by Claire Adams
My dad laughed.
“Only if you promise you'll hit one-sixty.”
Emerson laughed. “So you were a speed demon back in the day, huh?”
“Damn straight. I used to race in the ’80s, before this one was born,” he said, nodding his head in my direction. “But then the wife decided it was too dangerous a hobby, and she made me hang up my racing leathers.”
“That’s too bad. Geesh, Brooke, why’d you have to go and make your dad quit racing?” Emerson teased with a cheeky wink.
I laughed in response. “Well, gee, I'm so sorry for, you know, existing and all, thereby making Dad give up his hobby!”
“You should be!” Dad retorted, but then immediately pulled me in for a close bear hug. “Aww, you know I can't joke about stuff like that. You're my sweet baby girl, best thing that ever happened to me. I'd give up everything, a thousand times over, for my little BeeBee. Don't ever forget that!”
“Dad!” I exclaimed, blushing furiously. “You're kind of embarrassing me.”
We all laughed. I couldn't believe how well Emerson was getting along with my dad. I immediately thought of how Dad had been with Andrew. Not that Emerson was in the running to take Andrew’s place; we were just friends. Or so, I kept telling myself. But the difference in how they interacted was distinct. Dad had disliked Andrew from their first meeting. He’d always been polite, but very cold with him. I guess he had had some sort of fatherly instinct about the kind of person Andrew really was. But with Emerson, they had only just met, yet they were laughing and joking like two friends who had known each other for years. It made me wonder if maybe I had misjudged Emerson since the day I’d met him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Emerson
I sat on my bike watching as Brooke said her goodbyes to her parents, and something twisted inside me, just like it had the moment I saw her genuinely laugh and let go. Being around her parents, I'd gotten to see a different side of Brooke, one that wasn’t hidden behind walls — the side she’d been trying so hard to keep concealed from me. It was a side that was extremely warm, loving, and caring. A side that was open to so much laughter and so many smiles. As she walked toward me, every fiber of my being was aware that things had changed. What had begun as a simple, physical attraction to this woman had turned into something much more than that.
I didn't know what to call it at that exact moment, so I tried not to think too hard about it as she climbed on the bike and wrapped her arms around me. I knew all I could do was just let things happen, go with the flow, and see where it carried us. I wasn't sure if she was ready for anything serious after what she’d told me about her ex and all she’d endured. Hell, I wasn’t sure if I was, but I couldn’t keep lying to myself and trying to pretend I didn’t feel something more than friendship for Brooke. Something told me things may end up taking a turn in that direction and I was okay with that.
If there was anything I knew for sure, it was that Brooke made me feel something other girls didn't. Not only was the physical attraction there — and always had been — but getting to know the real Brooke amplified that attraction, making it so much more intense than I could have imagined. Having her pressed against me as I weaved in and out of traffic for the thirty-minute ride back to our apartments hadn’t helped.
These thoughts were running through my mind when we pulled up outside the apartment building and I parked the bike. Brooke hopped from the back and pulled off her helmet, that adorable grin pasted across her face again. She looked as if she was really at home on the motorcycle now. Perhaps a few latent genes from her dad had started to kick in.
“Thanks for the ride, Emerson,” she breathed, still beaming a smile.
“It was my pleasure. Glad you enjoyed it. But I should be thanking you for inviting me to the barbecue. It was awesome meeting your family.”
“I can tell you mean that,” she replied. “Especially since it was kinda hard to get you away from my dad. It was like you two were old friends!”
“We did have a lot to talk about,” I said. “He's a great guy. Hopefully, I'll get to hang out with him again sometime soon.”
“We'll see,” she countered with a cryptic smile until our eyes met for a brief moment and a jolt of energy rushed through me. It was so obvious, she had to have felt it, too. “Anyway,” she broke the connection. “We should get upstairs. I've gotta shower, and I've got a bunch of work I need to get done.”
“Yeah, me, too,” I replied.
As we walked up the stairs, I realized I didn't want to let the rest of the weekend go by without another chance to spend some time with Brooke.
“Hey, uh, since I've just eaten the equivalent of like three meals at your family's expense, how about I repay the favor?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“How about I make you dinner tomorrow evening? We should both have finished our work by then.”
“That sounds great, actually.”
A gust of excitement rushed through me. She actually sounded eager. I hadn’t even had to try to convince her, which I had mentally prepared myself for. That had to be a good sign. It had to mean she at least felt a little something for me.
“Cool. I can make enough for Leslie, as well.”
“Oh, don't worry about that. She'll be out all evening tomorrow.”
“Okay, so just you and me then?”
“Just you and me,” her tone fell to a whisper and a lump formed in my throat.
“Make sure to set up some candles,” I said with a wink.
She chuckled flirtatiously. “As long as you bring some decent wine, Mr. Reed.”
“Done.”
We reached her front door, which she unlocked and opened. She turned to face me before she stepped into the apartment and our eyes locked and held for a few silent, intense moments. I had the feeling that if I'd have moved in for a kiss, she wouldn't have resisted. Instead, I broke eye contact, stepping back.
“See you tomorrow evening. Around six?”
“Six is perfect. Goodnight, Emerson,” she replied with a soft smile. With that, she slipped inside and gently closed the door.
“Goodnight, Brooke,” I said.
I walked over to my place and let myself in. Chris was lying on the sofa in front of the TV.
“How you feeling, bro?” I asked. Chris had been sick for the past week. He said it was flu, but I was convinced it was his body reacting to all the excessive partying and lack of rest.
“Better than I was earlier,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “But still not great. How was your barbecue with Miss Bookworm from next door?”
I rolled my eyes. “Actually, it was really fun.”
“What did you guys talk about? Science and shit all afternoon? Maybe play with a chemistry set and a magnifying glass?” he asked with a condescending sneer.
“I talked to her dad about bikes, and we had a few beers,” I replied, not taking the bait. “And I ate enough to keep me going for at least a week. Anyways, man, I've gotta-”
“Study,” he interrupted, completing my sentence for me. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's all you ever do these days. Got your nose glued to those damn books. You ain't much fun anymore, E.”
That one cut a little. I suddenly felt kinda bad. After all, despite his faults, Chris was one of my oldest friends and I had been neglecting our friendship over the past few weeks.
“You know what,” I replied, “you're right, dude. I'll leave the books for tomorrow. Let's do something tonight, just you and me.”
He looked up at me from the sofa with surprise coloring his expression.
“What, seriously?”
“Yeah, bro. But not going out and getting wrecked, alright? You're just gonna feel worse if we do that,” I said.
“Agreed,” he replied, to my surprise.
“Alright. Um, how about a round of mini golf at the mall and maybe a few sessions in the batting cages after that? Nothing too strenuous, but it'll do you good to get out, get some fresh air and
a little exercise.”
“Yeah, dude,” he said, smiling as he heaved himself up from the sofa. “That sounds great.”
“Cool. Get your wallet and let's roll!”
***
At seven a.m., my cellphone started buzzing next to my bed. If someone was calling me at that time on a Sunday morning, it either had to be a wrong number or an emergency. I looked at the number on my phone screen. It wasn’t a wrong number — it was my stepmother, Anne.
I rubbed my eyes, still groggy from the deep sleep I'd been in, and picked up the call.
“Hello?” I mumbled.
“Emerson.”
“Hi, Anne, what's up? Is everything okay?”
I could tell by the tone of her voice that something was wrong.
“It's your dad,” she said, cutting straight to the point.
Dread crept into my veins. “What's going on?”
“Well, I had to take him to the emergency room again. He woke up in the middle of the night with severe pain in his side.”
“Yeah, that's been going on for a while. Has it gotten that bad now?”
“Actually, Emerson, it has. He was hoping it wasn’t going to be anything and he wouldn’t have to worry you, but he went to the doctor earlier this week. They finally checked him out properly, and…” She paused. Trying to maintain her composure, but she was clearly on the verge of crying. “They've found a tumor, sweetheart. It’s cancer.”
I felt as if I'd just been kicked in the stomach and the breath had been knocked out of me. I wanted to faint and throw up all at once.
“Oh my God.”
“There is some good news, though. Well, as good as it can be under the circumstances.”
“Alright. What is it?” I half whispered.
“They're able to operate. There's a very good chance they can remove the tumor with surgery, and they said they don’t believe the cancer has spread. So, while the long term prognosis isn’t too bad, the problem is the surgery itself. The tumor is close to his vital organs and it's going to be a risky procedure.”
“When is the operation scheduled for? I'll come up right now.”
“No, you don't need to come up now. He's probably going to be knocked out from the pain meds for most of today and tonight. But, I think he'd appreciate you being here tomorrow, the night before the surgery.”
“Done. I'll take Monday and Tuesday off class. I'll leave first thing tomorrow morning and should get there by late afternoon tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Emerson. You're a good son.”
“Thanks for calling me, Anne. I appreciate it. Let me know if anything changes.”
“I will. See you tomorrow.”
“Bye.”
I put my phone down and just lay back on my bed, my head reeling. I felt so helpless. All I could do was hope and pray my dad would be alright. In the meantime, I needed to keep my mind off of it. That meant studying until it was time to cook dinner for Brooke.
***
I knocked on Brooke's door, carrying a tray with a pot of fragrant ravioli and a few side dishes I'd whipped up over the course of the last few hours. The cooking had provided me with a decent distraction from the worry about my dad. In the process of cooking, I'd realized that worrying was only making me feel worse. There was absolutely nothing I could do, aside from get to Dad's place the following day and be there for him before he went in for surgery. For the moment, though, it was best not to think about it. I hoped being with Brooke would be a big enough distraction from the horrible situation.
Brooked opened the door with a smile, and I was slightly surprised to see that she’d put on makeup. Maybe she was taking dinner a little more seriously than I'd thought she would. I was immediately glad that I'd shaved, showered, and put on my favorite cologne before coming over.
I stepped inside and couldn't help chuckling as I saw that she'd set up a few candles around the place as we had discussed.
“Nice ambiance,” I said.
“You asked for it. But if you don’t have wine, I’m blowing them out,” she replied with a wink. “So, what are you treating me with?”
“Ravioli with a tomato cream sauce and side dishes of potato salad with herbs, bruschetta with basil pesto, and some olives and cream.”
“Wow! Going the Italian route, huh?”
“And,” I said, trying to draw out the moment of suspense, “some French red. So, don’t you dare touch those candles.”
With that, I pulled my hand from behind my back, revealing the bottle of red wine I'd hidden there.
“Oh, awesome!” she exclaimed.
Her eyes looked absolutely gorgeous as they sparkled in the low, subtle candlelight.
“Well, I dunno about you,” I said, “but I'm kinda starving. How about we sit down and enjoy this while it's still hot?”
“That sounds lovely,” she replied. “Take a seat at the table, and I'll go get the wine glasses from the kitchen.”
I took a seat and watched her sashaying over to the kitchen. I couldn't help but be mesmerized by the sway of her hips and the way her dress hugged the contours of her very shapely, firm butt. I felt a stirring down below and decided I'd better sit down and keep my lap under the table, lest my excitement become too…obvious.
She returned, smiling and carrying two wine glasses and a corkscrew, which she set on the table in front of me.
I uncorked the wine. “Say when,” I suggested as took her glass to fill. I started pouring, and when the glass was about three quarters full, Brooke said when.
I filled my glass and clinked it against hers.
“Here's to… Here's to…” I began but drew a blank when it came to completing the sentence.
“Here's to chemistry,” she said, finishing my sentence with a cheeky grin.
We both took deep swigs of our wine and then dove into the food. It was, without bragging too much, pretty damn delicious.
We chatted as we ate, discussing topics like our classes, the people in them, our teachers, but also recounting days from high school, parties we'd been to, funny or embarrassing situations we'd been in. Chatting with her was natural; the conversation flowed.
Eventually, the topic turned to my parents. I tried to maintain the upbeat tone of our evening, but I couldn't help immediately talking about my dad and what I'd learned earlier that morning. Brooke was so easy to talk to and such a great listener. I felt comfortable releasing all the emotions I’d had pent up since I’d gotten the phone call.
“Oh my God, Emerson,” she said, and there was genuine concern and sympathy in her voice. “I'm so sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
She reached across the table and took my hand in hers. A powerful stirring of electric excitement charged through me as her skin touched mine and I felt the warmth of her hand under the tips of my fingers.
“If there's anything you need, I'm here for you,” she said. A glisten of tears rimmed the edges of her eyes.
“Thank you,” I repeated, not really knowing what else to say. “That means a lot to me, Brooke. It really does.”
“Well, I mean it,” she assured me.
We sat in silence for a few moments before I gently withdrew my hand from hers. “Let's not talk too much about it, though,” I said. “I don't want to dwell on it.”
“Alright,” she replied. “Well, now that we're done with dinner, how about we do something else?”
“Sure,” I replied as I drained the last of my wine from my glass. “What do you have in mind?”
“Well, how about another bottle of wine for starters?” she suggested, her eyes glinting with a flirtatious glow in the candlelight. “The night is still young.”
“It's still young, indeed,” I agreed. “Bring it on.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Brooke
Hearing Emerson talk about his dad's medical situation really pulled at my heartstrings. In fact, I had to stop myself from getting all teary-eyed right there in front of him. I don
’t know what it was, but seeing him hurting broke my heart. I had to hold myself back from jumping out of my seat and wrapping my arms around him to comfort him. Instead, I took his hand. That’s when something happened. I could almost feel him calm down as our eyes met. It was as though the touch of my hand seemed to assuage some of the fears that were gnawing at his heart at the prospect of his dad having such a risky surgery.
At once, all I wanted was to steer his thoughts away from all the worry and anxiety. So, I suggested, against my own rational judgment, that we drink more. I don't typically approve of using alcohol as a crutch, but once in a while, it can be a little therapeutic to drown one's sorrows in a few glasses of liquid courage. And, I sensed that poor Emerson had some pretty intense sorrows to drown.
So, we headed to the sofa, our bellies satisfied with both wine and the delicious meal Emerson had made, and we sat down with a fresh bottle of dry red.
The room wasn't spinning by any means. I was, however, feeling a bit of a heady rush from the bottle we'd already finished off. I wasn't quite drunk yet, but the buzz was coming on fast. We flopped down on the sofa, and Emerson uncorked the second bottle. He filled up a glass for me, one for himself, and he then clinked his glass against mine with a smile.
“Thanks for a great evening,” he said.
“It's not over yet,” I replied. “Unless you’re just ready to get the hell out of Dodge.”
He locked his gaze on mine. “Not a chance.”
An energy pierced the air between us. I could sense the heat of Emerson's stare, and could almost feel the pumping of his heart in that powerful chest coursing through the space between us. I immediately looked down at the glass in my hand, trying to breathe, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him as he leaned toward the coffee table to set the bottle of wine down. He caught me staring and smiled almost shyly, causing me to avert my eyes once more and sending a flush of heat through my cheeks.
“Alright,” he broke the awkward silence, “how about we play a drinking game?”
I laughed. “I have never played a drinking game!”
“Well, all the more reason for you to do it now! What's life without trying new experiences?” He grinned and raised his eyebrows, challenging me.
