Page 49 of Love Never Happens with your Brother’s Best Friend

“Nancy Sheldon was on the TV,” I say catching my breath. “… and she said it was all a lie. All of it. Brodie. You’re clear.” Then, I turn and yell at the reporters and camerapeople who are all asking each other, what the heck is going on? “Brodie Kent didn’t do it. He’s not the father of Nancy Sheldon’s baby. I don’t know who is, but it’s not this guy.” I point with both hands at Brodie. “This guy is the most wonderful honorable human being on the planet. And I love him.”

Brodie pulls me to him and kisses me fully. I wrap my arms tight around his neck as if there is no one watching. But there is. The sports news channels are watching, but we don’t care. We keep kissing until a reporter interrupts with, “Breaking news from Oak River…”

Chapter 24

Brodie

The drama soon dies down after Nancy’s statement aired. I felt sorry for her really. She is very young and entitled. And, turns out, there wasn’t even a baby. She made up the whole sordid story to get back at me for not dating her. I don’t understand what was going on in her head, but I don’t hold anything against her. Something’s not right in her life. I wish her well and I hope she finds happiness. I’m sure she’s a nice person deep down.

After the camera crews and reporters left, I realized that I was actually quite tired. I crashed out in the spare room and was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

When I wake up, it takes me a moment to remember where I am. I look around at the pale green wallpaper scattered with tiny white daisies and the drapes lifting to let in a soft breeze and the morning light. I lie still for a moment as the events of the last few days filter through my mind. Like images seen through frosted glass, things are fuzzy and vague.

But one thing is crystal clear: Rita. I close my eyes and daydream about the way she yelled at the reporters and TV people. And the way she kissed me without fear or restraint. What a kiss! She was fierce and devastatingly hot. Last night it was me and Rita against the world, and it felt fantastic. There is no doubt in my mind that I want to be with this incredible woman for the rest of my life. We’ve had too much time apart. The future belongs to us. And I’m going to make sure of that. I hope that’s what she wants too.

With Rita still on my mind, I finally get up and dress. The dogs greet me as I go downstairs. Everything is peaceful. No one is around. I walk out to the back porch. The sun is warm on my face. Then I wander over to the barn where Dylan is organizing the camping gear. The van is parked outside its rear door is open.

“Hey, Bro,” Dylan says when he sees me coming. “We thought you weren’t ever going to wake up.”

“No, me neither. But, man, I feel good. Really good.” I gaze around the yard. The chickens scratch and peck at the ground. “How’s everything? You know, after the crazy?”

“Good. Mom and Dad are fine.” Dylan arranges the backpacks, tents, and camping mats on the shelves. “They’re pretty tough and hard to rattle. And I suspect they actually enjoyed the drama. Although they would never admit to it.” We laugh.

“Have you seen Rita?”

“Yup, she said not to wake you.” Dylan closes the back of the van. “She cycled into town to see Kate. Said she’ll be back soon, I think. Come on, let’s get some breakfast. Mom’s out so I’m cooking. You want pancakes?”

“Perfect. I’m starving.”

In the kitchen, Dylan chooses some cooking music: Motorhead. Classic high-energy British rock. We make a big mess with flour, eggs, and milk. The pancake mixture is lumpy and thick, but it doesn’t matter. It’s as if we’re teenagers again. Dylan reads my expression.

“Relax,” Dylan shouts above the music, lighting the stove. “Just as long as it’s all cleaned up before Mom gets back.”

He cooks up the first pancake. It’s all charred on one side. We cover it with honey and lemon juice and eat it anyway. The pancake isn’t cooked enough, the inside is still raw, but we don’t care.

As I put the last bite of blackened but raw pancake into my mouth a car pulls up. We don’t hear it because the music is so loud. It’s Jeanie. Dylan and I watch in minor panic as she opens the car door and gets out.

“Oh no! It’s Mom,” yells Dylan, reaching for his phone to turn down the blaring volume of ‘The Ace of Spades’. “Quick. I’ll do dishes.” He throws me a sponge. “You clean the table. Go!”

We scoot around like a comedy duo in an old movie, banging into each other and doing a really terrible job of tidying up. I hurriedly wipe down the worktop surfaces, but flour smears in white misty arcs everywhere. The dogs hoover up any dropped pancakes from the floor. Jeanie walks up the steps of the back porch with a grocery bag in each hand.

“Oh, Dylan! Look at the mess in here,” Dylan’s mom says heaving the loaded bags onto the kitchen table.

“What do you mean? We just made pancakes. We cleaned up, as you can see.” Dylan extends a theatrical arm like a ringmaster introducing the clowns.

“Your idea of cleaned up is very different to my idea of cleaned up. Dylan. There’s flour everywhere.” Jeanie says, laughing as she sweeps a fingertip across the smeared worktop. She sounds exactly the same as she did when we were growing up. “What happened to my kitchen?”

Dylan doesn’t say anything but hugs his mom.

“Oh, stop it!” Jeanie pretends to be grumpy. “There’s more groceries in the car. Could you boys please bring it in? Thanks.”

Dylan and I bring in the cartons and bags from the car and put them on the kitchen table.

“What are your plans now, Brodie?” Jeanie empties a bag and puts the cans, packets, pots, and jars away in the pantry, cabinets, and on the shelves. She moves efficiently around her kitchen with well-practiced speed.

“I guess I should think about getting back to Boston.” I unpack one of the cartons. “I have a couple of days' leave before I need to report for duty.” Jeanie shows me where to put the packets of pasta I’m holding.

“Please. Stay here as long as you want.” She smiles warmly patting my arm.

---