Page 13 of Love Never Happens with your Brother’s Best Friend

“Well, not from where I am, you’re not,” she persists in a hushed whisper. “It’s been so long since Brodie has been here, the least you can do is smile.” I grimace. “Rita. What’s the matter with you?” I shrug. “He is here because he needs our support at a very sensitive time in his life. So, come on.” She turns to me square on, hands on her hips and challenges me with her beautiful open, trusting face. “You used to be close, didn’t you?” Her voice has resumed its softness.

“I don’t remember.”

“Well, I do. And I have a theory of my own as to why, all of a sudden, Brodie Kent is back in Oak River.”

“Mom, tell me.” I laugh. Then I ask, “What’s this theory of yours?”

“Let’s just say, I’m keeping that to myself for the time being.” My mom comes over to hug me. “But when everything pans out, as I think it will, I am just going to gloat and say, ‘Told you so.’” Mom winks at me then helps to push in the chairs tidily under the table.

As I finish putting things away in the dining room, I think about Brodie’s unexpected presence and the way it has unnerved me, especially with all those reports of sordid allegations in the press. Memories of us as kids flood my inner vision and are at odds with the shocking online content. Stupid feelings.

I wish I could be as sure as Dylan and my folks that he is innocent. But Brodie Kent is a world-class player in more ways than one. That’s for sure. Part of me longed for the day when he came a-knocking, but now that he’s here, I can’t let down my guard.

I should be heading home to pack for the camping trip, but rain begins to pitter-patter on the windows.

“Leave your bike here, sweetie,” Mom says following my gaze to the droplets splashing hard against the glass. “Dylan can give you a ride home.”

“Ah no. It’ll blow over in a while.”

As I say this, a clap of thunder shakes the house and booms down the valley. The pitter-patter turns into ferocious heavy drumming, turning the droplets into bucketloads that reverberate from the roof to the footings holding the house in the ground.

“Well, a storm was forecast,” Dylan says cheerily as he comes in followed by Brodie. “Better the weather is like this tonight than when we’re up there on the mountain tomorrow.”

“I know you are the best outdoor guide around…,” says Mom stoically. “… and that accidents are rare. But I still, you know…”

Dylan hugs Mom. “Mom. Don’t worry. I always check in with the rangers and we never go too far.”

We hear Dad come in. He shouts from the hall as he kicks off his boots and hangs up his coat, “Sure is wild out there now. The wind’s getting up. It’s going to be a real doozy.”

“Rita, you can’t cycle home in this,” says Dylan walking to the window and peering out at the dark outline of the trees thrashing around against the low grey scudding clouds. “I’ll drive you.”

“It’s going to blow over,” I say hopefully, not really believing it.

“You could stay here tonight, you know,” says Dad.

I snatch a glance at Brodie and feel color rise to my cheeks when his eyes connect with mine. Stupid feelings. I can’t believe I’m getting all flustered at the thought of sleeping in the next room down the hall, separated only by a thin partition.

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine,” I say moving toward the door as another clap of thunder hits.

“Hey Dylan, my car is parked behind yours.” Brodie pulls his keys out of his pocket. “I’ll drive Rita home. No problem.”

“Well, that’s kind of you,” says Mom with her don’t-mess-with-me voice. “Rita, I think you should get a ride home with Brodie. Leave your bike here.”

“Okay.” I relent. There is no point arguing, especially with my mom when I hear that tone. And despite my protests, I really don’t want to cycle home in the storm.

“Take a raincoat, Brodie,” says Dad. “Otherwise, you’ll get soaked.”

Brodie and I race out to his car with rain jackets held above our heads, splashing through newly formed puddles and streams that gush across the driveway. We each open a door and dive in with water dripping down our faces. Inside the car, the noise of rain on the roof is so loud we need to shout above it to be heard.

“Summer, huh?” shouts Brodie, turning the key in the ignition to start up the engine.

He turns on the lights to full beam, and the windshield wipers to high speed. The blades slosh the torrent left and right, but more rain runs in immediately to take its place. He shifts the car into gear, and we slowly edge down the drive to the road.

“Where to ma’am?” asks Brodie. He turns the de-mister up to max as the windows begin to fog.

“In town, thanks. I live in the apartment upstairs at the café.”

“Ah, handy to get to work, then?”

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