by T. K. Leigh
“Gigi?” I lift a single brow.
She nods. “Yeah. Gigi. I couldn’t sleep. All I could think about was…” She trails off, then takes a moment to collect her thoughts. She returns her blazing green eyes to mine, the same green eyes I imagined when I was with Skylar. I bury the idea of that having any hidden meaning. “I guess I just wanted to talk to you, to apologize.”
“Apologize? If anyone should apologize, it’s me.” I run a hand through my hair, blowing out a long breath. “I was a prick yesterday morning. You didn’t deserve to be treated the way I treated you. I should have congratulated you, told you how happy I am for you, not fly off the handle and accuse you of being something I know you could never be.”
“You didn’t mean anything by it.” She pulls her oversized cable-knit cardigan sweater closer to her body, the sheer size of it seeming to dwarf her slender frame. “I should have told you differently. If I had, then maybe your team—”
“No, Brook,” I insist, my voice forceful. Just the thought of her trying to place the blame for my team’s loss on her shoulders makes me sick to my stomach, the guilt for how I treated her yesterday festering even more. “You don’t get to put this back on you.” I hold her gaze, then lighten my expression. “You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Shoulder the blame…hell, the world. You deserve better than that.” I pause, collecting my thoughts. “I’ve done a lot of thinking, especially after last night’s game. But not about what I could have done differently regarding how I coached my players, although there’s certainly a lot, starting with keeping my temper in check.”
“Ah, that famous Brinks temper,” she comments, her lips lifting in the corners. “It is hard to control, especially once it’s unleashed.”
“True.” I return her smile. She’s seen it first-hand, especially during our high school years. “But all I could think about was us.”
Her brows crease, uncertainty dripping from her. “Us?”
“Yeah. Us. Our friendship. Our history.”
“Oh.” She chews on her lower lip, her shoulders falling.
If I didn’t know Brooklyn this well, I wouldn’t have noticed it. But I do. I notice everything about her. Like the way her hair always smells like lavender. The way her eyes light up whenever she’s excited about something. The way she always lets out a sigh of appreciation after that first sip of coffee in the morning.
“I’ve taken you for granted, Brooklyn,” I say thoughtfully. “Taken our friendship for granted. I assumed things would always stay the same between us.”
“Nothing stays the same forever, Drew. Things change. People change. We’re not in high school anymore. You can’t be like the overprotective brother whenever some guy tries to hit on me. You can’t keep breaking noses when…” She stops short.
One look and I know exactly what she’s thinking.
That summer.
That night.
That kiss.
What I wouldn’t give to tell her the truth, to tell her why I didn’t show up at her house like I promised I would. There’s been so many times I’ve come close, but I could never bring myself to say those words that would destroy the way she views her father. He’s the only family she has. I can’t take that from her. I’d rather her think I’m an asshole before I do that.
“You’ve always been a big part of my life.” I grab her hand in mine, running a finger along her knuckles. There’s a peacefulness in her eyes when our hands connect. It’s familiar, and right now, I need that. “I hope you always will be. You deserve my support, and I acted like an adolescent jerk instead of the almost thirty-five-year-old man I am. You’re not shallow enough to marry someone because he has money.” I drop her hand, looking away. “This is supposed to be the happiest time in your life. I should have been thrilled for you. And I am…”
“You are?” She tilts her head.
“Why wouldn’t I be? The man of your dreams asked you to marry him. You deserve that happiness.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I do, don’t I?”
“Yes, you do.” I wrap my arms around her, pulling her into my chest.
“Marrying Wes won’t change anything.” She pulls away and I reluctantly release her from my embrace. “I’ll still be at your place every weekend playing with your girls. I’ll still be at all their school functions. I’ll still be their auntie Brook. It’ll be like things have always been.”
“I hope so. They need you in their lives. They don’t know any other way.”
“It’ll take a lot more than a ring on my finger to keep me away from those girls.” Her expression brightens. “Trust me.”
I want to believe her, but it’s like she said. Things change. People change. She may be around now, but for how long?
Not wanting to think about there soon being an empty seat at our Sunday family dinner, I start toward the rental booth, pulling her along with me. “Well, come on then. Let’s get you laced up.”
She comes to a dead stop, pulling her hand from mine. “Laced up?” She looks at me like I have three heads.
“You’re at a skating rink. Why else would you be here?”
“Because I needed to talk to you. Not skate. Skating never entered the equation. Like, ever.”
“Oh, come on.” I sling my arm around her shoulders, dragging her with me. “We used to skate together all the time.”
“No. You skated. I clung to the walls of the rink for dear life as I tried everything in my power not to fall.”
“What’s the worst that can happen? You hit your head?”
“I’d rather not get concussed,” she jokes, her voice light and breezy, reminding me of the Brooklyn she used to be when we were younger.
“Concussed?” I give her a sly grin.
“Yes. Precisely.” This conversation is the perfect example of our dynamic. Brooklyn is serious, straightforward, even-keeled, never showing much emotion. I’m the one trying to do anything to get her to smile.
“And that means?” I lift a brow.
“You’ve just proven my point.” She stops walking and crosses her arms over her chest. “You’ve taken a few too many hits to the head. Your brain must be impaired.”
I shake my head, my motions slow. “According to my latest checkup, my brain’s fine.” I tap at my head.
“Obviously not if you fail to remember what a complete disaster the last time you forced me to put on a pair of ice skates was,” Brooklyn jabs. “I seem to recall your father having to drive me to the hospital and I ended up on crutches for six weeks.”
I furrow my brow. “That was in high school. I felt so guilty, I persuaded all my teachers to let me out of class early so I could carry your books for you.”
“Exactly.”
“You haven’t skated since high school?”
She remains silent.
“Well, that changes today.” Before she can react, I throw her over my shoulder in a fireman’s hold, carrying her slender body as if she weighs nothing. I remember doing this exact thing so many times when we were younger as I carried her toward the shore, throwing her into the ocean. She’d feign anger and irritation, splashing at me, but I knew she loved it. I miss those days.
“What are you doing, Drew?” she shrieks, hitting my back, just like she used to do all those years ago, as I continue toward the rental counter. I find a pair of figure skates in her size and grab them before heading back toward the ice.
“This place opens for the first practice soon. We don’t have much time.” I deposit her onto a nearby bench.
She stares at me, a hint of indignation crossing her face. “I’m not putting those on.”
“Yes, you are. Live a little, Brook. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you don’t get hurt.” I wink. “Scout’s honor.”
She eyes me for a moment longer, her lips pinched. Then she blows out a long breath, unzipping her boots. She knows all too well I don’t back down until I get what I want. �
�That line may work with all the other girls you force onto the ice, but not me. I’m well aware that you were never a scout, Andrew Brinks.”
“Your memory is impeccable as always, Brooklyn Tanner.” I kneel in front of her, helping her into the skates, tightening them and securing them around her ankles. As I’m about to finish, I look up and meet her eyes that seem to watch my every move. “And you’re the only girl I’ve skated with.” I pause, allowing that to sink in, then stand.
“Not even that little pixie you’ve been carrying on with lately?”
“Pixie? You mean Skylar?” When I hold my hand out to her, she takes it, allowing me to help her to her unsteady feet. My arm loops around her waist and I guide her toward the opening in the rink.
“Yeah. I mean, if you’re happy with her, I’m the last person to judge, but you can do better. You don’t give yourself enough credit, Drew. You’re a smart guy. You need someone who’s as intelligent as you are. I might be wrong, but she doesn’t seem the intellectual type.”
I chuckle, her words alarmingly accurate, although she’s never met Skylar. “Things aren’t serious. We have an…understanding.”
“Like Molly used to have?” She arches a brow.
I shrug. “I suppose you can say that.”
“And you gave her a hard time about it, saying it was time she settled down. When are you going to settle down?”
“I am settled down,” I argue. “And to answer your question, I’ve never skated with Skylar or any other woman, except for Alyssa and Charlotte, of course. You should take a lesson from them. They’re just kids, but they’re not scared of falling.”
“It’s not falling that scares me.” Her voice is soft, contemplative, sincere. The carefree atmosphere becomes more charged, more solemn. “It’s hitting the bottom so hard I’ll never be able to put the pieces back together again.” It’s a response I never expected, laced with hidden meaning. She looks up at me, searching my eyes. “I mean—”
“I know what you mean, Brook.” The tension between us builds as I keep her in my arms, everything about this moment surprising me. “I’ve been there, too.”
When I’m with Brooklyn, things are different. I can be me. I don’t have to keep my guard up, like I’ve been doing since Carla left…since leaving for college. She knows my scars, has even helped wipe up some of the blood herself. Yet she’s still here. At first, I thought it was because of Molly. Now I wonder if there’s a different reason, especially after what my sister said yesterday.
“I won’t let you fall.” My tone is soft, full of promise. “And if you do, I’ll help you put the pieces together again. Like I always have.”
Her expression drops as she pushes away from me, grabbing on to the wall of the rink. “Of course, Drew. Like you always have,” she repeats despondently. It’s like a giant bucket of ice water has been poured on top of me. I open my mouth, about to argue that things aren’t as they seem, when she interrupts, holding her head high. “Well, you’ve gotten me on a pair of skates. Now what?” Her voice is bright once more, like she’s turned the switch and dismissed part of herself.
“Now we skate.” I grin, holding out both hands. Her entire body tenses up, her grip on the side of the rink tightening as she stares at the ice in horror. I glide toward her, my tone calm and eyes soothing. “You have nothing to worry about. I won’t let anything happen to you. You can trust me.”
“It’s hard to let go.” She closes her eyes.
“It always is, but once you do, I promise you’ll never look back.” I hesitantly reach for her hands. Sensing me close the distance, she opens her eyes and lifts them to mine. “It’s normal to be scared when faced with the unknown. But if you live your entire life afraid of falling, of getting hurt, you’ll miss out on what could be the best thing you’ve ever experienced.”
Her gaze locked on mine, she gradually loosens her grip on the edge of the rink, quickly placing her hands in mine.
“Sometimes the best thing that could ever happen to us has been staring at us all along, but we’ve been too stupid or scared to realize it.” My words fall from me uncontrollably. It’s like someone else has taken up residence in my brain, telling me what to say.
“I don’t want to be afraid anymore,” she murmurs in a small voice as I skate backwards, leading her toward the center of the ice, her soft hands so small compared to mine. It brings out this inherent urge to protect her from everything and anything that could hurt her.
“You have nothing to be afraid of, Brooklyn. I won’t let you fall. I promise.” I give her an encouraging smile, then pick up my speed, pulling her along with me. She’s unsteady, as I expected, but I keep a firm hold on her. “You’re doing fine,” I assure her. “Straighten your back a little. That will help your balance.”
She shakes her head, but eventually follows my instructions. “Humans weren’t meant to have blades on their feet. If they were, we would have been born that way.”
“You’re a natural. Stop thinking about what could happen and enjoy the moment. Feel the rush of the ice below you, the wind against your face. Just glide, one leg, then the other.”
“You make it sound so easy.” She laughs, breaking the intensity, still clinging to my hands as if afraid she’ll perish if I let go.
“Skate enough and it becomes as innate as walking.”
“At least when you walk, you’re on safe ground.”
“True, but when you first learn to walk, you fall a lot. Don’t you?”
“I suppose,” she replies. Lost in conversation, she doesn’t realize when I loosen my grip on her hands.
“Yet that didn’t stop you from walking, then running, did it?”
“Of course not.”
“Then that shouldn’t stop you from flying on the ice, either, Brookie,” I say, using the name I called her when we were kids. Before she can tighten her hold again, I let go.
Her eyes widen, every inch of her becoming rigid as panic seems to take over. I’m quick to react, skating behind her and placing my hands on her hips, keeping her upright.
“You’re fine,” I murmur, leaning toward her. Her entire body relaxes as I steer her around the net and back toward the center of the ice, the motion causing her lavender aroma to overwhelm me. “I’ve got you.”
My words are all she needs. With more confidence than I’ve seen from her in a while, she continues placing one foot in front of the other, picking up speed as she circles the rink. When I’m certain she’ll be okay, I let go of her once more, moving beside her as she glides across the ice in a way that would make anyone think she’s been doing it for years.
Sensing me next to her, she shoots me a wide grin. It’s the first real smile I can remember seeing on her face in months, perhaps even years. It’s like she can forget about everything hanging over her head. Her work. Beginning her PhD program in the fall. Her engagement. We’ve traveled back in time to when we were kids. To when we would stay up all night watching scary movies. To when we would take the T out to Revere Beach for a Kelly’s roast beef sandwich or a plate full of whole belly clams. To when I would push her on the swing hanging from the tree in her front yard and she’d tell me to make her go higher.
“There you are, Brookie,” I murmur.
She meets my smile with one of her own and it melts my heart in a way usually only Alyssa’s and Charlotte’s smiles can. “There you are, Dewy,” she replies, calling me the name she had so many times in our childhood. I used to pretend I hated it, but I never did. I liked to think it was her way of showing her affection toward me. And I like to think the same holds true even all these years later.
Lost in the moment, her eyes still glued to mine, she’s not paying attention to where she’s going until it’s too late. When she notices she’s about to ram into the net, she tries to change direction, but she’s not as quick or nimble on her skates yet. I do my best to bring her to a stop, but she loses her footing, falling fast and hard to the ice, taking me down with her. I land on top o
f her with a grunt.
“Are you okay?” I’m frantic as I scan her face, looking for any obvious signs of discomfort, but at the same time trying to think of anything other than the somewhat compromising position we currently find ourselves in.
Heat fills me as a memory comes rushing back, knocking the breath out of me. The summer before I left for college. Pushing Brooklyn on the swing in her front yard. Brooklyn leaping off it and losing her footing, rolling down the hill. Chasing after her, slipping, tumbling down on top of her. Staring at her lips. Pink. Full. Luscious. Unable to control myself as I leaned closer and closer, dying for a taste. It’s like we’re back there, like I’m getting a second chance.
She meets my eyes, her breath coming quicker. The way she’s looking at me makes me think she’s remembering that day, too. She makes no move to get up, seemingly content to stay pinned beneath me. I fear if she moves, she’ll know exactly how much the heat of her body against mine turns me on. I wasn’t this stimulated with Skylar, at least not without some extra effort, even when she was on her knees in front of me. But with Brooklyn… I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this aroused. A tiny voice in my head tells me to retreat, to pull back, to keep my distance, but I’m inexplicably drawn to this woman. I can’t let her go.
“Never better,” she breathes.
“Good.”
“Good,” she repeats, licking her lips as she peers at me. A tendril of hair had escaped her knot and fallen in front of her eyes. Instinctively, I brush it behind her ear, her skin soft. A craving to feel even more of her overwhelming me, I graze my fingers along her cheeks, admiring the freckles dotting her complexion. Brooklyn’s always hated them, but I’ve always loved them. They make her stand out, her beauty unmatched by anyone else.
As I savor the smoothness of her delicate skin, a spark shoots through me, low and deep in my core. Her familiar aroma invades my senses, bringing back even more memories of our times together. Sitting on the beach. Exploring the Common. The feel of her legs wrapped around me when we finally did kiss. God, I love the way she smells, the way she feels, the way she always seems to easily break through every wall I’ve erected without even trying.
