plan on me. They weren’t even a couple when I was conceived. When my dad found out my mom was pregnant, he lost his shit. He swore his life was over and your father sat him down and told him to man up. Actually, his exact words were, take the detour and own it. I can’t tell you how many times me and my brothers and sister have heard that exact saying throughout the years.”
I pause as a tear slides down her cheek and without thinking, I close the distance between us. A voice sounds in the back of my head warning me not to touch her, but I’ve never really been one to yield on the side of caution.
I brush the tear away with the pad of my thumb.
“Your dad’s words became my dad’s creed. So, maybe you’re exactly where you are supposed to be, Brooklyn. There’s not much I’m sure about, but I can guarantee you, you’re very much wanted here and so is your mom.”
“You say that now—”
I cut her off.
“And I’ll say it again and again. Everyone in this house will because the only one doubting you’re not where you belong is you.”
She draws her lower lip between her teeth and stares at me skeptically.
“You can’t be happy sleeping in the basement.”
I’d sleep out on the front lawn and be perfectly fine, so long as she was comfortable.
And that, my friends, is a fucking hard realization to swallow.
“I couldn’t give a fuck less and that’s the truth. Between school and my part-time job at Kate’s, I’m barely home, anyway.”
She looks away for a moment.
“I like your dad a lot,” she says softly, lifting her eyes back to mine. “Your mom is great too, but your dad…” Her voice trails. “I don’t know if I would’ve made it through the last couple of days without him. You know, my mom told me a little bit about him, but he’s so different from what I expected.”
Wait until she settles in and really gets a dose of him. An early spotting of him doing the downward dog on a Saturday morning should do the trick.
“Yeah, he’s something,” I mutter.
“I didn’t really care to know about my dad. It sounds awful because now I know he’s dead, but I spent my entire life believing he wanted nothing to do with me. Then, when your dad was helping me pack my things, I wondered if my dad was anything like him. Was he kind? Did he have a sense of humor?” She wraps her arms around herself and peers back at me. “He believed in detours.”
“Yeah, he did.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, I do,” I say hoarsely.
I believe no one knows for sure where life will take them, but in the end, we land right where we’re meant to, surrounded by the people we’re meant to love. I believe that because I’ve watched people come and go throughout my life. I’ve seen the people I love struggle with what life threw in their path, and I watched them navigate every bump and lean into every curve. Cancer. Death. Mental illness. Addiction. You name it and someone around me has conquered it.
And I believe there is a little bit of beauty in every storm.
In every hurricane.
But if I didn’t believe in any of that, if there was a shred of doubt, Brooklyn’s existence would make me a believer.
“My mom is dying, Eric,” she whispers as if she’s just coming to terms with it and the tears she’s been holding back rain down her cheeks. Once again, my fingers itch to touch her.
To brush those tears away and hold her face in my palms.
It’s that force, that heaven and hell shit.
I got an angel in front of me and the Devil on my shoulder.
“I’m so sorry,” I murmur softly.
&n
bsp; Shaking her head, she sniffles and wipes her eyes with the backs of her hands.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” she says, taking a deep breath. I watch intently as she looks away. Something catches her eye and the tears stop almost instantly. I follow her line of sight and my eyes land on her dad’s kutte that is displayed in a frame.
“Is that why you brought me in here?” she murmurs, bringing her eyes back to me.
I brought you in here because I’m the reason you don’t have your dad. I brought you in here because I don’t want you to hate me. I brought you in here because I thought we could be friends.
Every one of those reasons is wrong, though.
I don’t want to be Brooklyn’s friend.
I want to be her goddamn detour.
But I don’t tell her that.
Hell to the fucking no.
Instead, I make my way to the tarp in the middle of the room. My fingers close around the material and with a jerk of my wrist, I unveil her dad’s most prized possession—his Harley.
“I brought you in here to show you this,” I say, meeting her gaze. She stares at me for a minute and I immediately question my decision, wondering if I’ve made yet another fucking mistake.
“Is that his?”
I nod.
“No one has ridden it in seventeen years, but the engine purrs—no pun intended—and, well, everything has been restored. It couldn’t be in better condition if it came out of the showroom, and that’s because my dad services it regularly. I thought if you saw it…well…I don’t know what I thought,” I mutter, roughly dragging my fingers through my hair. I glance at the bike and back at her. “I thought if you saw it, you’d take notice of how much love and respect everyone here still has for your dad and maybe you’d realize that time never erased his place in this world. You being here only makes everyone who loved your father feel like they’ve got a second chance at loving him through you.”
It’s fucking lame, but it’s true.
I think her being here is just what this family needed to be complete.
“That might be the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“Yeah?”
Fight Or Flight (Tempted Series Generation 2.0) Page 6
