The Redemption Series

by Leigh, T. K.

  As I clean, I’m riddled with nerves. I haven’t been this on edge since high school, since that sleepless night before I was supposed to see Brooklyn and be her first everything, before my hope was crushed. It was impulsive of me to call her when I received her text, and even more so to invite her over. I never thought she’d agree. Why did she? Maybe our story isn’t over yet. Maybe this is the start of a new chapter for us, one we both deserve. And maybe I can have that without coming clean about what really happened all those years ago.

  I check the clock an obsessive number of times, but the seconds seem to drag. It’s almost four in the morning and my mind goes in thousands of different directions, contemplating every reason under the sun Brooklyn’s not here yet. What if she fell asleep at the wheel? Worse, what if she encountered a drunk driver while driving through the streets of Cambridge? It’s not entirely impossible.

  Anxious at the thought, I grab my phone out of the pocket of my shorts and press her contact. The line rings. And rings. And rings. Just as I’m about to hang up and try again, her voice comes on the line, light and beautiful.

  “You’re not calling to tell me you’re heading to bed, are you?” she jokes.

  I close my eyes, blowing out a long breath. “No,” I laugh, more out of relief than anything else.

  “Is something wrong?” The concern in her voice is unmistakable. Or maybe it seems that way because I can sense how she’s feeling from something as simple as a slight tremble in her tone. As simple as a furrowed brow as she sucks on her lower lip. As simple as the tapping of her fingernails against the closest surface. It doesn’t matter I can’t see her. I imagine her doing all those things right now.

  “No,” I repeat, my smile growing. “It was careless of me to ask you to drive over when you haven’t slept. I was worried something might happen.”

  “I’ll be fine, Drew. I’m only five minutes away. I’ll see you soon.”

  “I’m sure you will be fine,” I reply before she has a chance to hang up. “I’d prefer if you stay on the line.”

  “Why?” she teases. “Worried about me?”

  “Always,” I answer with more sincerity than she’s probably ever heard from me. I wish that weren’t the case, wish I’d been more compassionate toward her over the years instead of doing everything to forget about her. “I’ll always worry about you.”

  There’s a pause on the line as our conversation takes a turn, the playfulness and frivolity gone. I don’t care how difficult it is for her to hear these things. I’ve kept it from her and everyone else for years. I can’t go back to hiding my true feelings. And I want her to stop doing the same.

  “So...” Her voice cuts through the strained silence. For once, she doesn’t caution or berate me for my words. “What shall we talk about?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug. “I don’t normally sit and talk on the phone. I don’t think I’ve done that since middle school. Even then, I didn’t get much phone time since Molly was always tying up the line.”

  “She always was on the phone, wasn’t she?”

  “Most of the time, it was with you, even though you only lived a few streets over. She could have just gone pool jumping and been in your yard in no time at all.”

  “Oh, my god! Pool jumping! I forgot about that summer! We almost got arrested, thanks to your crazy idea to go to some of the rich neighborhoods and jump the fence into their pools. I should have known they’d all have security systems or something!”

  I chuckle, my chest expanding at the memory. “Where else were we going to find an in-ground pool with a diving board and killer slide?”

  “It’s a good thing the officer was a friend of your dad’s,” she reminds me. “Otherwise, we would have all ended up in juvie. If you thought my dad hated you just because you were a guy, imagine what he would have thought if he learned you were the reason I was shoved into the back of a police car in handcuffs.”

  “Nah,” I brush her off, ignoring her comment about her father. If she only knew how much that man really did despise me. “We were only trespassing.”

  “And what was the argument you made to the police officer?” Her voice is contemplative. I picture her squinting her eyes, trying to force a memory back to the surface.

  “I studied socialism in my history class the previous year.” My expression lights up, my eyes shining as I recall the precise thing I told the police officer when Molly, Brooklyn, and I got caught cooling off in someone else’s pool on a hot August day. “I argued I was practicing that by commandeering the state-of-the-art pool for the good of the community.”

  “That’s right.” She laughs louder. “You’re lucky he didn’t take it the wrong way. I’m not so sure how well that kind of comment would go over these days. Some may call you a traitor to the country.”

  “Because most people don’t truly understand socialism, but I did. I think the officer was happy I paid attention in school instead of dozing off, so he let us go.”

  “After which you tried to convince us to go pool jumping at another house you heard about.”

  “Can you blame me?” I joke as a pair of headlights flash through the windows. I head toward the front door and step onto the porch, my eyes glued to her car. “Figured we already got caught once. What were the chances we’d get caught twice in the same day? In my defense, the other pool was in a different neighborhood. Molly was on my side, but someone talked us out of it.”

  “One of us had to be the voice of reason,” she chides. “And it certainly wasn’t going to be the two of you.”

  The car comes to a stop, and she turns off the ignition. The lights stay on for a while longer before they’re extinguished. When I meet her eyes through the windshield, I can’t help but smile. It’s not forced, my lips curving in the corners as out of my control as the racing of my heart. Electricity courses through my veins at the knowledge that she’s a few feet away, just seconds from being near me.

  “That’s always been your role in our trio.”

  “True.” She keeps the phone up to her ear as she steps out of the car and walks toward me. I make my way down the steps to meet her. “I’ve always been the voice of reason. Molly’s always been the wild one.”

  “And what about me?” I ask, my voice becoming low, husky.

  She slows her steps as she approaches, the atmosphere between us intensifying with a powerful current, a magnetism drawing us to one another. Still holding her phone to her ear, she licks her lips. A slight breeze blows in the air, her addictive aroma of lavender circling me, comforting me.

  “You’ve always been the one I can’t let go.” Her voice is thoughtful, filled with meaning. I study her, my eyes drawn to everything about her, but the smile building on her plump lips stands out. It’s a smile I’ve seen for years, one I thought demonstrated how happy she was without me in her life. Now that I know the truth, it’s remarkable how much a smile can hide.

  “I don’t want you to, no matter what happens,” I murmur, keeping my phone against my ear.

  Neither one of us speaks for a protracted moment, our eyes locked, our chests seeming to rise and fall in time with each other. I click the end call button and drop my phone into my pocket. She does the same, but we don’t make any move to go inside. I can’t stop staring at her, at how beautiful she looks, the moon shining through the trees highlighting her stunning features — vibrant emerald eyes, adorable freckles I’ve always been drawn to, lips I’d give anything to taste again. But until she’s no longer wearing that ring, it’s not an option, regardless of my past attempts to kiss her.

  I step back, breaking my gaze from her before I do something that will make our situation even more painful. “Coffee?”

  She nods, snapping herself out of her trance. “Of course.”

  “Come on then.” I gesture up the steps, allowing her to walk in front of me.

  I open the front door for her, then follow her inside. The house is quiet, as it should be in the pre-dawn hours. When Carla first l
eft and I struggled to care for a toddler and six-month-old, I often woke before dawn to get a jump on the day. There was something peaceful about being awake when the world was still sleeping. That same peace fills me now.

  “Thanks for coming over,” I say as we enter the dim kitchen, the only light coming from over the sink. Heading to the counter, I grab the canister of grounds and scoop some into the French press.

  “Thanks for inviting me. Better than heading into work early, even though I’m behind on my caseload.”

  “I’m sorry.” I offer her an apologetic look before returning my attention to the tea kettle, filling it with water and lighting the stove. “I didn’t mean to interfere with your work.”

  “You’re not.” She saunters up to the refrigerator, taking stock of the girls’ most recent art projects. She usually admires them when she’s here for Sunday night dinner, but she hasn’t been around much lately. Glancing over her shoulder, she meets my eyes. “I’d rather be with you.”

  “I’m glad you’re here. With me.”

  She smiles, holding my gaze for a moment before looking back at the refrigerator, focusing on a drawing of a plane Charlotte did in art class.

  “That’s us on our trip to Disney World,” I explain as she takes in the stick figures sitting in the seats. “She’s very excited about going on a plane.”

  “And who are all these people?”

  I approach, standing behind her. Like an addict, I inhale a deep breath, basking in the memories her scent brings back. Reaching over her, I point to the drawing. “That’s me.”

  Brooklyn laughs. “The hockey stick is a dead giveaway. I’m not sure they’ll allow that in the cabin. They’d probably consider it to be a weapon.”

  “I’ll be sure to put it in our checked luggage.” I smirk, then look back at the drawing. “And here’s Alyssa and Charlotte.” My finger glides over the two girls on either side of me, both holding my hand.

  “And who else?”

  I adjust myself behind her, bringing my body even closer to hers. It would be so easy to place my hand on her stomach and drag her to me, tilt her head to the side, and kiss her neck. My jaw tightens, the need I have for her overpowering all sense of rationale. I can almost taste her skin, feel her core trembling, hear her moans of pleasure. But as much as I want that, as much as it’s killing me not to have her, I don’t touch her.

  “That’s Gigi.” I point to a woman holding a tray of muffins, then gesture to the figure beside her. “And of course Leo. And Molly and Noah.” My finger floats over the drawing of my sister with a round belly. Charlotte made sure we could see the baby inside her stomach.

  “And this?” Brooklyn points to the woman on the other side of Charlotte.

  “That’s you. You’re a part of this family, too, Brooklyn. No matter what path you take. Just like Charlotte always will be.”

  “She’s a sweet girl, Drew.” She turns around and meets my eyes, smiling. “You should be proud of what an amazing person you raised. You’re an incredible father and an even better human.” Shaking her head, her expression falls. “I’m so sorry I avoided all of you the past month.”

  My lips form a tight light. “I get it now.”

  “You do?” Her gaze searches mine.

  “I haven’t made things easy on you. I get why it’s so difficult for you to be around me.”

  “I didn’t think you and Wes could co-exist in my heart,” she murmurs, licking her lips.

  “And now?” I place a hand on the refrigerator and lean on it, inching toward her. She doesn’t bat an eye, doesn’t attempt to step away. My mouth is so close to hers I can taste her sweet breath.

  “I still don’t think you can.” Her chest becomes more noticeable as it heaves with her increasingly deep breaths. Her cheeks flush, that charge building between us again.

  “But?” I ask, sensing there’s more.

  “My heart isn’t ready to let go of you. I doubt it ever will be.”

  I exhale a relieved breath. It’s difficult not to sweep her into my arms and kiss her. That won’t help anything. I’ve hurt her. We’ve hurt each other. Repairing the damage we’ve caused won’t happen overnight, but I’m convinced it can happen.

  “I should check on the kettle.” My voice trembles, demonstrating how on edge I am by her mere presence. I’m like a hormonally imbalanced teenager who’s about to have sex for the first time. In reality, I’m a thirty-five-year-old man who has one month to convince the woman I’ve always loved not to marry another man. It’s a daunting task.

  I walk to the stove, turn off the burner, and bring the kettle to the counter, adding the boiling water to the press. Once the coffee is ready, I pour it into two mugs, stealing a glance at Brooklyn. If she’s upset I refuse to touch her, she doesn’t let it show. Then again, she’s always been an expert at masking her emotions. She never lets anyone see what’s hidden underneath.

  After preparing her coffee the way she prefers, I hand her the mug. She raises it to her mouth, closing her eyes as she takes that first sip. I don’t know what it is, but the sight of her savoring that first drink in the morning is one of my absolute favorite things. For a moment, she seems relaxed, a look of genuine happiness crossing her face. I wish I could be the one to make her feel that way. Wish someone could make her feel that way.

  We stand in silence for a moment, staring at each other, unsure what to say. I don’t want to say anything. I just want to be with her. Gesturing out the French doors, I notice the moon shining through the heavy trees surrounding my property. It won’t be much longer until the sun replaces it.

  “Want to go watch the sunrise?”

  A smile lights up her face. “I’d love to.”

  I place my hand on the small of her back and head toward the door, opening it for her. She’s careful as she steps down from the deck, descending the path toward the fire pit. She sits on one of the stone benches and I join her, our bodies touching. There’s a slight chill in the air, but it’s refreshing. I look at Brooklyn when I feel her body tremble, a shiver rolling through her.

  “Want me to light a fire?”

  “You don’t have to,” she insists. “I don’t mind the cold. It reminds me I’m alive.”

  Switching my coffee into my left hand, I drape my right arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She does nothing to fight me. Instead, she readjusts so she’s leaning against me, her head nuzzled against my chest.

  “I like this,” she reflects. “Having coffee with you and watching the sunrise. It feels...”

  “Right,” I finish when she struggles to complete her thought. I glance down at her, our eyes meeting.

  She blinks, contemplating. “Yeah.”

  I hope her gaze a moment longer, then slowly look back at the horizon. Neither one of us says a thing as the world gradually awakens, the morning glow painting the sky a beautiful pink and orange hue. I simply bask in her body enclosed in my embrace.

  It doesn’t make any sense to someone who doesn’t understand our dynamic. Most men in my position would write Brooklyn off since she’s engaged. I can’t do that. I know her better than to think she’s just stringing me along. I can feel the turmoil coursing through her as she stares into the distance. I can’t blame her for struggling with this decision. Her heart yearns to find out if this connection we both feel is as strong as it was all those years ago. But her brain reminds her of every instance I chose someone else over her, of every instance I made a promise and broke it. Looking back, I realize I all but carried her up the aisle and placed her in front of Wes. All I can do is try to show her I am the man she thought me to be before I let fame and notoriety get to my head. I can be that person again.

  “I should get going,” Brooklyn says once the dawn has chased the night away, propping herself back up. “I’m sure the girls will be awake soon, and it’s probably best they don’t know I’m here.” There’s a slight ache in my arm from where she had been resting her head, but the pain is well worth it.

&n
bsp; “Of course.” I stand, taking the mug from her as I help her to her feet. We silently walk back into the kitchen, our voices hushed and steps light.

  “Thanks for the coffee. And the company.” She meets my eyes, a thoughtful expression on her face. “It’s exactly what I needed.”

  “Me, too.”

  She stands on her tiptoes and places a gentle kiss on my cheek, her lips soft. It doesn’t matter how innocent the gesture is. It lights me up in a way no other woman ever has.

  “Have a good day, Drew.” Her mouth hovers on my skin for a moment longer, then she pulls back, turning toward the front door. Placing our empty mugs on the island, I follow, watching the sway of her hips as she makes her way down the porch.

  When she’s almost at her car, I call out softly. “Hey, Brooklyn?”

  She glances back, our eyes locking. There’s something about her as she awaits my response, the early morning glow illuminating her. I don’t think she’s ever looked so beautiful.

  I lick my lips, my heart pounding. I may come to regret what I’m about to do, but like I’ve said repeatedly, I’m almost out of options. Almost. I still have a little time, and I plan to use that time to my advantage. “Want to come over for coffee tomorrow?”

  I expect hesitation or indecision on her part, for her to wage her typical battle between her head and her heart. Instead, she beams a breathtaking smile that makes me feel like a teenager who just asked out his crush. “I’d love to.”

  “Great.” I return her wide smile. “I look forward to it.”

  “Me, too.”

  I turn, heading back into the house. As I’m about to close the door, I hear her soft voice.

  “More than you know.”

  Four words. That’s all it takes to know it’s not over yet.

  Chapter Eight

  Brooklyn

  I should be exhausted, should need toothpicks to keep my eyes open, but I’m wide awake, my brain on overdrive. Electricity courses through me as I reminisce about how perfect it was to watch the sunrise while enclosed in Drew’s familiar, soothing arms. It was romantic, spontaneous, and exactly what I needed.